acidsoju

[acidsoju]

don't look back!

pairing: yandere!jungwon x reader

genre: backrooms au, thriller, psycho!jungwon

synopsis: while working late at the waterpark, you slip through reality and fall into the nightmare realm known as the backrooms. you think you’re alone—until you meet jungwon, a charming boy who offers comfort, survival tips, and the promise of an escape together. but something about him doesn��t feel right. the more time you spend together, the more his affection turns eerie... and the deeper you fall into his trap.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut(corruption kink, oral f receiving, fingering, mild marking/biting, unprotected sex), yandere themes, obsession, slight horror themes, manipulation, slight dub con, choking, some degradation, dom!jungwon, swearing, not proofread

note: this is probably my darkest work, and also my first time writing smut!! i hope you like it >///<

word count: 10.3k

backrooms au collection

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you had been working late at the waterpark again, the last employee left on closing duty.

the usual nighttime sounds surrounded you—the steady drip of water from the slides, the faint hum of the filtration system powering down, the occasional creak of the structure settling. it was peaceful in a way, being alone in the empty park after hours, though tonight the silence felt heavier than usual.

you pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself as you walked past the wave pool, the water still and dark now that the pumps were off. your sneakers squeaked against the wet tiles, the sound echoing strangely in the vast, empty space.

as you moved toward the tower of spiral slides to complete your final check, you couldn't shake the feeling that the air had grown colder, thicker somehow.

that was when you heard the first laugh—a high-pitched, playful sound that seemed to come from the top of the blue slide.

you froze, your grip tightening on the flashlight. that couldn't be right. you'd checked every area twice already, made certain no guests remained. the park was supposed to be empty.

"hello?" you called out, your voice steady despite the sudden chill running down your spine. "the park is closed."

there was no response at first, just the continued dripping of water and that odd, heavy silence.

you were about to dismiss it as your imagination when the laughter came again, closer this time, seeming to bounce off the fibreglass walls of the slides.

your pulse quickened as you approached the staircase leading up to the slide platform. the metal steps were slick with condensation under your hands as you climbed, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

"if someone's up here, you need to leave now," you said, forcing authority into your voice even as your palms grew damp.

when you reached the top, the mouth of the slide gaped before you, a circle of darkness that seemed deeper than it should be. you crouched to shine your light down its length, expecting to see nothing but empty plastic. instead, there was movement—something pale flickering at the edge of your vision.

before you could react, the world twisted around you. it wasn't wind that pulled at you, but something far more unnatural. the slide's opening seemed to stretch, the darkness within it suddenly alive and hungry. you tried to scramble back, but your feet slipped on the wet platform.

as you fell forward, you realised this wasn't just a slide anymore. the walls pressed in around you, warm and yielding like flesh, the air thick with the cloying scent of chlorine and something decaying. you flailed, trying to find purchase, but there was nothing to grab onto as you tumbled through that impossible space.

then there was only nothingness.

the impact knocked the air from your lungs before you even realised you'd stopped falling. your elbows stung where they'd slammed against the tile, your ribs aching like you'd been folded in half.

for several terrifying seconds you just lay there, gasping, your vision swimming as you tried to remember how to breathe. when you finally managed to push yourself up, your hands slipped on the damp floor—not the smooth fibreglass of the slide, but something older and cracked that felt wrong.

the slide was gone.

you whirled around, panic rising like floodwater in your chest, but there was only a wall behind you—water-stained wallpaper peeling away to reveal moldering drywall beneath. the cheerful cartoon dolphins printed on it were faded, their smiles stretched and warped where the paper bubbled.

your breath came in short, sharp bursts as you staggered to your feet, the room tilting dangerously around you. this wasn't possible. you'd just been at work. you'd just been checking the slides.

the space around you stretched endlessly in every direction, a nightmare parody of the waterpark you knew. the same blue-and-yellow colour scheme, but bleached and sickly under flickering fluorescents. the wave pools were empty except for stagnant puddles that reflected the ceiling back at you in distorted fragments. the air clung to your skin, thick with the scent of mildew and that same overpowering chlorine sting—but underneath it, something sweet. cloying. like fruit left to rot in standing water.

"hello?" your voice cracked on the word, barely louder than a whisper.

when no answer came, you tried again, louder: "is anyone here?" the sound died almost instantly, as if the humid air had swallowed it whole.

you moved forward without meaning to, your sneakers sticking slightly to the tacky floor with each step. the lights buzzed overhead, their flickering intensifying as you passed beneath them. down one hallway lined with lockers rusted shut, past another shallow pool that had no visible edge—just tile that stretched on until it blurred into the distance. your fingers trailed along the wall for balance, coming away damp.

a sound from above made you freeze. not the creak of old pipes, but something... wetter. like flesh dragging across metal. you didn't look up. couldn't look up. your pulse roared in your ears as you forced yourself to keep moving, your breath coming too fast.

in the reflection of a murky puddle, you saw something move behind you—a pale shape where nothing should be. when you spun around, there was only an empty hallway. but the puddle rippled, as if whatever had been there had just stepped out of view.

you broke into a run.

the corridors twisted in ways that made no sense, leading you past the same cracked mirror three times, past a snack stand with its menu board melted like wax. your lungs burned, your thighs aching, but you didn't stop until you reached a small kiddie pool tucked between two crumbling walls. its cheerful mosaic tiles were chipped and faded, the painted sea creatures now just vague smudges of colour. you collapsed beside it, pressing your back against the wall as you struggled to catch your breath.

that was when you heard the whistling.

low. off-key. a tune you almost recognised but couldn't place. your blood turned to ice in your veins.

the sound was getting closer.

you scrambled behind a rusted lifeguard chair, its paint flaking away under your desperate grip.

the whistling continued, unhurried, accompanied now by the steady tap of footsteps against tile. a shadow stretched long across the floor before its owner appeared—a boy, maybe your age, dressed in a staff polo that looked freshly laundered. his black hair was neatly styled, his sneakers pristine where yours were soaked. the name tag on his chest caught the light when he moved, but the letters swam when you tried to focus on them.

he saw you immediately. of course he did.

"there you are," he said, as if you'd been keeping him waiting. his voice was pleasant, almost friendly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. they stayed dark and unreadable as he took a step closer.

"it's not safe to be out alone."

you pressed yourself harder against the wall, your mouth dry. he looked human. normal. but nothing here was normal.

when he extended his hand, his fingers were clean. no dirt under his nails. no dampness on his skin.

"come on," he urged, tilting his head slightly. "before they find you."

above you, the lights flickered again. somewhere in the distance, something heavy dragged itself through water.

his smile never wavered.

your fingers twitched before you even realised you were reaching for him—some primal part of your brain screaming that warmth meant safety, that another human voice in this suffocating silence was worth clinging to, no matter how wrong this all felt.

his hand closed around yours without hesitation, his skin almost feverishly hot compared to the clammy chill clinging to your own.

"i'm jungwon," he said, pulling you to your feet with unsettling ease, like your weight meant nothing.

his fingers lingered a second too long when he let go, leaving behind a tingling imprint that made you want to rub your palm against your jeans.

"you're lucky i found you first."

the words slithered under your skin. first before who? before what?

he was already moving, his steps light and certain against the warped tiles as he led you down another decaying hallway. you followed because there was no other choice, your sneakers squeaking against the damp floor while his made no sound at all.

when you opened your mouth to speak, your voice came out cracked and thin: "where—"

"this place doesn't have a name," he interrupted, glancing back with a smile that didn’t crinkle the corners of his eyes. "not one you'd understand."

his gaze flickered over your face, lingering on the way you bit your lip, the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.

"i call it the aquatic sector."

your breath hitched. the backrooms. those creepy internet stories you'd skimmed late at night, half-believing, half-mocking.

"like... the backrooms?" you whispered, the word tasting absurd even as it left your tongue.

jungwon's smile didn’t waver, "something like that." he said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather, and the sheer normality of his tone made your stomach twist.

he turned a corner without checking if you followed—of course you did, where else would you go?—and you realised with a jolt that he knew this place. the way his shoulders never tensed at the distant, wet sounds echoing through the pipes. the way he stepped over a particular cracked tile without looking down, avoiding the dark stain spreading beneath it like he’d done it a hundred times before.

when he finally pushed open a door marked staff only, the room beyond was so jarringly intact it made your eyes water. clean towels stacked neatly on a shelf. unopened cans of fruit lined up in a tiny pantry. a battery-powered lantern cast warm light over a faded couch, its cushions dented from use. it looked like a lifeguard break room plucked straight from your own world and dropped here, untouched by the decay choking everything outside.

"this zone's safe," jungwon said, watching your face as you took it in. he grabbed a water bottle from the cabinet and held it out to you, the plastic crinkling in his grip. "but only for now."

your fingers trembled as you took it, the condensation cool against your palm. you wanted to drink so badly your throat ached with it, but the way he watched you—head slightly tilted, dark eyes tracking the bob of your throat as you swallowed nervously—made your grip tighten without opening it.

something about the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, about how his uniform was still perfectly dry when your clothes clung damp and clammy to your skin, about how he'd known exactly where to find you in this endless maze.

"you should drink," he said, softer now.

he took a step closer and you could smell the faint citrus of his shampoo, so out of place here it made your pulse skip.

"you'll get dehydrated fast in this sector."

his fingers brushed yours as he reached to twist the cap off for you, and for a dizzying second you considered letting him. his touch was the only warm thing in this entire place. but then the pipes above you groaned, a wet, meaty sound that had you jerking back, the water bottle slipping from your grip to roll across the floor.

jungwon's expression darkened for just a second—a flicker of something sharp behind his pleasant mask—before he sighed and crouched to retrieve it.

"you'll learn," he said, more to himself than to you as he placed the bottle carefully on the table.

outside, something heavy splashed into one of the pools, the sound echoing through the thin walls. when you tensed, jungwon's hand settled between your shoulder blades, warm even through your damp hoodie.

"don't worry," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair. "i won't let anything hurt you."

the promise should have been comforting. so why did it feel like a threat?

time bent around you like wet paper, the hours stretching and warping until you couldn’t tell if minutes or days had passed.

jungwon became your only constant, your lifeline in this rotting, endless maze. he told you where to sleep (the staff break room, always with the door locked), when to hide (when the lights flickered in a pattern that wasn’t random), which corridors to avoid (the ones with the faint smell of overripe bananas). but he never explained why.

"don’t follow the laughter," he said one evening, or what you thought was evening, as you both sat cross-legged on the floor of the break room, sharing a can of peaches.

the syrup was too sweet, clinging to your teeth, but you ate it anyway because hunger gnawed at your stomach like a living thing.

you frowned. "what laughter?"

jungwon’s fingers paused where they’d been tracing patterns on the tile floor. he didn’t look up.

"you’ll know it when you hear it. it sounds almost human. almost." his voice dropped on the last word, and something in his tone made you set the can down, your appetite gone.

"that’s not an answer," you muttered.

he finally lifted his gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. "it’s the only one i can give you."

you wanted to push, to demand more, but then the walls breathed—a slow, wet expansion of the water-damaged drywall that made you recoil. jungwon didn’t even flinch.

"also," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "don’t trust water that moves on its own. and never, never go into a glowing slide."

"why not?"

he leaned forward suddenly, close enough that you could see the faint scar on his lower lip, the way his pupils swallowed the dim light.

"because some doors only open one way," he whispered. then he pulled back, his smile returning like a curtain falling.

"eat your peaches."

you noticed things, over time. the way the walls never dripped when jungwon was near, how the flickering fluorescents steadied when he walked beneath them, as if they were afraid to sputter out in his presence. you noticed how he watched you—constantly—his gaze lingering on the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, how your fingers trembled when you were tired.

and then you found the notebook.

it was tucked under his pillow, the leather cover worn soft. you hadn’t meant to snoop, but he’d been gone longer than usual (to "check the perimeter," whatever that meant), and the silence had pressed in on you until you needed something to focus on besides the sound of your own heartbeat.

the first page was a sketch of your face, rendered in startling detail. your lips slightly parted in sleep, your eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks. you turned the page.

another. another. dozens of drawings, all of you—your hands clutching a blanket, your back arched in alarm when something had banged on the door the night before, your tear-streaked cheeks from when you’d broken down sobbing your third day here.

your breath caught.

"you’re beautiful when you’re afraid."

you hadn’t heard him come in. jungwon stood in the doorway, his head tilted, his expression unreadable. your fingers clenched around the notebook, the paper crinkling under your grip.

he stepped closer, his movements smooth and predatory.

"just kidding," he murmured, but his eyes—dark and endless—never left yours.

he pried the notebook from your hands with terrifying gentleness, his thumb brushing over a sketch of your crying face. "you’re beautiful all the time."

the air between you thickened, the silence broken only by the distant sound of something heavy dragging itself through water. jungwon didn’t seem to hear it. his gaze burned into you, possessive and hungry, and for the first time, you realised the most dangerous thing in this place wasn’t the shifting halls or the things that lurked in the water.

it was the boy standing in front of you, smiling like he already knew every way you’d break.

the air in the filtration room had been particularly thick that day, clinging to your skin like a second layer of sweat as you followed jungwon through yet another routine patrol.

you'd memorised the path by now—past the cracked wave pool tiles, left at the concession stand with its permanently stuck "hot dogs $3.99" sign, right at the third set of rusted lockers.

his flashlight beam cut through the perpetual twilight, illuminating dust motes that swirled like tiny galaxies in the stale air.

"wait here," jungwon said suddenly, his hand squeezing your wrist just a bit too tight before releasing.

the filtration tunnel gaped before you both, its mouth dark and damp.

"i need to check something. don't move." his smile didn't reach his eyes as he said it, the way it never did anymore.

you nodded, forcing your breathing to stay even as you watched him disappear into the tunnel. the moment his light vanished around the first bend, your body thrummed with nervous energy. this was it. you'd been watching for weeks, noting which corridors made him tense, which doors he always locked extra carefully. the copper-scented hallway to your right had been his most consistent avoidance.

the first step away from the tunnel entrance sent a jolt of electricity up your spine. your sneakers made barely a sound against the slick tiles, your movements practised after so many days of following his lead through these endless halls. the chlorine-copper smell grew stronger with each step, so potent it made your eyes water and your tongue feel coated in pennies.

halfway down the corridor, your foot caught on something soft. you barely stifled a scream as you looked down to see what appeared to be a waterlogged park uniform, the fabric bloated and discoloured. something about the way it lay—too flat, too empty—made your stomach turn. you stepped over it carefully, your pulse pounding in your ears.

the maintenance ladder appeared like a mirage, its rusted rungs nearly blending into the water-stained wall. you tested the first step with your weight, wincing as the metal groaned in protest. every creak seemed deafening in the silent hallway. as you climbed, the air grew noticeably colder, each breath forming visible clouds that dissipated into the gloom above you.

at the top, the platform was smaller than you expected, barely three feet across. the glowing slide pulsed before you, its eerie green light casting strange shadows across your trembling hands. up close, the hum you'd noticed from below vibrated through your teeth, setting your nerves on edge.

you hesitated, one hand hovering over the slide's entrance. jungwon's warning echoed in your mind, but so did the memory of his sketches, the way his fingers lingered just a beat too long when he touched you. the way he'd started saying "we" instead of "you" when talking about the future.

the decision crystallised in an instant. you launched yourself forward, the slide's surface shockingly cold even through your clothes. for one glorious moment, you felt weightless, the current carrying you forward with exhilarating speed.

then the world twisted.

the temperature plummeted so fast your muscles locked in protest. the smooth tunnel contorted violently, the walls rippling like disturbed water before going rigid at impossible angles. your scream caught in your throat as you were flung sideways, then upside down, the laws of physics abandoning you completely.

when you finally crashed into a brackish pool, the impact drove what little air remained from your lungs. the water tasted foul—salt and something organic, something living. you thrashed toward the surface, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and terror.

breaking through into the air brought no relief. the cavernous room stretched endlessly in every direction, the ceiling lost in shadow. the pool's edges weren't tile but something porous and veined, pulsing faintly in time with your racing heartbeat.

then you saw him.

jungwon stood perfectly still at the water's edge, his clothes soaked through as if he'd swum through miles of tunnels to reach you. water dripped from his hair into his eyes, but he didn't blink. the quiet rage radiating from him was more terrifying than any monster this place could have conjured.

"didn't i say," he began, his voice deceptively soft as he stepped into the pool, "not to trust glowing slides?" each word carried the weight of betrayal, his hands flexing at his sides.

the water resisted as you tried to back away, its viscosity suddenly wrong - too thick, too clinging. jungwon closed the distance effortlessly, his fingers wrapping around your biceps with bruising force as he hauled you onto the slick ground.

your body hit the floor with a wet slap, the impact reverberating through your bones. jungwon loomed over you, his knees caging your hips, his breath coming in sharp bursts that fogged in the frigid air. up close, you could see the way his pupils had swallowed nearly all the brown in his eyes, leaving only thin rings of colour around bottomless black.

"you could have died," he hissed, his voice cracking on the last word.

one hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over your cheekbone.

"do you have any idea what's out there? what would have happened if i hadn't found you?"

tears spilled hot down your cheeks, the salt taste mixing with the brackish water still dripping from your hair.

"i just wanted to go home," you choked out, your voice barely audible over the distant, watery echoes of the cavern.

jungwon's expression fractured. he pressed his forehead to yours, his nose brushing against your tear-streaked skin.

"this is your home," he whispered, the words vibrating through your skull. "i'm your home."

his grip gentled as he pulled you upright, his arms wrapping around your shivering form in a mockery of comfort. one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"don't ever do that again," he murmured, his lips grazing your temple. the kiss felt like a brand.

"next time..." his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in your hair. "next time i might not be able to save you."

the unspoken threat hung between you, heavier than the humid air, darker than the endless corridors stretching in every direction. as he helped you to your feet, his arm slung possessively around your waist, you realised with dawning horror that you'd just proven his worst fear.

and in doing so, you'd given him the perfect excuse to never let you out of his sight again.

that night, something inside you finally cracked open—not with the sharp snap of defiance, but with the slow, inevitable splintering of resistance worn down by exhaustion and something dangerously close to surrender.

you sat shivering on the edge of his mattress, the damp fabric of your clothes clinging to your goosebumped skin like a second layer of shame. the scent of chlorine still clung to your hair, undercut by something darker—something organic and vaguely sweet, like fruit left to rot in standing water, which seemed like a recirring scent in this place.

jungwon knelt before you, a threadbare towel in his hands, his movements methodical as he dragged the rough fabric up your calf. the friction should have warmed you, but you only felt colder with each pass, your skin pebbling under his touch.

"you never listen," he whispered, his voice almost affectionate, the way one might scold a beloved but wayward pet.

his fingers tightened slightly around your ankle—not enough to hurt, just enough to make the bones shift under his grip.

"do you know how many rules you broke today?" his thumb pressed into the hollow beneath your ankle bone, a silent demand for your attention.

you swallowed hard, your throat clicking with the motion. "i just—"

"shh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. his skin tasted like salt and metal. "i know what you were trying to do. but we don't lie to each other, do we?"

his hand slid higher up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, just shy of bruising. "say it."

your breath hitched. "no. we don't lie."

"good girl." the praise curled warm in your stomach despite everything.

his thumb hooked into the waistband of your soaked shorts, tugging them down your legs with agonising slowness.

"i should punish you," he mused, his breath hot against your inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, "but you look so pathetic like this."

his teeth grazed your skin—not biting, just testing. "all shivering and wide-eyed. like a drowned kitten."

you should have stopped him. should have pushed him away. but your hands stayed limp at your sides, fingers twitching against the mattress as he pulled you closer to the edge, his grip firm on your hips.

"jungwon—"

"tell me you're sorry," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the crease of your thigh.

your pulse pounded in your ears. "i'm sorry."

"for what, exactly?" his tongue darted out to taste you, just once, making your stomach clench.

"for—for trying to leave." the admission tasted bitter on your tongue.

he hummed, the vibration travelling straight to your core. "and?"

"for not listening." your voice broke on the last word.

his mouth found you then, soft at first—just the barest flick of his tongue that made your toes curl. then deeper, firmer, until you couldn't stifle the gasp that tore from your throat. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers twisting into the sheets as he worked you open with his tongue, each lick sending sparks up your spine.

"that's better," he murmured against you, the vibrations making your hips jerk.

"this is what you need, isn't it? to be reminded?" his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. "to be taken care of?"

you couldn't answer. your thoughts had dissolved into static, your body no longer your own. when you whimpered his name, he hummed in approval, the sound curling low in your belly.

"use your words, sweetheart." his breath was hot against your soaked skin. "tell me what you want."

"please—"

"please what?" he nipped at your inner thigh, just hard enough to sting. "you have to say it."

your vision blurred at the edges. "please don't stop."

he rewarded you immediately, his tongue laving over you in broad strokes before he pressed two fingers inside, curling them expertly until your walls fluttered around him.

"like that?" he asked, his voice rough. "you want me to make you cum? to remind you who you belong to?"

you nodded frantically, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it." his fingers stilled inside you, denying you the friction you craved. "say you're mine."

the words stuck in your throat for only a second before you choked them out: "i'm yours."

he crooked his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against you in time with each thrust, and you shattered—your back arching off the mattress, your walls fluttering around him as pleasure ripped through you like a riptide.

he kissed you after, his lips tasting of you, his grip bruising on your jaw as he held you in place.

"you're mine," he said again, his voice rough, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown of his eyes.

"no one else gets to have you. not even reality."

his words settled into your bones like a curse. you wanted to protest. wanted to tell him you belonged to yourself, that this place wasn't your home, that you would find a way out. but when he pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you didn't resist. and when his fingers traced idle patterns over your hip—claiming and possessive—you let him.

because the worst part wasn't the way he touched you.

it was the way your body arched into his hand when he reached for you again.

the way your breath caught when he whispered, "again."

the way you obeyed.

after that night, the invisible leash around your throat pulled taut like a noose gradually tightening. jungwon became your shadow, your keeper, your only tether to anything resembling safety in this rotting labyrinth.

when he did leave—always with that same murmured excuse about "checking the perimeter"—the backrooms seemed to come alive with malicious intent. the first time it happened, you sat perfectly still for exactly three minutes after he left, counting each second by the erratic drip of water from a ceiling pipe.

then the lights began stuttering like a dying man's pulse.

"jungwon?" you called out, immediately hating how small your voice sounded.

the hallway ahead warped suddenly, the tiles rippling like water disturbed by some unseen force. when you turned to run back to the break room, the door you'd just come through was gone—replaced by a staircase that definitely hadn't been there before, its steps slick with something dark and viscous.

"no, no, no," you chanted under your breath, pressing your back against the wall as the staircase shifted again, the top step now leading to a ceiling vent far too small for any human to crawl through.

that was when you heard it—a wet, clicking sound from the darkness beneath the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of overripe bananas and something metallic. your stomach turned as the clicking grew louder, more rhythmic, like dozens of tiny bones knocking together.

jungwon found you exactly seven minutes later curled behind a stack of mouldy pool noodles, your nails digging bloody crescents into your palms.

"i told you not to wander," he sighed, crouching before you.

his fingers were warm when they pried yours open, his thumbs rubbing circles into your clenched fists.

"what did you see?"

"the stairs—they moved," you gasped, still trembling. "and there was something under—"

"shhh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips.

his eyes darted to the hallway behind you, suddenly sharp. "don't say it out loud. this place listens."

he helped you stand, his arm slipping around your waist in a way that might have been comforting if not for how easily his fingers spanned nearly the entire width of your torso. "let's get you cleaned up."

you tried to assert yourself exactly once, three days later.

it started as a simple request—"i need space"—but the words came out cracked and brittle, like you were begging rather than demanding.

jungwon paused in the middle of rewrapping your blistered foot (when had you gotten blisters?), his head tilting in that unnervingly precise way of his.

"space?" he repeated, the word curling oddly in his mouth.

his smile bloomed slow and sweet, like blood spreading through water. "oh, sweetheart. there's nothing but space here."

his fingers brushed your ankle, trailing upward with deliberate slowness.

"endless, hungry space." when his hand reached your knee, he squeezed just enough to make your breath hitch. "i'm just protecting you."

you swallowed hard. "from what?"

jungwon leaned in so close his lips brushed your ear, his next words a warm puff of air that made you shiver.

"from what happens to pretty things that get lost in the dark."

he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching yours.

"this place listens to me. you don't want to hear what it says about you when i'm gone." his thumb traced your lower lip. "the way it licks its chops every time you stumble. the way the walls whisper about how sweet you'd taste."

that night, you woke abruptly to the feeling of something cool and padded encircling your wrists. your eyes flew open to find yourself in jungwon's lap, your arms secured to the bench with what looked like salvaged lifeguard rescue tubes—the orange foam frayed but still sturdy.

"w-what—" you stammered, panic surging as you tugged against the restraints.

"shhh, just for your safety," jungwon soothed, his fingers already carding through your hair. the casual ease with which he held you down sent ice through your veins.

"you were thrashing in your sleep again. nearly rolled right off the bench." he held up a can of peaches, the syrup glistening in the low light. "let's get some food in you, yeah?"

when you turned your head away, his grip tightened fractionally in your hair.

"now, now," he chided, popping the lid with a metallic snick. "none of that."

the first syrupy slice pressed against your lips was cold and cloying. "open."

the fight drained out of you with terrifying speed. by the third bite, you were chewing mechanically, the sweetness coating your tongue like medicine. jungwon's approving hum vibrated through you as he wiped a stray drop of syrup from your chin with his thumb—then sucked it clean with a soft, satisfied sound.

"good girl," he murmured, kissing each of your knuckles in turn. the shackles stayed on all night.

as the days bled together, resistance became a distant memory, as foreign as sunlight or fresh air.

his touches became your only constants—the steadying hand at your elbow when the floor suddenly slanted, the broad palm spanning your back when a corridor narrowed unexpectedly, the strong arms that lifted you effortlessly over patches of suspicious-looking water. in the hot pool (the one oasis in this rotting place, its waters always perfectly clear and heated), he would wrap around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as the steam curled around you both.

"feel good?" he'd murmur, his hands drifting along your arms beneath the water.

you'd nod silently, too tired to lie or protest. his heartbeat against your back was the only rhythm left in this place, the only thing that still made sense.

the backrooms themselves seemed to worship him. puddles stilled when he approached, their surfaces going eerily smooth. hallways straightened obediently at his approach.

once, when you caught your reflection in the pool's surface, it grinned at you—wide and knowing—even as your own face remained carefully blank. when you jerked back with a gasp, jungwon just tightened his arms around you.

"just a trick of the light," he murmured, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

the question burned in your chest for days before you finally found the courage to whisper it one night: "what are you?"

jungwon went very still, his fingers pausing where they'd been tracing nonsense patterns on your bare shoulder. for a long moment, the only sound was the distant drip of water and your own too-quick breathing.

"i used to be like you," he said at last, his voice soft with something almost like regret. "scared. lost. convinced there was a way out."

his hand returned to your shoulder, his thumb brushing the knob of your collarbone. "then i stopped pretending to be afraid. stopped fighting what this place wanted from me."

his lips grazed your temple, lingering just a second too long. "you'll understand soon."

the promise should have terrified you. should have sent you scrambling for escape. instead, a warm heaviness settled in your chest, spreading through your limbs like syrup. when he pulled you closer, you went without resistance, your head finding its familiar place against his shoulder.

outside your fragile bubble of warmth, the backrooms groaned and shifted—but here, cradled in jungwon's arms, the world held its breath. you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you into something like peace.

somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten how to fight.

somewhere deeper still, you'd stopped wanting to.

it had been weeks—or maybe months, you had no idea how the warped time her worked—since jungwon had let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

you'd practised the request of wanting to sleep alone in your head for days, carefully framing it as concern for his own rest rather than your desperate need for space.

"you look tired," you ventured one evening as he rubbed your sore feet (when had you started letting him do that?).

your fingers played with the frayed edge of his sleeve, the fabric soft from countless washes in the pool's filtration runoff.

"maybe... maybe you should take a night for yourself. i'll be fine here."

jungwon's hands stilled on your instep. the silence stretched so long you could hear the drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling vent counting out your racing heartbeat.

when he finally looked up, his smile didn't reach his eyes—those dark, fathomless eyes that always seemed to see straight through you.

"one night," he conceded, his thumb brushing the delicate bones of your ankle. the casual possession in that simple touch made your stomach clench.

"but scream if you need me." his fingers trailed up your calf, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "the walls carry sound beautifully here."

he left you in a small bunkroom near the filtration systems, the space eerily pristine compared to the decay everywhere else. thick blankets covered the narrow bed, their faded nautical patterns almost cheerful under the glow of luminous pool tiles embedded beneath the frame.

you waited until his footsteps faded completely before letting out the breath you'd been holding.

the second the door clicked shut, the air grew heavier, pressing against your skin like wet hands. you told yourself you wouldn't sleep—just rest your eyes until morning came, whatever that meant in this endless place. curling up on the bed, you pulled your knees to your chest and stared at the door, straining to hear anything beyond the ever-present hum of machinery.

every sound became magnified in his absence. the walls creaked like old ship hulls, the pipes groaned with more than just water pressure, and every distant droplet echoed like approaching footsteps. at one point, you swore you heard whispering—not words exactly, but something like the hiss of water through cracks, forming almost-syllables that prickled the hairs on your neck.

"it's just the pipes," you muttered to yourself, your voice thin and unconvincing in the heavy air.

pulling the blankets over your head, you tried to focus on your breathing, but the fabric stuck to your lips with each panicked exhale.

when the bed suddenly shifted beneath you—just a slight dip, like someone had sat at the foot—you nearly screamed. your muscles locked, every nerve ending alight with primal terror as you waited for the inevitable touch, the breath against your neck.

but nothing came. the silence that followed was worse than any sound, thick with anticipation and something else—something watching.

by the time jungwon returned, you were curled into a tight ball, your face pressed against your knees to muffle the quiet sobs wracking your body. the door opened without a sound, but you knew it was him from the way the room immediately stilled, the oppressive weight in the air lifting as if by command.

"oh, sweet thing," he murmured, his voice dripping with false sympathy as the mattress dipped behind you.

his hands were warm where they slid under your shaking form, gathering you against his chest like a child. you hated how easily you folded into him, your body betraying your mind with its immediate relaxation.

"see?" he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. "you're safest when i'm touching you."

you wanted to protest, to push him away, but your limbs felt leaden, your resistance worn to nothing by the terror of the empty hours. when your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, jungwon made a soft, approving sound and kissed your forehead.

"shhh, i know," he murmured, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind your ear in slow circles. "you just needed to learn, didn't you? needed to see what happens when i'm not here to keep you safe."

his kiss started soft, just the barest brush of lips. but when you didn't resist, it deepened, his mouth hot and insistent as his tongue slid against yours. the taste of him flooded your senses, metallic and sweet like the canned fruit he always fed you, and some broken part of you responded without thought, your hands fisting in his shirt.

when you didn’t pull away, he pressed deeper, tongue slipping past your lips with practised ease. he kissed you like he had the right to. maybe that’s what terrified you most.

“see?” he whispered against your mouth, tasting you in slow drags. “you’re already calmer.”

you weren’t. not really. but your breathing had steadied, your muscles unknotted just enough to stop trembling, and your arms were curled weakly around his shoulders. it felt… safer. wrong, but safer.

he coaxed your top over your head with ease, discarding it like it meant nothing. his hands were warm and slow as they skimmed over your skin, trailing reverent touches across your ribs and stomach.

“let me take care of you,” he murmured, more command than offer, but spoken like a promise. “you were scared without me. i know. i felt it.”

his mouth moved to your chest, kissing your collarbone, then lower. when he sucked your nipple into his mouth, you flinched, but didn’t stop him. the heat of his tongue, the way he hummed low in his throat when you arched into him—it made your stomach twist, shame and need tangled too tight to separate.

“you don’t have to think,” he murmured, his palm sliding down your side. “just let yourself feel.”

you should’ve said no. you didn't want his presence right? but you didn’t push him away, instead clung closer to him whispering a breathy okay. because your limbs still felt heavy, your brain still foggy with the memory of isolation and the cold silence of the bunk.

and his hands were so warm.

he kissed his way down your stomach, pausing to bite gently at your hip before nudging your thighs apart with his palms. his eyes flicked up, reading your expression in the low light. your breath hitched.

“tell me to stop,” he said. his voice was calm, but something coiled underneath it. “i’ll stop if you ask.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t.

and that was enough.

his mouth met your folds with agonising slowness, tongue sliding through you like he already knew exactly where to touch. he teased you with slow flicks, warm and wet, circling your clit until your hips twitched, then pulling away just to hear you whine. you hated how quickly your body betrayed you.

“you’re already dripping,” he murmured into your skin. “sweet thing… you missed this too, didn’t you?”

his fingers slipped into you without resistance, two of them stretching you gently. the stretch made you gasp, your walls clenching around him instinctively. he crooked them slightly—finding a spot that made you buck, unbidden—and smiled against your thigh.

“so sensitive,” he cooed, kissing the inside of your knee. “so good for me, even now.”

he kept going until your legs were trembling, slick pooling where his wrist met your body. you were panting, eyes hazy, brain empty of anything but the rhythm of his fingers and the hot drag of his mouth against your clit.

when he finally pulled back, you almost whimpered at the loss.

he stripped without a word, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound between you. when he hovered over you again, cock in hand, he paused at your entrance.

“i’ll go slow,” he said. “i want you to feel everything.”

he pushed in with a groan, hips moving with infuriating control, stretching you inch by inch. the burn was real. but so was the way you clenched around him, the way your legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct.

“fuck,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “you feel like you were made for me.”

his rhythm started slow—careful, deep thrusts that filled you completely, his fingers locked with yours on the sheets. his other hand hovered at your throat again, resting lightly as if to say remember who’s in control.

and still, you didn’t push him away.

you didn’t want to.

you’d tried to sleep alone, and it had nearly broken you. here, at least, you could pretend his touch was warmth and not some strange obsession.

he moaned when you clenched around him, and his thrusts picked up pace, harder now, deeper. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping into yours with a rhythm that turned everything else to static.

“you’re mine,” he growled, breath hot against your ear. “you know you’re mine.”

your orgasm hit with sudden force, tearing through you like a cracked dam. you cried out, shaking, your nails digging into his back.

jungwon swore, driving into you once—twice—before he spilled inside you with a shudder, pressing in so deep it felt like he was trying to disappear inside your body.

neither of you moved for a long time. he stayed buried in you, breath shallow, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“you won’t ask to be alone again,” he whispered against your hair. “will you?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes were already drifting closed.

he pulled the blanket up and curled around you, possessive and still, his fingers tracing lazy shapes across your stomach, like he didn't want to stop touching you.

“good girl,” he said softly. “sleep now.”

and you did, not because you felt safe.

but because you were too tired to be afraid.

the next night, jungwon’s fingers interlaced with yours in the dark, his grip just shy of painful.

"i want to show you something," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. you hadn’t even heard him approach—he moved through these rotting halls like a shadow given form.

"it’s late," you whispered back, your voice hoarse from disuse. the words tasted like a lie because you both knew time didn’t exist here.

jungwon’s thumb stroked your knuckles, a mockery of comfort. "it’s always late here," he said, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "come on."

he led you to the broken diving board—the one with cracks spiderwebbing through its surface like veins. you’d passed it a hundred times, maybe more. but tonight, under the flickering glow of the emergency lights, something was different.

"watch," jungwon breathed, pressing your palm flat against what looked like solid wall.

beneath your fingers, the surface pulsed like a heartbeat before peeling away with a wet, tearing sound. your stomach lurched as a hidden alcove revealed itself, the air inside stale and thick with the scent of mildew and something sweet.

"what is this?" you choked out, trying to recoil, but jungwon’s arm banded around your waist, holding you in place.

"ours," he said simply, stepping inside and dragging you with him.

the shelves were lined with artifacts—your waterpark nametag, the plastic slightly warped as if melted. your favourite silver bracelet, the clasp broken, the chain tangled in on itself like a strangled snake. the hoodie you’d been wearing that first night, the fabric stiff with dried pool water and something darker.

"the place gave me these," jungwon murmured, running his fingers over each item with reverence.

his nails scraped against the nametag, the sound making your teeth ache. "it knew you belonged here." he turned to face you then, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue in the dim light. "just like i do."

your breath came in short, sharp bursts. "that’s not—that’s not possible."

jungwon stepped closer, the wall sealing shut behind him with a wet, sucking sound.

"you feel it, don’t you?" his hand rose to cup your cheek, his skin fever-hot against yours. "the way the water stills when you touch it? the way the lights flicker when you’re scared?"

his thumb brushed your lower lip, his grip tightening when you tried to turn away.

"you were always meant to be mine."

you wanted to scream. wanted to claw at his face until that smug certainty bled out of him. but your throat closed up, your voice abandoning you just as it had so many times before.

jungwon’s lips crashed into yours, wet and cold like the slide that had brought you here. his teeth caught your bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood. the taste of him flooded your mouth—chlorine and copper and something alive, something wrong. behind you, the pool water began to ripple without any disturbance, parting in perfect symmetry as if making way for something unseen.

"see?" he panted against your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close. "even it knows."

the days bled together after that. you watched, numb, as the backrooms bent to jungwon’s will.

you sat cross-legged by the pool’s edge, trailing your fingers through water that had gone suspiciously still. jungwon watched you from a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"make it move," he said suddenly, nodding toward the water.

you blinked. "what?"

"the water." he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing yours whole. "try."

you shook your head. "i can’t—"

"try," he repeated, his voice hardening.

you swirled your hand through the water, creating weak ripples that died almost immediately.

jungwon sighed, crouching beside you. "you’re thinking too small."

he placed his palm flat against the surface, and the water recoiled as if burned, forming a perfect circle around his skin.

"it’s not about force. it’s about knowing." his eyes locked onto yours. "knowing this place is yours."

you swallowed hard. "i don’t want it."

jungwon’s smile was all teeth. "liar."

the punishments grew subtler but no less cruel. when you tested him—when you asked one too many questions or pulled away from his touch—the backrooms themselves turned against you.

"why won’t you let me leave?" you demanded one night, your voice cracking.

jungwon, who had been humming under his breath while braiding a strand of your hair around his finger, went very still.

"leave?" he repeated, the word dripping with amusement. "oh, sweet thing. there’s nowhere to go."

the lights chose that moment to flicker violently before plunging you into darkness. something wet dripped onto your shoulder from above. jungwon’s fingers found yours in the dark, his grip vise-like.

"shh," he murmured, though you hadn’t made a sound. "it’s just angry you’d even ask."

when the lights returned, his knuckles were smeared with something dark and glistening. you didn’t ask.

sleep became your only respite, though even that was tainted. jungwon insisted you rest curled against him, his arms banded around your waist like living restraints.

"sing to me," he’d whisper into the nape of your neck on the bad nights, when the walls groaned a little too loudly.

his voice would curl around words you didn’t recognise, the language guttural and wrong.

"it’s an old lullaby," he explained once when you stiffened. "the first thing this place taught me."

sometimes he’d disappear for what felt like hours, returning with his hands stained rust-red under the nails and a smile that made your stomach drop.

"someone else got lost," he’d say, wiping his fingers clean on a towel that was somehow always pristine afterwards.

his eyes would roam your face hungrily, as if comparing.

"but they weren’t you."

the unspoken always hung heavy between you—they weren’t special. they weren’t his.

eventually, he began allowing you to explore—always with him, always with his hand clamped firmly around yours. the invisible leash between you grew shorter each day, tightening whenever you strayed too far.

"why do you hold my hand so tight?" you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon stopped walking, turning to face you. the hallway seemed to hold its breath around you. "because i can’t trust you yet," he said simply, his free hand brushing your cheek. "but you’re learning."

you held his hand not just out of fear, but because his skin was the only warmth left in this rotting place. because the hollow in your chest ached when he wasn’t near. because you couldn’t remember what your reflection had looked like before it started smiling at you with too many teeth.

the pool became your twisted mirror. no matter how still you stood, how blank you kept your face, your reflection always grinned back—wider each time, its eyes darker, its features sharpening into something that wasn’t quite yours anymore.

"she likes you," jungwon said one day as you stared at your warped reflection, his chin hooked over your shoulder. his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "she knows you’re staying."

and now it felt like you did too.

the tallest slide loomed before you—the same one that had first swallowed you whole months (or was it years?) ago. only now, it twisted upward into the flickering fluorescent void, its plastic edges blackened and glistening like the inside of a living throat. you could feel it breathing, each pulse of the structure sending warm, damp air washing over your face. jungwon stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist in a mockery of tenderness, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both stared into the abyss.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

his fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach through your thin shirt.

"i've been waiting so long to show you this."

your throat tightened as the slide emitted a low, wet hum that vibrated through your shoes and up your spine.

"what... what is it?"

jungwon chuckled, the sound dripping with amusement.

"it's our way forward, sweet thing."

one hand rose to cup your chin, tilting your face toward the spiralling darkness.

"this one leads deeper. to where the water is warm and the lights never flicker," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "where nothing can ever separate us."

you swallowed hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i don't understand."

"you will."

his arms tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blades.

"it's where we belong. where you've always belonged."

when you turned in his arms to face him, your hands came up instinctively to brace against his chest. jungwon was already smiling, his dark eyes gleaming with something ancient and hungry. up close, you could see the way his pupils dilated—not round anymore, but slit like a cat's. when had that happened?

"we'll be happy there," he promised, his voice dropping to a whisper.

his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. "no more running. no more fear. just you and me. forever."

the word hung between you, heavy and final.

you searched his face—the boy who had fed you when you were starving, who had shackled you when you tried to leave, who had kissed you with teeth that were just a little too sharp. the only constant in this endless, rotting nightmare.

"what happens to me if i say no?" you whispered.

jungwon's smile didn't waver, but something dark flickered in his eyes. behind him, the walls groaned, the sound wet and pained. a single drop of black liquid oozed from the ceiling, landing with a splat between your feet.

"oh, my love," he sighed, brushing your hair back from your face with terrifying gentleness. "that's not an option."

the slide pulsed again, the hum rising to a fever pitch that made your teeth ache. your reflection in the pool behind you grinned, wider than any human mouth should allow.

jungwon's hands slid down to grip your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh there.

"trust me," he murmured, his lips grazing yours. "you want this."

and the terrible thing was—

you did.

you took a shuddering breath, your fingers curling into his shirt. jungwon's smile widened, triumphant and tender all at once. his forehead pressed against yours as the slide's opening stretched wider, the darkness inside beckoning.

"together?" you whispered, the word tasting like surrender.

jungwon's laugh was warm against your lips. "always."

you closed your eyes—

and let yourself fall.

ALTERNATE ENDING

you found it again.

the tallest water slide in the entire park—the one that had pulled you into the nightmare when this all began. even after everything, it was still here, standing exactly where you remembered it, though now it shimmered faintly with a green glow that pulsed gently from within the tunnel’s mouth.

jungwon stood beside you, just slightly behind your shoulder. he didn’t say a word. his silence was heavier than any threat he’d ever spoken aloud.

when you turned to glance at him, the absence of expression on his face was more unsettling than any of his smiles. he wasn’t smiling now. there was no softness, no cold affection, not even the hint of disappointment.

“it leads out, doesn’t it?” you asked, your voice quiet and unsteady, though you already knew the answer.

it had to lead out. you felt it. everything in your chest ached with the possibility.

jungwon didn’t answer. instead, he reached for your wrist. his fingers curled around it tightly—not enough to hurt, but firm in a way that told you he was prepared to hold on if you ran.

“it doesn’t matter,” he said eventually.

his voice was calm, too calm, as though your desperation was something he didn’t need to take seriously.

“you don’t want to leave.”

but he was wrong.

you did.

you wanted to leave more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. your body was already bracing to run, every instinct firing all at once. your heart pounded in your chest, loud and fast, and your mouth had gone dry with the weight of the decision forming behind your teeth.

the tunnel wouldn’t stay open forever. the backrooms would shift again. the slide could vanish. and jungwon—he wouldn’t give you another chance. if you hesitated now, if you gave him even one second longer to read your fear, he would never let you get close to this kind of freedom again.

you looked at him—really looked. at the boy who had trapped you with soft hands and quieter lies. who fed you, touched you, claimed to protect you from the things out there when he had become the worst thing in here. the fear in your chest rose like bile.

“jungwon,” you breathed, but the rest never came out.

instead, you ripped your arm free.

his fingers slipped from your skin, and before he could react, you turned and sprinted toward the tunnel, your bare feet slapping loudly against the damp tile. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

he called your name, but it came out ragged—loud and broken in a way that didn’t sound human. his voice echoed across the walls of the abandoned park like something that belonged underground.

but you kept running.

you threw yourself into the slideheadfirst, and it swallowed you without hesitation.

the slide gripped you instantly, and the light blurred as you careened downward. the curves of the tunnel twisted your body in every direction, and each sharp turn sent jolts of pain up your spine. the green glow surrounded you, too bright and too close, pressing in like it wanted to consume you. your lungs burned with the pressure, and your arms flailed for anything to hold onto, but the walls were smooth and slick.

you were falling, spiralling, unmoored in a tunnel that didn’t feel like it was ever meant to end.

and then, just as suddenly, it did.

you hit the ground hard, the concrete beneath you unforgiving and wet. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, and you lay there for a moment, stunned and breathless. the world spun behind your eyelids as you coughed, your body shaking violently.

but then you realised something was different.

the air you were breathing—it was real. it wasn’t thick with that damp, humming rot of the backrooms. it was cool and dry, laced with the familiar scent of chlorine, dust, and cheap coffee. the silence around you had edges again. and above you, warm sunlight filtered through cracked skylights, casting real shadows onto the floor.

this was the waterpark.

the real one. the one that didn't stretch endlessly into pools of nightmare

you were back.

you pushed yourself upright, palms scraping against rough tile, and looked around with wide, disbelieving eyes.

everything was where it should be. the vending machines stood in their proper place. the lazy river looped around peacefully in the distance. the walls were solid. your own breathing echoed back to you. you had made it.

you had escaped.

your chest clenched as a sob rose up from your throat, and before you could stop it, you were crying. laughing and crying at the same time.

you curled your arms around yourself and let it all out, letting your body shake with the unbearable mix of relief and exhaustion.

you were safe.

you had finally done it!

but then, just as you began to steady your breathing, a sound broke through the quiet.

it came from above, from deep within the vents lining the ceiling—soft at first, almost unnoticeable. but as it grew louder, the shape of it became clear. it was a whistle.

your breath caught in your throat. the sound was too familiar, it was the same off-key melody jungwon always hummed when he thought you were sleeping.

the first footprint appeared in the puddle you'd left behind—larger than yours, the edges too perfectly defined against the concrete. then another, materialising closer as if someone invisible was walking toward you. the water in the lazy river began to ripple against its current, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like grasping fingers.

your hands shook as the lights above you flickered once, twice, before plunging the park into darkness.

the temperature dropped so fast your breath fogged in the air, the hairs on your arms standing on end as the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

then suddenly, cold fingers brushed against your ankle, their grip tightening like a vice.

"did you really think," jungwon's voice whispered from right behind you, his breath chilling the nape of your neck, "that i'd let you go that easily?”

“i will make you mine no matter what”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[acidsoju]

YJ ⸻ Jungwon Owns Her Heart ! 💌

[acidsoju]

mall rat

pairing: yandere entity!sunghoon x reader

genre: backrooms/liminal space au, predator-prey dynamic, thriller

synopsis: you enter an abandoned mall looking for a thrill, but the deeper you explore, the more the walls start to twist and the exits begin to vanish. when you hear footsteps following close behind, you meet sunghoon—a boy who seems to know this place too well and who enjoys chasing you a little too much. the longer you run, the more you wonder if you’re escaping him… or being led exactly where he wants you.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut(mirror sex, oral sex (f. receiving), face-fucking / oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, chase kink, choking, hair pulling, manhandling, size kink, overstimulation, everything is consensual), yandere themes, obsessive behavior, intense chase sequences, predator-prey dynamic, backrooms/liminal space horror, cursing, mean!evil!sunghoon, manipulation, stalking, supernatural(?) filming without consent, reader's hair is of length that can be braided and pulled, pls lmk if there's anything i skipped!

note: this is more of a liminal space au and a liiiitle darker than the jw one. it has more smut too oops(i think i got better?). i hope you like reading this, i can't wait to hear your thoughts about it! enjoyyy

word count: 10.2k

backrooms au collection

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you pressed your hand against the cool glass doors of the abandoned mall, your breath fogging the grimy surface for just a second before disappearing. 

"well, this is either going to be amazing or the worst decision i've made this month," you muttered to yourself, the sound of your own voice strangely comforting in the empty parking lot. 

you gave the doors a push, wincing as the rusted hinges screamed in protest. "okay, okay, i'm coming in. no need to announce me."

the smell hit you immediately—that distinctive abandoned building smell of mildew, dust, and something faintly metallic. you pulled your shirt collar up over your nose. 

"ugh, smells like a grandma's basement crossed with a hardware store," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you stepped further inside.

your flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing the frozen-in-time horror of the abandoned mall. this was your thing—haunted places, urban legends, liminal spaces. you chased them for fun. your camera was clipped to your bag, already recording, the thrill crawling under your skin like electricity.

"damn," you breathed, taking in the collapsed storefronts and creepy, dust-covered mannequins. one particularly unsettling female mannequin had toppled face-first onto a broken jewelry counter. 

as you moved deeper, the air grew thicker. you wiped sweat from your brow despite the chill. "why is it so damn humid in here?" you grumbled, pausing to shake out your damp shirt. 

that's when you noticed the escalator—the broken, rusted escalator was moving. your blood ran cold. 

"no. no way. that's not..." the metal steps groaned as they jerked upward. "okay, new plan. we're leaving now."

you fumbled for your phone, hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it. the screen glitched violently before freezing on a distorted image of your own terrified face. 

"what the hell? what the actual hell?" you whispered, slapping the device against your palm like that might fix it. when you looked up, the hallway had changed. the entrance was gone. 

"no, no, no. this isn't funny anymore."

you started walking faster, then running, your sneakers slapping against the cracked tiles. 

"left here... then right... then..." you skidded to a stop in front of the same dented soda can you'd passed three times now. "this isn't possible," you panted, kicking the can in frustration. it clattered against the wall with a hollow metallic ping that echoed far too long.

that's when you heard them—footsteps that weren't yours. you froze, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

"hello?" you called out, immediately regretting it. the footsteps paused, then changed direction, coming toward you. "okay, okay, not hello then," you whispered, backing away slowly. "just... just passing through. don't mind me."

but the footsteps kept coming, maintaining that same steady, unhurried pace. you turned and ran, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

"there has to be a way out, there has to be..." you chanted under your breath as you took turn after turn, each corridor stretching longer than the last. 

the footsteps behind you never sped up, never slowed down—just kept coming, always the same distance behind you no matter how fast you ran.

your body locked in place, muscles coiled tight like springs about to snap. the air seemed to vibrate with a supernatural, suppressing hum, crawling under your skin until you could feel it in your teeth. when you tried to speak, your tongue felt thick and useless in your mouth. 

"w-who's there?" you finally managed, the words barely louder than a whisper. your voice sounded alien to your own ears—thin and frayed at the edges.

the footsteps came again, slow and deliberate, each one measured to land just as your heartbeat stuttered. you spun around so fast your vision blurred at the edges, flashlight beam slicing through the darkness like a knife. empty space stared back at you. 

"stop it," you demanded, hating how your voice cracked. "this isn't funny!"

silence answered you. then suddenly, a soft exhale that wasn't your own, came from somewhere just behind your left shoulder. you whirled again, nearly losing your balance as your sneakers squeaked against the tiles. still nothing. your breath came in ragged gasps now, each inhale tasting like dust and something metallic. the back of your neck prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

you broke into a run before you could think better of it, legs pumping wildly as you careened around corners. your lungs burned, your throat raw, but you couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. that's when you noticed it: the sound of your own panicked breathing was being perfectly mimicked just half a second behind you. your stomach dropped. 

"no no no," you chanted under your breath, skidding around another corner only to find yourself face-to-face with—

"finally."

the voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. you staggered back, flashlight beam jerking upward to illuminate the figure leaning against a crumbling storefront. a boy—no, a young man—stood bathed in the flickering glow of a broken neon sign, his head tilted in quiet amusement. he was beautiful in a way that made your skin crawl, too perfect, too untouched by the decay surrounding him.

"you took your time getting here," he said, pushing off from the wall with unnatural grace. his voice was smooth, almost melodic, but it set you on edge. "i was starting to think you'd never arrive."

your mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before you forced out, "who are you? what is this place?" 

the questions tumbled out in a rush, your voice gaining strength even as your hands shook. "why can't i get out?"

he didn't answer right away, instead taking a slow step forward. you noticed with dawning horror that his footsteps made no sound—no crunch of glass, no echo in the empty space. it was like watching a ghost move. 

"names are so... limiting," he mused, circling you with predatory grace. "but you can call me sunghoon. as for this place?" he gestured lazily to the decaying mall around you. "let's call it my playground."

your breath hitched. "let me out," you demanded, taking a step back for every one he took forward. "i didn't mean to come here. i just—"

"you just couldn't resist poking where you didn't belong," he finished for you, lips quirking into something that wasn't quite a smile. "curious little thing, aren't you? that's what brought you here. that's what keeps you here."

a cold sweat broke out across your back. "what do you mean 'keeps me here'?"

sunghoon's eyes gleamed in the dim light as he took another soundless step closer. "you've noticed by now, haven't you? how the halls change when you're not looking? how the doors disappear?" he tilted his head, studying your reaction with unsettling intensity. "this place... it likes you. and so do i."

your stomach twisted uncomfortably. "let me go," you repeated, voice trembling. "please."

for a moment, something like genuine surprise flickered across his face before being replaced by that same eerie calm. 

"oh sweet thing," he murmured, almost pitying. "you still don't understand. you can't leave. not unless i let you." he took another step forward, now close enough that you could see the unnatural way the light refracted in his eyes. "but where's the fun in that?"

your body moved before your mind could catch up—spinning on your heel and sprinting down the nearest corridor. behind you, sunghoon's laughter followed, rich and warm and utterly terrifying. 

"run all you want!" he called after you, voice carrying unnaturally through the empty space. "you'll only end up back with me!"

your vision blurred with unshed tears as you ran, sneakers pounding against tile after tile. the mall stretched and warped around you, corridors twisting in impossible ways, but you didn't stop. couldn't stop. not when you could still feel his gaze burning into your back, not when his voice seemed to whisper from the very walls themselves.

"that's it," the mall itself seemed to croon as you turned another corner only to find yourself facing a dead end. "run. struggle. it only makes the game more fun."

your lungs burned as you tore through corridors that curved at impossible angles, the walls warping like melted wax as you passed. the floors beneath you changed without warning—one moment your boots slammed against cracked linoleum, the next you were sprinting across pristine marble that looked freshly polished, your own terrified reflection staring back at you from its glossy surface. your flashlight beam jerked wildly as you swung it from side to side, the light catching on vines that slithered through broken ceiling tiles like snakes, their leaves rustling despite the stale, motionless air.

"this isn't possible," you gasped, skidding to a halt as you reached a fork in the hallway that hadn't been there seconds ago. 

your pulse roared in your ears as you frantically tried to decide—left or right, left or right—before choosing at random and plunging down the left passage. the walls here were lined with storefronts from different eras, some sporting 80s neon signs still glowing brightly, others with boarded-up windows covered in decade-old missing person posters. your breath hitched when you recognised your own face staring back from one of the yellowed flyers, the dates smudged beyond recognition.

you ducked through a broken security gate into what might have once been a children's play area, the colourful foam flooring squishing unnaturally underfoot like living flesh. the scent of artificial strawberries and disinfectant assaulted your nose, so strong it made your eyes water as you crawled beneath a frozen turnstile, the metal bars ice-cold against your palms. 

when you scrambled to your feet and looked back, your stomach dropped—the hallway you'd just come through was gone, replaced by smooth, unbroken drywall still smelling of fresh paint.

"i like watching you panic."

the voice came from directly behind you, closer than anyone should have been able to get without you hearing. 

you whirled around so fast you nearly fell, your back hitting the wall as your flashlight illuminated sunghoon leaning casually against a carousel pole, one arm draped over a frozen plastic horse with eerily lifelike glass eyes. he looked different under the stark white light—his features sharper, his smile showing just a hint too many teeth. 

"makes you look real," he murmured, tilting his head as he studied the way your chest heaved with panicked breaths.

your fingers dug into the wall behind you, searching for purchase against the suddenly slick surface. 

"what are you?" you demanded, hating how your voice shook. "why are you doing this?"

sunghoon pushed off from the carousel with that unnatural grace, taking a slow step forward. the children's ride creaked to life behind him, the eerie sound of carnival music starting up as the horses began bobbing in jerky circles. 

"you came looking for excitement, didn't you?" he said, his voice almost gentle. "for something beyond your boring little world." another step closer, his shadow stretching long and wrong across the floor. "well, here i am."

your muscles tensed, every instinct screaming to run even as some deeper, more primal part of you recognised the danger of showing fear to a predator. but when his eyes flickered black for just an instant—just long enough for you to question whether you'd really seen it—you broke, spinning away and sprinting for the nearest exit sign.

his laughter followed you, rich and warm and utterly wrong in this twisted place. "run, run away," he called after you, the words curling around you like smoke. "it's so much more fun when you run."

and you did run—because you were starting to understand the unspoken rules of this nightmare. running kept you in the game. running meant you were still playing instead of being played. but most of all, you ran because some small, terrified part of you knew that if you ever stopped—if you ever let him catch you—you might never leave this place at all.

the corridors blurred together as you fled, your vision tunnelling with adrenaline. you barely registered the way the walls pulsed faintly, or how the exit signs always seemed to lead you in circles. all that mattered was the burning in your legs and the single thought repeating in your head like a mantra: don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

because stopping meant facing what was following you. and that was something you weren't ready to do.

the concept of days blurred like wet ink on your makeshift calendar, the marks you'd scratched into a dressing room wall with a bobby pin becoming meaningless after the seventh "day." 

your hands shook less now when mapping the mall's shifting corridors, having learnt which walls would stay solid and which might disappear if you blinked too long. the lingerie store's plush pink fitting room had become your primary shelter, its locking mechanism still functional if you jammed a hair tie in just right. you'd lined the floor with stolen silk robes and bras as makeshift bedding, their lace edges tickling your wrists when you turned in your restless sleep.

"northwest corridor floods at 3:17 pm," you muttered, adding the note to your growing collection of observations. the mall kept its own time—you'd watched the water rise like clockwork through the broken tiles near the food court every "afternoon," though the clocks all remained stubbornly stuck at 4:37. "elevator music plays for exactly six minutes before the—"

a sudden burst of the same static like buzzing filled the air. your body reacted before your mind could process—muscles locking, breath hitching. he was near. the air thickened with the weirdly tempting combination of vanilla and matchsticks, that hadn't been there moments before. you pressed your back against the fitting room wall, clutching your notes to your chest as if the fragile paper could protect you.

"mapping my home?" his voice oozed through the thin partition, rich with amusement. "how... domestic of you." a single finger tapped against the other side of the door in a mockery of knocking. "may i see?"

your throat closed. the hair on your arms stood straight up as the temperature dropped sharply. "no," you managed after a too-long pause, immediately cringing at how small your voice sounded.

sunghoon's mean laughter wrapped around you like smoke. "still defiant. i adore that about you." the fitting room's lights flickered in time with his words. "but you're missing the best parts—the service tunnels behind the east wing, the hidden staircase in the old toy store." he paused, then almost conspiratorially whispered: "i could show you."

"i'd rather starve," you snapped, immediately regretting it when the entire row of fitting rooms rattled like something enormous had brushed against them.

"now why would you say that," he chided, voice suddenly coming from directly above you. you jerked your head up to see his face partially phased through the ceiling tiles, upside down and smiling. "when i've been so generous with my hospitality?"

you screamed without meaning to, scrambling backward into the corner as he dissolved through the ceiling like ink in water, reforming upright before you. he looked different today—his usually pristine white shirt was slightly rumpled, the first button undone to reveal a sliver of collarbone that looked almost too sharp and human, but not quite.

"you—you're not real," you stammered, fingers digging into the silk robes beneath you. "this place is messing with my head."

sunghoon tilted his head, the motion eerily smooth. "oh darling," he sighed, crouching to your level with unnatural grace. "i'm the most real thing here." 

his hand hovered near your cheek without touching, close enough that you felt the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. "don't you want to know why you're special? why the mall chose you?"

your breath came in shallow pants as you pressed harder against the wall. "i didn't choose this."

"but you did." his smile widened just slightly too far. "all those late nights researching liminal spaces, chasing that delicious thrill of almost-danger." he leaned in, his breath oddly scentless against your ear. "you whispered your invitation every time you clicked on another article, every time you snuck into places you didn't belong."

a sudden crash from elsewhere in the mall made you both turn. sunghoon's expression darkened momentarily before smoothing back into pleasant calm. "speaking of invitations," he murmured, standing abruptly. "i have to attend to something. but we'll continue this... later."

he was gone between one blink and the next, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and a single red string tied around your pinky finger that hadn't been there before. you stared at it, nausea rising when you realised it matched exactly the shade of the lingerie store's signature colour.

the gifts from him became more frequent after that encounter. you'd wake to find your stolen vending machine snacks replaced with gourmet meals still steaming on fine china. your worn out sneakers disappeared one night, replaced by pristine red shoes that fit perfectly. worst of all were the notes—appearing in your own handwriting on mirrors after you'd looked away:

"you smiled in your sleep today.""i love how your voice cracks when you're scared.""say my name again. i liked how it sounded in your mouth."

one "evening" as you huddled in the makeup aisle, exhaustion finally dragging you under, you dreamt of him properly for the first time. not as the predator, but as something almost human—sitting cross-legged beside you, gently braiding your hair while humming a lullaby you vaguely remembered from childhood.

"why won't you let me leave?" you asked in the dream, surprised by how calm your voice sounded.

sunghoon's fingers stilled in your hair. "because you belong here," he murmured, lips brushing your temple. "with me." his hands slid down to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing under your eyes. 

you woke with a start to find your hair actually braided, a silky red ribbon woven through it. the security mirror above showed sunghoon's reflection sitting behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. when you turned, there was nothing there—but the ribbon remained, smelling faintly of his vanilla and matchsticks scent.

"stop fighting it," the latest mirror message read that morning, the words appearing letter by letter as you watched, like invisible fingers tracing them. "you're mine already."

your reflection in the glass looked different—darker eyes, sharper cheekbones, lips slightly redder than they should be. when you reached up to touch your face, your reflection smiled a second too late.

you woke with a start, your body arching off the makeshift bed as the last waves of pleasure still crackled through your nerves like live wires. the dream—god, the dream—had been so vivid you could still feel the phantom press of sunghoon's lips against your inner thigh, the teasing scrape of his teeth against your neck. your hand flew to your neck instinctively, half-expecting to find marks, but your skin was unbroken. unlike your underwear, which was soaked through with undeniable evidence of your arousal.

"fuck," you hissed into the empty fitting room, pressing your thighs together as another aftershock trembled through you. 

the lingerie store's pink lighting suddenly felt too intimate, the silk robes you'd repurposed as bedding clinging to your sweat-slicked skin like a lover's caress. you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over tangled fabric in your haste to escape the suffocating space. "this isn't happening. this isn't—"

the mall greeted you with unnatural stillness, the usual flickering lights frozen in a perfect, eerie glow. even the ever-present hum of that weird buzz had gone silent, leaving a vacuum of sound that made your pulse roar in your ears. you didn't bother dressing properly—just yanked on a discarded denim jacket over your sleep shirt and stormed into the main corridor, bare feet slapping against cold tile.

"sunghoon!" your voice shattered the silence, bouncing off the concave walls of the empty mall. "get out here and explain what the hell you just did to me!"

for a long moment nothing happened and you felt a little dumb for deciding to approach him because weren’t you supposed to be hiding from him?

just then a soft, familiar chuckle came from directly behind you, so close you felt his breath stir the hair at your nape. "i didn't hear any complaints in the dream," his voice purred, laced with smug amusement. "quite the opposite, actually."

you whirled around so fast you nearly lost your balance, coming face-to-face with the living embodiment of your shame. sunghoon looked unfairly put together, leaning against a shuttered kiosk with his arms crossed over his chest. his usual white shirt was unbuttoned one more than necessary, revealing a tantalising sliver of pale collarbone that your traitorous eyes immediately tracked. when your gaze snapped back up to his face, he was smirking.

"stop that," you snapped, gesturing wildly at his general existence. "stop—whatever mind control shit you're doing. i didn't ask for this."

his dark eyes gleamed under the artificial lighting as he pushed off the kiosk, taking slow, measured steps toward you. 

"mind control?" he repeated, tilting his head like a curious predator. "is that what you think this is?" another step closer, his polished shoes clicking against the tile in a rhythm that matched your accelerating heartbeat. "or are you just upset because you liked it too much?"

your face burned. "i didn't—that wasn't—" the words died in your throat as he closed the final distance between you, his scent wrapping around you.

sunghoon's smile widened as he reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with deceptive gentleness. "you're a terrible liar," he murmured, fingers lingering just a second too long against your heated skin. "i felt every shudder, every gasp." his voice dropped to a whisper. "heard my name on your lips when you—"

"shut up!" you slapped his hand away, your chest heaving. "what are you? some kind of sex demon? ghost? fucking—incubus?" the words tumbled out in an angry rush, your voice cracking on the last syllable.

for a brief moment, something dark flickered behind his eyes—something hungry that made your survival instincts scream. then it was gone, replaced by that same infuriating amusement. 

"so many questions," he mused, circling you with predatory grace. "but you don't get to ask the questions here." his hand shot out unexpectedly, catching your wrist in an ice-cold grip. "this place belongs to me." his thumb pressed against your fluttering pulse point. "and now... so do you."

you yanked your arm free with a startled gasp, stumbling backward. "like hell i do," you spat, but your voice lacked conviction, still breathless from the dream, from his proximity, from the way your body reacted to him despite your terror.

sunghoon's laugh was low and knowing as he watched you back away. "run if you want," he said, spreading his arms in mock invitation. "we both know how this ends."

and once again you started running away from him, this time against your will. it felt like some force was controlling the pumping of your legs, bare feet slapping against suddenly glossy tiles as you sprinted down the nearest corridor. the mall seemed to shift around you, walls stretching unnaturally as you skidded around corners, your breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. you didn't stop until you crashed through the swinging doors of an abandoned department store, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and decaying fabric.

the mannequins here were arranged in a creepy arrangement, their plastic faces all turned toward the entrance as if they'd been waiting for you. your stomach lurched as you ducked between racks of yellowed wedding dresses, their lace catching on your arms like grasping fingers. the silence was absolute except for your own ragged breathing—until a soft creak echoed from near the fitting rooms, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being slowly pulled down.

"come out, come out," sunghoon's voice crooned from the darkness, dripping with false sweetness. you pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a whimper as his voice dropped to that sinful register from your dream. "i'll make you feel good." he paused, then lowered his voice: "just like i did in the dream."

your thighs pressed together instinctively at the memory, drawing another frustrated groan from your lips as you lunged for the mirror-lined changing room, slamming the flimsy door behind you. the small space was a hall of mirrors, your own panicked reflection repeating endlessly in every direction—pupils blown wide, chest heaving, lips parted around shaky breaths. 

then sudden movement caught your eye in one of the far mirrors. his reflection stood behind yours, hands resting possessively on your shoulders, chin propped on your head like you were some cherished doll.

"n-no," you stammered, backpedalling until your shoulder blades hit the opposite mirror with a rattling thud. "this isn't real. you're not—"

"real?" sunghoon finished, stepping out of the mirror behind you as easily as walking through an open door. his hands came down on either side of your head, caging you in without actually touching. "oh sweetheart," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "i think we're past that, don't you?"

your breath came in short, sharp gasps as he leaned in closer, his body heat—or lack thereof—seeping through your thin sleep clothes. "running again?" he teased, tilting his head to study your flushed face. "you're cute when you think you have options."

before you could respond, tell him you were being controlled when you ran this time(probably by him since he seemed to enjoy the chase), one hand slid down to cradle your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip with terrifying gentleness. his other knee slotted between yours, spreading your legs with effortless pressure that made your traitorous body arch toward him instinctively. 

the memory of the dream—his mouth between your thighs, those long fingers working you open—flashed through your mind with embarrassing clarity.

"go on," he whispered, lips hovering just above yours. "scream. see if anyone hears you."

but no sound came out, your throat closing around a choked whimper instead. sunghoon's smile turned victorious as he took in your trembling form, your pupils blown wide with conflicting emotions. 

"look at you," he murmured, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hiking it up around his hip with casual dominance. "all flushed and wide-eyed." his thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling the rabbit-quick beat there. 

your body remembered the pleasure he'd given you in the dream, remembered how good it felt to surrender to those clever hands and that mocking mouth. as if reading your thoughts, sunghoon leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath your ear. 

"i could make it real," he promised, voice dropping to that low, sinful register that made your stomach clench. "just say the word."

his hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips brushing the damp fabric of your underwear, and you realised with horrifying clarity that you were considering it. considering letting this beautiful monster have you right here in this cursed changing room, surrounded by endless reflections of his hungry gaze. the thought should have terrified you. it did terrify you.

so why were you leaning into his touch? why did your hands find their way to his chest, fingers curling into the crisp fabric of his shirt? why did your body feel like it was burning up from the inside out?

“i-fuck—i want it.”

your breath hitched violently when his fingers slipped beneath your waistband with terrifying familiarity, the cool metal of his rings pressing against your overheated skin. 

his fingers traced the crease of your thigh first, maddeningly slow, the calloused pads dragging up so deliberately you could feel every ridge of his fingerprints against your oversensitive skin. you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste copper, but the whimper slipped out anyway, high and pathetic in the quiet of the changing room.

"fuck," sunghoon muttered, smirking against your ear as his breath fanned cool across your flushed skin. his fingers dipped lower through your slick with a soft, obscene sound that made your stomach clench with shame. "so wet already." 

his voice was low, amused, as he brought his glistening fingers up between you, turning them in the flickering light. "did you start dripping the second you saw me? or were you already this worked up from your little dream?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliation burning through you hotter than any pleasure. "i didn't—"

"liar," he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw that made your knees weaken. his fingers returned to circle your clit with torturous precision, the pressure just shy of enough as he watched your face intently. 

"i felt it. the second you woke up—all hot and bothered, thighs squeezing together like you could hide how much you wanted me." his teeth scraped your earlobe, the sharp sting making you gasp. "admit it."

your thighs tensed instinctively, trying to close, but his knee stayed firm between them, keeping you spread open and vulnerable to his exploring fingers. "n-no," you stammered, hands scrabbling against the mirror behind you for purchase. "you—you put those thoughts in my head. you made me—"

sunghoon laughed, a dark, velvety sound that vibrated through your chest where he pressed against you. 

"oh, sweet thing," he murmured, lips trailing down your neck as his fingers finally, finally pushed inside, curling just right to make your back arch off the mirror. "i didn't put anything in your head that wasn't already there." 

he pumped his fingers slowly, watching with rapt attention as your mouth fell open on a silent moan. "you've thought about this, haven't you? all these days in the dark, when you thought no one was watching?"

your head fell back against the mirror with a dull thud as he added a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously. the reflections around you showed a dozen versions of yourself—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure you didn't want to feel. 

"look at you," sunghoon murmured, his free hand gripping your chin to force your gaze to the mirrors. "see how pretty you are like this? see how your body begs for me?"

his fingers sped up, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit in a steady, relentless rhythm that had your hips jerking without permission. your moans slipped free—quiet at first, then louder and more broken when his thumb pressed harder, circling just right. "f-fuck—"

"there it is," he breathed, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you gasped.

 his free hand slid up to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, his thumb tipping your chin up to watch yourself in the mirrors. "come on, baby. let me see you fall apart."

you shook your head weakly, but your body betrayed you, hips rolling, back arching as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, "i don't—i can't—"

"you can," he growled, fingers thrusting harder, curling just so. "and you will." his lips found your ear again, voice dropping to that sinful whisper that made your stomach flip. 

"come on my fingers like a good girl. show me how well you can listen."

the command, coupled with the filthy sound of his fingers moving in you, tipped you over the edge. pleasure ripped through you like a live wire, your cunt clenching around his fingers as you sobbed his name into the humid air. he didn't let up, fucking you through it with ruthless precision, his lips ghosting your ear as you trembled and shook.

"told you," he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction as he finally slowed his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks. his fingers slid out with a wet sound, bringing them to his lips to lick clean with deliberate slowness. "fuck, you taste even better than in the dreams."

you were still panting, oversensitive and dazed, when he laughed—soft and mean—and sank to his knees between your legs. the sight of him there sent a fresh wave of heat through you. 

"cute," he murmured, before biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. the sharp pain melted into pleasure almost instantly, your traitorous body arching toward his mouth.

then his tongue was on you, licking a broad stripe through your folds with terrifying precision. it was just like the dream—his mouth hot and demanding, tongue sliding over your slit like he'd studied you, memorised the shape of your body in every twisted corner of this place. he started slow, languid licks that made you whine, your hips jerking forward on instinct—

he growled, low and guttural, hands digging into the backs of your thighs to lock you in place. "stay fucking still," he muttered into your pussy, voice raw with annoyance. "or i'll stop, and we both know you don't want that."

the threat shouldn't have worked. it shouldn't have made your stomach flip with something dangerously close to want. but you froze, hands fisting in your own hair as he dove back in, eating you like a starved thing—messy and loud and ravenous. his tongue curled inside you, lips sucking your clit until it throbbed, until tears stung your lashes from how good it felt, until you were gasping out broken little apologies you didn't even understand.

"please—" you choked out, unsure if you were begging him to stop or never stop, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay still.

he ignored you, his grip tightening as he licked a stripe up your soaked centre. "you say that like you have a choice," he murmured against your skin, the vibration making you jerk. "like you're not already mine in every way that matters." his teeth grazed your clit, the sharp edge of pleasure-pain making you cry out. 

when he finally pulled away—lips shiny and chin dripping with you—he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned up at you like he'd just won some grand prize. 

"that's more like it," he whispered, stroking a finger through your folds one more time just to watch you twitch. "told you." his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, making you whimper as he rose to his full height, crowding you back against the mirrors. 

"you were made to fall for me. every part of you."

as he stepped back into the mirror, literally melting into the glass like it was water, his final words followed you into the heavy silence.

“sweet dreams, darling.”

and you knew, with sinking dread, that they would be. he would see to that.

you woke up sprawled on the cold tile floor of an unfamiliar department, your body aching in ways that made heat crawl up your neck. your thighs stuck together uncomfortably, the fabric of your shorts damp in a way that had nothing to do with sweat. your throat felt raw, like you'd been screaming, but the last clear memory you had was sunghoon's fingers digging into your hips, his mouth—

"fuck," you hissed, slamming a fist against the floor hard enough to send a jolt of pain up your arm. 

the sharp sting grounded you momentarily before the memories came flooding back—his hands everywhere, his voice whispering filth in your ear, the way your body had arched against him despite your screaming mind. you dragged your nails down your own arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. "stop it. stop thinking about it."

but your skin still burned where he'd touched you, your pulse still throbbed between your legs in a traitorous rhythm. 

you ripped a strip of fabric from your already tattered shirt with shaking hands, tying your tangled hair back with jerky movements. the scrap smelled faintly of his scent, that same scent that seemed to cling to every surface in this godforsaken mall. you threw it away violently, only to watch in horror as the fabric slithered back into your pocket like a living thing.

"i hate you," you whispered to the empty air, unsure if you were talking to sunghoon or yourself.

you walked with purpose this time, dragging your house keys along the walls to carve deep grooves in the paint. one scratch for every step, counting under your breath like a prisoner marking days. 

"one hundred twenty-seven. one hundred twenty-eight." the numbers kept you sane, gave you something to focus on besides the way your body still hummed with residual pleasure. "one hundred twenty—"

the scratches disappeared before your eyes, the wall healing itself like fresh skin over a wound. you screamed then, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the empty corridors. 

"stop fucking with me!" your voice cracked on the last word, bouncing back to you in mocking repetition.

hours passed without any sign of sunghoon, and the silence grew teeth. it pressed against your eardrums until you found yourself humming just to fill the void, jumping at every creak of settling infrastructure. part of you—a traitorous, weak part—missed the sound of his voice, the way it curled around your name like a physical touch. 

you shook your head violently, as if you could dislodge the thought. "shut up," you hissed to yourself, digging your nails into your palms. "just shut the fuck up."

that's when you found the theatre. it materialised at the end of a hallway that definitely hadn't been there yesterday, its ornate double doors gleaming under the emergency exit lights. the sign above read "starlight cinema" in peeling gold letters, though you'd never seen this place during your days of mapping the mall. 

when you stepped closer, the doors swung inward with a whisper of movement, revealing a cavernous space of red velvet seats and a screen that took up the entire far wall.

your feet moved against your will, carrying you forward like a sleepwalker. the moment you crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach drop.

inside, the theatre was pristine—crimson velvet seats untouched by dust, the screen glowing faintly in the darkness. it smelled like fake butter and childhood nostalgia, the scent so incongruously normal it made your chest ache. 

you sank into a plush seat without meaning to, your exhausted body folding into the comfort despite every warning bell ringing in your skull.

the screen flickered to life with a soft whir, showing shaky home footage of your bedroom. you watched, transfixed, as you saw yourself working on your studydesk, the scene not older than a year or two. the angle was skewed like someone was watching from the shower. 

"stop," you whispered, fingers digging into the armrests.

you in your bedroom last year, dancing to a song only you could hear as you got ready for something. you crying in a car, your face illuminated by passing streetlights. you sleeping peacefully, the camera lingering on the rise and fall of your chest. hundreds of clips, some from moments you remembered vividly, others from mundane instants you'd never think to recall. and then—

you at your birthday party, blowing out candles for an age that you hadn’t turned yet. you old and grey, rocking slowly on a porch swing that didn't exist.

your blood turned to ice in your veins. "no," you whispered, fingers digging into the velvet armrests. "what the— this isn't—"

"i recorded all your best parts.

the seat beside you creaked as weight settled into it. you didn't need to look to know who was there. the scent of vanilla and matchsticks enveloped you first and then that oppressive buzz filled the air. then his fingers were prying your hands away from your face, his grip deceptively gentle.

"you see now, don't you?" sunghoon murmured, his breath warm against your ear. on screen, the footage showed you kissing him passionately, your hands fisted in his hair like you never wanted to let go. “i want to show you how pretty you look.”

"shhh," he soothed, pressing a finger to your lips just as you were about to scream at him. on screen, the footage changed to show last night—your head thrown back in pleasure, his mouth between your thighs. 

"does it matter? you liked it. you came so hard you cried." his thumb brushed your bottom lip. "say thank you."

the words bubbled up in your throat before you could stop them. "thank you," you whispered, hating yourself even as your legs fell open slightly.

sunghoon smiled, slow and satisfied. "good girl." he stood abruptly, leaving you cold and aching in the theatre seat. "i'll be seeing you soon," he promised as he faded into the shadows. "very soon."

the screen went dark, then flickered back on to show real-time footage of you sitting there, your face flushed with desire and shame. as you watched, you couldn’t comprehend the rush of emotions going through you.

you staggered as you stood up, knocking over the popcorn stand in your rush to escape. the doors slammed shut behind you with finality, but it didn't matter—the images were burned into your retinas, playing on loop behind your eyelids every time you blinked. your future. your past. all his.

worst of all was the tiny, traitorous part of you that had lingered on one particular clip—the one where he'd kissed you so deeply you'd melted into it, your fingers tangled in his hair like you never wanted to let go.

that part of you wondered if resistance was even worth it anymore.

the maintenance corridor behind the shuttered arcade became your new hide out spot, its walls vibrating with a constant electrical hum that drowned out the mall's other noises.

you'd barricaded the door with a broken air hockey table, your back pressed against cold metal as you spread stolen flyers across the concrete floor. a penknife trembled in your hand as you carved routes into the paper, mapping every loop and dead end you'd encountered, marking each mirrored surface with a small 'x' that grew more frantic with each addition. 

for the past few hours you had been constantly muttering patterns to yourself—three flickers of the lights meant he was nearby, that weird overhead buzzing preceded his appearances by seven seconds exactly, he always emerged from the largest reflective surface in any given room.

you'd figured it out through sleepless nights and panicked observation—sunghoon wasn't just haunting the mall. according to all the myths and stories you had read in your previous researched for an adventure, he was some type of a mirror entity, his presence woven into the mall’s very architecture. and mirrors were his doorways. 

the realisation should have brought comfort because knowledge was power, wasn't it? but instead it settled in your stomach like a stone. how many reflective surfaces had you passed in your old life without realising he might be watching from the other side? how many shop windows, bathroom mirrors, even puddles on the street had been potential gateways for those hungry eyes?

the mall had continued shifting around you in subtle, malicious ways. you'd wake to find new corridors branching off familiar paths, their walls lined with mirrors angled just so to create infinite reflections. exit signs flickered and rearranged themselves into words that made your skin crawl when you accidentally read them aloud—"stay" one morning, "mine" the next. 

you took to covering every reflective surface you passed with stolen clothing, your fingers shaking whenever you caught your own exhausted reflection in a shard of broken glass.

but the most terrifying change wasn't in the mall—it was in you. you started noticing the careful patterns in his stalking, the way he'd linger exactly three steps behind you in security mirror reflections before manifesting. how he'd pause near certain corridors, giving you time to notice escape routes that always, always led you somewhere worse. 

he wasn't just chasing. he was leading you to where he wanted you to be. he had a sick fascination with chasing you. the realisation curled inside you like smoke, poisoning every thought even as your treacherous body began responding differently to his appearances—your pulse racing not just from fear, but from something hotter, darker, more shameful.

as you returned to reality from your spiralling thoughts, you realised that you hadn’t seen him in quite a while. it had been a few days and he had been pretty much laying low since the theatre incident. 

so, you carefully removed the obstructions from the door and stepped outside to see what was going on. just as you turned right, a corridor appeared between one blink and the next—a stretch of space you were sure hadn’t been there yesterday, lined with rusting kiddie rides and claw machines that shuddered to life as you passed. 

neon lights flickered overhead, painting the walls in harsh pinks and blues, the air full of mechanical chirps of arcade games activating without coins . your fingers tightened around the flashlight until the plastic groaned. every instinct screamed trap, trap, trap—he’d laid this path like a fisherman unspooling line, waiting to reel you in. and yet, your feet kept moving.

deeper into the arcade, a toy store’s entrance gaped dark ahead, its broken animatronic mascot slumped in the corner like a discarded puppet. you stepped inside before you could chicken out, the air thick with the scent of aged plastic and something faintly metallic. 

"okay, seriously," you muttered, kicking a deflated basketball out of your path. it hit a shelf of waterlogged stuffed animals, their fur patchy with mold. 

"how many times do i have to ask? why me?" your voice bounced off the ceiling, too loud in the silence. "why not just pick someone who'd actually want this fucked up—"

"because you're mine."

his voice came from everywhere at once—from the cracked speakers of a nearby karaoke machine, from the mouth of a decapitated doll at your feet, from the hot press of lips against your ear a second before hands locked around your waist. you gasped, elbow flying back to connect with nothing but air as he materialised behind you with a sharp smile.

"most guests just die," sunghoon continued, walking you backward until the checkout counter dug into your spine. his knee slid between yours, forcing your legs apart casually. 

"scream themselves hoarse begging for doors that won't open. but you—" his teeth grazed your pulse point, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper. "you keep fighting. even when your pretty little cunt drips for me. even when you moan my name in your sleep."

your flashlight cracked against his cheek before you could think better of it, the sound echoeing like a gunshot.

for one terrifying second, the entire mall went still. the flickering lights froze. the distant hum of electricity cut out. then sunghoon's hand was fisting in your hair, yanking your head back so hard white spots danced in your vision.

"oh, darling," he purred, pupils swallowing his irises whole. "you're gonna regret that."

the world tilted as he spun you around, your front slamming into the counter hard enough to bruise. his body pressed flush against yours, every inch of him radiating predatory intent. you could feel him, all of him—the thick length of his cock straining against his pants, pressed snug against your ass. your breath hitched traitorously.

"still so fucking feisty," he mused, grinding forward just to hear you gasp. one hand kept yours pinned to the counter while the other slid down to squeeze your throat—not cutting off air, just reminding you he could. "gonna have to get rid of that nasty attitude, huh?"

you thrashed, but he just chuckled darkly, his free hand making quick work of his belt. the clink of metal hitting tile sent a shiver down your spine. when his cock sprang free, heavy and flushed against your lower back, your thighs pressed together instinctively.

"none of that," he tsked, delivering a sharp smack to your ass that made you yelp. the sting bloomed hot under your skin, mixing with the shameful pulse between your legs. "on your knees. now."

when you hesitated, his grip on your hair tightened, forcing you down until your knees hit cracked linoleum. the pain barely registered—not with the way he was staring down at you with dark hunger. his cock bobbed inches from your face, the tip glistening with precum.

"open," he demanded, thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

you clenched your jaw shut, glaring up at him through your lashes. bad move. his smile turned razor-sharp as he leaned down, his free hand slipping between your legs to rub two fingers against your soaked panties.

"really?" he mocked, feeling you jerk against his touch. "gonna play tough when you're this wet? fucking dripping just from me manhandling you?" his fingers pressed harder, drawing a broken moan from your lips. "open your mouth or i stop. your choice."

the threat shouldn't have worked. it shouldn't have made your stomach flip. but when his fingers started to pull away, your lips parted on a whimper.

"good girl," he crooned, sliding his cock between your lips before you could change your mind. the stretch burned—he was thicker than you expected, the head bumping the back of your throat immediately. tears pricked your eyes as you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs.

sunghoon groaned, his hips jerking forward instinctively. "fuck, look at you," he rasped, tilting your chin up so he could watch your lips stretch around him. "taking me so pretty even when you're pouting. gonna ruin you for anyone else."

his thrusts started slow—shallow pumps that let you adjust to his size. but when you hollowed your cheeks experimentally, his control shattered. suddenly he was fucking into your mouth with abandon, the head of his cock hitting your throat with every other thrust. tears streamed down your face as you choked, spit dripping down your chin in messy strands.

"that's it," he praised, fingers tightening in your hair. "take it. you love this, don't you? love how fucking filthy you look right now." his voice dropped to a growl. "bet you'd come just from this if i touched you."

the humiliating part was that he wasn't wrong. your hips rocked forward uselessly, seeking friction against the air. sunghoon laughed, the bastard, but didn't give you what you wanted, his thrusts only growing erratic.

"gonna cum," he warned, pulling back just enough to let you breathe. "swallow every drop or i'll make you lick it off the floor."

you barely had time to nod before he was coming, hot spurts flooding your tongue. you swallowed obediently, your throat working around him. his groan was downright sinful, his hips stuttering as he milked himself dry on your tongue.

when he finally pulled out, you gasped for air, your lips swollen and slick. sunghoon looked wrecked—hair mussed, chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening with your spit. he crouched to your level, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

as he hauled you up and kissed you deep, you weren't entirely sure you minded. you wondered when exactly the lines between captor and something else had begun to blur.

"look at you," he murmured, voice wrecked, thumb brushing your lower lip like he was marvelling at some precious artifact. the way his dark eyes drank you in—mouth slack, lashes fluttering, that stubborn defiance still flickering beneath the dazed surrender—made heat crawl up your neck. 

"so fucking pretty when you give in."

"i didn’t—ah!" your weak protest dissolved into a gasp as he suddenly gripped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your tongue with possessiveness that sent sparks straight to your core.

"liar," sunghoon purred, watching with rapt attention as you instinctively sucked at his thumb. he dragged the wet digit down your neck, leaving a cool trail that made you shiver. 

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words dissolved into a startled moan as he manhandled you with terrifying ease, spinning you around and bending you over the dusty counter so fast the world tilted. the cold air hit your exposed skin just before his palm did—a sharp smack that made you jerk forward with a yelp. "f-fuck!"

"always so loud," he teased, yanking your jeans down past your thighs with no patience, his fingers skating over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. you could feel his smirk against your shoulder blades as you trembled. 

"so wet and i haven’t even touched you yet." his voice dipped into something awed, almost reverent, as he dragged two fingers through your slickness, spreading you open with obscene ease. "shit, you’re dripping. all for me?"

"shut up," you managed, voice trembling as much as your legs, fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter’s edge. 

the denial sounded weak even to your own ears, especially when your hips pressed back instinctively at the first brush of his cock against your entrance—thick and hot and already leaking.

sunghoon’s laugh was dark as he lined himself up, one hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back. "say that again when you’re not grinding against me like some desperate thing," he challenged, before slamming into you with one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs. 

you saw stars, knees buckling as the stretch burned—he was bigger than you’ve ever had, the ache bordering on too much until he pulled out and drove back in, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. 

"f-fuck! sunghoon—"

"that’s it," he growled, releasing your hair to grip your hips instead, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. each snap of his hips sent the counter rattling, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the abandoned store alongside your broken whimpers. 

"take it. you can." his voice frayed at the edges as he angled deeper, the filthy squelch of your combined arousal filling the air. "fuck, the sounds you make..."

you bit your lip to stifle the noises, but he noticed immediately, leaning over your back to nip at your earlobe. 

"none of that," he chided, breath hot against your neck. "i want to hear every pretty little noise i pull from you." his hand slid around to your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you arching with a cry. "that’s my girl. let go for me."

the coil in your belly tightened unbearably as he whispered filth in your ear—how perfect you felt wrapped around him, how he’d dreamt of this since the first moment he saw you through the glass, how he knew you’d come untouched if he just fucked you deep enough. 

"p-please," you sobbed, nails scratching at the counter as your thighs quivered.

"please what, sweet thing?" he teased, thumb pressing harder on your clit as his thrusts turned erratic. "use your words."

"please let me come," you begged, the admission spilling out amidst broken moans. "i need it—need you—"

your orgasm crashed over you without warning as he snarled "good girl" against your skin, so intense your vision whited out, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer as you clenched around him. 

sunghoon cursed, his rhythm faltering for the first time as he fucked you through it, his own release barrelling toward him. 

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a groan that sounded almost pained. "fuck—fuck, you take me so well."

for one suspended moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths and the slow drip of condensation from a broken freezer somewhere in the mall. then his lips brushed the shell of your ear, softer now, almost tender as he gently turned your face toward a nearby security mirror. 

"look," he murmured, still sheathed inside you, his arms bracketing your trembling body. the reflection showed your wrecked form—flushed skin, bitten lips, his handprint blooming across your skin.

"see how beautiful we are together?" his fingers traced the love bites along your shoulder. "you don’t really want to leave."

the worst part wasn’t the words. it was the way your heart stuttered in agreement as you watched his lips graze your pulse point in the mirror—his satisfied smirk, your dazed eyes, the obscene way his cum leaked down your thigh when he finally pulled out. and god help you, you’d never felt more alive.

you didn’t pull away when sunghoon pressed closer, his chest warm against your back as he nuzzled into your nape. his fingers traced lazy circles on your hip through the sticky mess he’d left between your thighs, the touch somehow possessive and tender at once. your body just hummed with leftover pleasure, muscles loose and pliant like melted wax.

"say it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing the shell so softly it made you shiver. "just once. i know you want to." 

your throat tightened. you dug your nails into your palms, trying to summon the anger that used to come so easily. but all you could focus on was the way his breath hitched when your thighs squeezed together reflexively, how his hands trembled slightly where they gripped you—like he was the one unravelling now.

the word slipped out before you could stop it. "yours."

he went utterly still behind you. for one terrifying second, the entire mall seemed to hold its breath—the flickering lights froze mid-spasm, the distant dripping faucet you’d listened to for weeks went silent. then his arms locked around you so tight you felt his heartbeat against your spine, frantic as a caged bird. 

when he turned you to face him, his eyes were different—not that eerie predator’s gaze, but something raw and human and starving.

"again," he demanded, voice cracking on the word.

you expected to feel trapped. instead, something warm uncoiled in your chest when his thumb brushed your cheekbone with unbearable gentleness. 

"yours," you whispered, and watched his lashes flutter closed like you’d given him water after years in the desert.

the mall came alive around you. lights buzzed to life down the corridor, the broken neon sign outside the arcade sputtered pink and blue across your tangled bodies, and somewhere distant, a music box began playing that half-remembered lullaby from your childhood. when he kissed you, it wasn’t like before—no biting, no games—just slow, deep presses of his mouth that made your toes curl against the filthy tile.

"good girl," he breathed against your lips, the words so full of wonder it made your chest ache. "let me take care of you now. please." his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and you surprised yourself by tucking your face into his neck without protest. his skin smelled like that familiar vanilla and spicy scent, which was now comforting and familiar as your own heartbeat.

he carried you past mirrors that no longer showed your ragged reflection—just glimpses of a softer version of you with your fingers threaded through his hair, wrapped in his jacket, smiling sleepily up at him. part of you knew you should be terrified. the rest of you was too busy memorising the way his breathing stuttered when you nuzzled closer.

time moved differently after that. the mall stopped fighting you—or maybe you stopped fighting it. the flickering lights steadied. the food court started serving your favourite mango smoothies exactly when you craved them. one morning you woke to actual sunlight streaming through a skylight that hadn’t existed the night before, dust motes dancing in the beam like tiny stars.

"you’re spoiling me," you muttered when sunghoon pressed a cup of real coffee into your hands, just how you’d liked it before this place.

he grinned, all sharp teeth and boyish delight, as he flopped onto the mattress beside you. 

"that’s the point, dummy." his fingers laced through yours, cold as always but no longer unsettling. "if you’re happy, i’m happy." the way he said it made your stomach flip—like your joy was his oxygen.

you learned the new rules slowly. when you mentioned missing thunderstorms, the mall piped in recorded rain sounds until sunghoon caught you crying to the fake patter and snapped his fingers to make it stop. 

"none of that," he’d grumbled, pressing you into a pile of stolen blankets. "if you want real rain, i’ll find a way. just don’t—" his voice cracked. "don’t look at me like i’ve failed you."

the first time you saw another person—a college-aged girl with a backpack clutching her phone like a lifeline—your stomach dropped. sunghoon tensed beside you on the escalator, watching your face carefully. 

"want me to scare her off?" he whispered, already smiling at the idea.

you studied the girl’s wide eyes as she took in the suddenly pristine stores, the way her fingers hovered over a rack of vintage dresses that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. she looked like you, once. hopeful and stupid.

"no," you said at last, turning your face into sunghoon’s shoulder. "she’s too loud anyway."

his laugh was bright and surprised, his kiss to your temple so proud it made your cheeks burn. "whatever you want, darling." 

as the girl wandered deeper into the mall, the lights behind her dim one by one. you don’t watch. you already knew how this was going to end.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

series taglist: @senazzzz @yourislandgirl @enhareaderr @neotbzenhaswag @innies-goth-gf @e-r-i-15 @antochios @goldenmellow @myuzivis @heeshlove @heejakeyy07whtv @psyches-reid

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[acidsoju]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHONEY ! yjw

爱,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀⠀𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾.

𝟭𝟭𝟯𝟳─────downbad roommate! jungwon x crush fem! reader ， cutesy fluff ✶ petnames ꕀ 𝑉𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ｡

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 for a 𝖬𝖶𝖠𝖧 ! 𖹭

jungwon hasn’t seen anything more beautiful than the sight in front of him.

it’s you— hair down, slightly wet from the shower you just took. you’re wearing his hoodie, it belongs to you now anyway.

you’re telling him about your day at work and jungwon is thinking about all the adjectives that describe your beauty.

your words are deaf to his ears anyway. he’s tunnel visioning on your lips— plump and shiny. the soft glow of kitchen lights is reflecting off your gloss like gold in the sun.

he bets it’s peach. you have mentioned how good it is and jungwon thinks he needs to be chained before he actually kisses you one of these days.

you turn to him, placing the mugs on the counter, kuromi and hello kitty ones, for some reason. “and then it happened— are you even listening?”

he flinches at your words, half surprise and half nervousness because your eyes are on him now and he feels his face grow hot. he blinks before looking at you, and then looks away immediately.

even after living together for three months, jungwon can’t hold eye contact with you for more than a few seconds.

“uh— yes,” he says, an awkward chuckle follows. he pushes up his glasses. “sorry, i kind of zoned out,”

he feels a little bad, really. you could very well ignore him— who even is he, if not a mere man in love. you don’t however.

evenings are always filled with chatters about your day. you talk, he listens. you laugh, he melts. you ask him something, he gulps in nervousness. and when you look at him, eye to eye, jungwon falls in love all over again.

you shake your head with a smile and he looks down in embarrassment. he’s fumbling so bad, he could dig a grave and disappear.

“i’m saying my friend from work is getting married. her boyfriend proposed to her yesterday,” you repeat and he makes sure he listens to you this time even though his gaze reverts back to your lips.

and all jungwon heard are two words— marriage and proposal.

his heart speeds up. proposal, he would do that soon. it sounds crazy, even to him, you aren’t even his girlfriend.

and marriage, it sounds like a dream come true. you give the orders, he has it all sorted out in the head.

tired from work? he would draw you a warm bath with the cinnamon scented candles. everything your eyes land on shall be yours, it’s a norm. you can wake him up at three in the morning and he would make you a cusine.

he is learning to cook for you anyway. the pamphlet of cooking classes lies tucked in his drawer, he simply needs to make a call to join.

you look at him with a spoon in your hand. “honey?”

“yes?” and he responds instinctively, like it’s the most natural thing. it’s quiet for a while, he looks in your eyes a little longer. there’s a jar in front of you and his face burns up, a dusk of pink adoring his cheeks. “oh. . .i just realised you meant the flavour,”

you giggle at his small slip and the butterflies flutter in his chest at the sound. it’s music to his ears, something he would probably hear at the pearly gates of heaven.

he is dancing somewhere between embarrassment and fondness. well— at least he made you giggle. he would make a fool of him again, just to hear that sound again.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters— slow, quiet.

you can only say “don’t be. it’s cute,” putting the cup of honey lemon tea in front of him. you look him in the eye for the third time this evening, he feels his knees go week. “you’re cute,”

and his cheeks bloom a deeper shade of red. he doesn’t look away this time, despite every nerve in his body firing like crackers. words die on his tongue, mind in a daze when his fingers brush against yours.

maybe he will tell you tomorrow, when he is a little more courageous. for now, jungwon will just sit and admire you in the name of drinking honey lemon tea, even if he doesn’t like it.

◞ ⩊ ◟ — for beloved @bywons , happiest birthday, sweetness. i wrote this in a hurry since i have exams, but i did not want to make a late birthday post. nonetheless, i hope you like it. have a great birthday. love, caelin 💌

[acidsoju]

THIS WAS SOO GOOD

MARIONETTE

PAIRING: doll!jungwon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, porn with plot, unprotected sex (be safe), mentions of accidents, blood, slight body worship, somnophilia, manhandling, cunnilingus, heavy makeout, heavy dubcon themes, supernatural themes and elements, artefacts collector!reader, usage of nicknames, aftercare, fluff if you squint, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of jaemin and karina.

WORD COUNT: 16,104 words.

SYNOPSIS: As an antique collector, you had encountered many oddities; splintered relics, cursed heirlooms, objects that whispered in the dark, but never a life sized doll so breathtakingly beautiful, so humane. There was only one rule, to not open its coffin before the onset of New Year, however, temptation is quite a decadent exquisite poison. And now? Something stirs beneath the glass, something that waits for you, dearly so.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi loves <3 it’s my first time writing something like this, and to think it was inspired by a dream? gosh, i did work hard on it and i really hope you guys would enjoy it too :3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: The end? Or the lackof. 

Darkness was always your friend, it engulfed your being, the depth of your soul with the warmth even mere humans couldn’t provide, something so utterly beautiful, something you couldn’t see, the quiet, the warmth, the loyalty that cradled you in stillness. 

A stray tear cascaded down from the crevice of your eye, streaming through the curved expanse of your cheek and dripping all over the velvet carpet laid below, the kind that muffled sound, even your sobs. It covered the entire penthouse floor—another purchase made in silence for a place too big for one, a place too big for yourself. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered into the window, pressed against the cold surface which seemed baptised with the water droplets forming, courtesy of the snow, which slicked the city in the shade of white, adding another bland vision through your cornea. 

No one answered. The silence pressing you back into the surface as a reminder that you were indeed alone, it was brutal, and worse, familiar. Money brings happiness they said, then where were your parents? Friends? A lover who you so desperately wished to replace the embrace of the darkness to something real, so raw? A heartbeat beside yours.

You turned around slowly, eyes grazing over the meticulously arranged space, the walls lined in rich charcoal silk, the carved moldings of the ceiling dipped in antique gold, each piece of furniture either vintage or custom made to tailor your taste. A museum, people say when they visit. A mausoleum, you thought.

You were most likely the only exhibit that still lived.

Passing through the hall, you stopped just to see the picture frame standing tall on the marble table. The photo of your family—if it could even be called that. A frame that hadn’t moved in the past year since you came here, like the people in it. Your mother’s tinted red lips were parted in a laugh far too wide to be genuine, your father’s hand resting too heavy on your shoulder. All of you dressed in black tie for a gala you didn’t remember, smiling for an audience that didn’t care.

You turned again, towards what you claimed to be the heart of your home, if it could be called that. Each step was muted by the velvet of the carpet, your movement turning into an illusion of some dream as your fingers mindlessly caressed the artefact you always carried with you—an ancient key, so elegantly engraved, yet it opened nothing you owned. 

To your left, the antique room sat sealed behind tall French doors.

You didn’t go in, you couldn’t, not tonight.

Your obsessions slumbered there peacefully, a wooden crucifix with a bloody split down its middle, a weeping angel bust with glass eyes, an 18th century mourning veil still faintly smelling of rosewater and rotten flesh. 

It was a collection of grief, the kind of grief people celebrated, framed in golden wrapped silk. Each product was valuable, as if the burden in them could be traded for money. 

Your feet didn’t stop there, not until you were standing in front of the big wooden door with the serpentine handle, your thick black coat hanging on the rack, almost like a relic—so dark and finely woven in Italy. You draped it over your shoulders, slipping your gloves on with no destination in mind. 

But something in the air had switched from the very second the frost teardrop splattered down to the carpet, it was as if someone breathed down on your neck, like a whisper from within the walls. 

You found yourself stepping out, into the elevator, down the echoing lobby, well decorated in shades of green and red, a few children bubbled with excitement with wrapped boxes in their arms.

“Where to, Miss?” your driver asked.

You hesitated, gulping down your emotions. The city was still wrapped in snowfall, painted in black and white till the bone. Every possible location—gallery, restaurant, hotel lounge—felt as hollow as the apartment you had just left, despite being so full of life, so full of humans. 

“I don’t know, just drive—somewhere,” you murmured to the suited man with greying hair.

And so he did, seamlessly guiding you through the colour flashes outside of the window, a celebration you couldn’t quite grasp, something so fulfilling for others yet an empty vessel for you, glass fogging up per second as you found yourself delving deeper into the heart of the city. 

You almost didn’t notice the sharp turn as the car veered into a slow stop, right over the cobblestone, near the entrance of a rusty iron gate that was wide opened, the appearance of the gate juxtaposing the liveliness inside the grounds. 

A carnival.

It was blooming up the grass like a childhood nightmare to you, grown not from joy but from something older, more terrible—decay dressed in ribbons, nostalgia strung with nooses, with the flashback of your parents abandoning you in the middle of the crowd, with a pathetic excuse of work calling. 

The lights flickered like fake stars, too yellow, radiating warmth, casting the ground in a sickly kind of glow. Music reverberated through the cold air—violins detuned, a carousel melody slowed to a dirge. You stepped out of the car with a hand to the frame, your gloved fingers pausing as you caught sight of your own reflection in the passenger window, eyes empty, dried lips, your face floating behind the few stray hairs that made their way upfront. You looked like someone who attended a funeral, which seemed fitting.

No one should have been here out this late, the clock nearing midnight, yet the place was full. Crowds of people passed by, too smooth for your vision for them to seem humane. Children laughed, but the sound was wrong—too jolly, too bright. Balloons hung from the strings, glossy and silent. The scent in the air was thick—caramel, popcorn, and smoke curling together like a spell brewing.

Your feet moved without any motive, their own consciousness dragging you through the murmurs of the crowd, above the snow clad cobblestone as the place unfurled around you in shades of red and gold. Joker masked men took over the place, entertaining and guarding each shop. 

Without notice, a girl with doll like features handed you a candied apple, the red dripping down the ground in a way that made you feel sick. With a tap, you paid for it before offering it to a kid who looked hungry. 

You walked past it all, as if on a mission you weren’t aware of, the mist guiding you through, near the alleyway behind the giant wheel which hadn’t stopped moving all night. 

Then you saw it. A tent. It was the only place draped with black, and roped with red stripes. It didn’t have any signs, just tarot cards hung around, adorning the place. 

It wasn’t a beckoning, just a feeling—a feeling that someone was calling out your name. 

You paused outside the tent, the velvet flaps gently shifting though there was no wind. A low warmth bled from within, curling at your covered ankles like a blissed sigh.

Without thinking twice, you ducked inside the tent, the air thickening as if you had entered another realm altogether. The scent of something ancient, even darker than your antique art room, a pretence of divine divination. 

Under the red candlelight, against the dark walls, you met with a woman, skin as if a dark parchment, hair as if silver threads, luring you right in as her gaze met yours. 

“You’ve taken your time, we’ve been waiting,” she said, hands kept on table, her voice stoic, no anger, no sweetness. 

“We?” You asked in a whisper, confusion taking over your face. 

She didn’t answer as the candlelight flickered above your head as you sat down on the wooden chair, which creaked with each movement. 

The table between you was covered in black cloth worn out from decades—no, centuries, so out of touch. Golden thread formed a circle at its center, symbols stitched in curling foreign shapes, as if it was a cult. Atop it rested a deck of tarot cards, the edges frayed, the backs patterned in thorned roses.

The woman’s fingers moved, almost inhumane with how fast she shuffled the deck, portraying something simply inevitable.

Within a second, you had three cards laid in front of you, pressed face down, before she turned the first one over. 

“The past.” She murmured. 

The card read out Death in big, bold letters. 

A shiver travelled down your spine as your eyes assessed the figure of a skeleton, adorned with roses, seemingly half alive, but at what cost?

Her voice dropped an octave, “you’ve mourned things that are still breathing. But death doesn’t care about the soul ascending to hell or heaven, does it?”

Your lips parted in hopes of finding an answer, but she spoke nothing short of truth. Your parents? Alive but dead to you. Your friends? Barely one caring for anything other than your money. No existence of love, a true one at least. A dull ache curled in your chest with the card being taken back. 

Not even a second later, the second card was being turned around to reveal Collector. 

A massive figure seated on an antique throne adorned with jewels from top to legs, background filled with broken doll heads, and clocks of shapes you didn’t even know the names of. 

It was clear, the words echoing present through and through, your nails digging into your skin with the accuracy and abnormality of the given situation. 

“Collecting pieces long forgotten? Safekeeping them, when in reality no one intends to return to them.”

You felt as if the words were being carved into your bones, “you were made to be adored, but you’re caged in cruelty now.” She continued, “abandonment that leaves you searching for empty pieces.”

You were parched, each word acting like a truck of truth, hitting you over and over again, and it was only a second of silence as the last card was being flipped, as if awakening someone, something, into existence. 

A doll. That’s what the third and the last tarot card said, the image on it striking something primal in you; especially when you laid your eyes on the white porcelain doll, way too delicate for this world, carved into perfection of some sort, clad in a dark suit. He was perfect. Cheekbones high and blushed, lips blood red, glowing, and eyes? Closed in peace, in wait. You tore your eyes from the card the second you felt something burning on your wrist. 

A red thread, something you hadn’t worn before entering the stall, something that resembled exactly the threat around the doll’s wrist. It wasn’t silk, or cotton, it was something old, almost like a crimson fibre. 

The women didn’t blink, didn’t show any hint of emotions this time, “you’ve been chosen.”

You breathed out, waiting for her to elaborate. 

“He’s been waiting, he didn’t summon you, he chose you. It was when you were ten, in this life, he fell in innocent love all over again, the same place, the carnival.”

Her eyes weren’t moving, goosebumps rose up your skin at the mention of the carnival, the same carival which you visited with your parents, the same, which taught you abandonment years ago, the place you were at right now. 

“Who’s he?” You croaked out. 

“He saw you entering, the innocence long gone, now he craves, he desires your love.”

Your heart thumped out of your chest at the mere mention, the slight possibility of someone wanting you. 

“Where’s he?” You asked before you could control yourself, the words, the mannerism almost foreign to you. 

The women’s lip twitched up for the first time, the darkness highlighting the curve, before she snapped her fingers, making everything go dark as you stood up, stumbling back with a gasp, and right out of the tent. 

It was snowing again, the bustle of the crowd, the cheers of the children. The world was bright again, even in the darkness, but you were hollow, the thread burning around your wrist every passing second, as if in a rush to convey a message. 

You weaved through the crowd, past fire breathers and jugglers, past children squealing over marionettes—you yourself felt like one as past a the thread pulled eastward, toward the quieter edge of the carnival. You didn’t ask questions anymore. You just followed.

It didn’t feel real, just a dream with no end. And then, you saw it—tucked between two towering, crumbling buildings was a narrow, glassed storefront you hadn’t noticed before. You would have missed it entirely if not for the thread tightening against your skin, humming now with warmth. A wooden sign hung above the door, painted in fading gold. 

The Chiller House: Antiques and souvenirs. 

The windows were clouded, frosted even from the inside, yet you could faintly make out the silhouettes of laces, dolls, relics you couldn’t identify. The floral vines covered the sign which sat atop the door. 

Binded with love, caged with obsession. 

You stared at the sign, heart knocking against your ribs. You had a soft spot for antiques—always had. Things that had lived lives before you. The scent of old paper and polished wood. The way broken toys still smiled, even your room back home looked more like a museum than a bedroom. The past always felt warmer than the present, safer, even when it wasn’t.

A brass bell chimed in peace as you stepped inside, it was like a time capsule bound together. Display cases brimmed with forgotten artifacts—cracked porcelain faces, jewelled gloves, pressed flower letters that looked like they’d crumble at the slightest touch. The scent of cedarwood and dried rose petals filled the air, however, the room wasn’t musty, it was preserved. 

You twirled around the empty store, feeling alive for the first time in months, staring at your reflection in an ornate vanity mirror, before stepping behind the curtain, into a room which was dim, but not enough to hide him. 

A single glass coffin in the corner of the room, as if meant to be hidden from the world. Lit from below by a single, flickering bulb, the coffin glowed like an altar. And within it—he looked too perfect to be real. A life sized porcelain doll, mouth barely parted as if sighing in sleep. His skin was smooth, pale with a bloom of warmth on the cheeks, and his lips painted a colour of warm red. 

Blonde curls falling over his forehead, his suit was tailored in black, lapels stitched with gentle thorns, the collar closed neatly with a thin crimson ribbon. A matching red thread circled his porcelain wrist—identical to the one still burning on your own. 

He was so delicate, exquisite personified, crafted so meticulously, it almost felt like a sin to be staring at him. You didn’t realize you were moving till your palm rested on the fogged glass. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice called out, jolting you out of your trance. 

You turned around quickly to see the shopkeeper—a woman older than time itself, dressed in a black shawl with hazel eyes that gleamed like a summer storm. She didn’t sound angry, but tired. Like she’d been here before, like she’d seen this play out before. 

“I—why? Isn’t he for sale?” You asked. 

“He’s not for sale.”

“But why? This is a shop and he’s a doll,” you asked again, desperate to understand. 

Her gaze didn’t falter, “he’s not just a doll, and this isn’t just a shop.”

Today has been confusing, but this? It was way par your usual understanding. Not a doll? Not just a shop? It was as if you were bleeding into the thin crack between dream and reality. 

“I want him,” you repeated like a broken record. 

Her eyes flickered down to your wrist in a scowl, before she gasped, demeanor doing a one eighty, “I see, so it’s happened.”

“What has?”

She didn’t answer, walking past you to the coffin, brushing the gold plated oval, depriving it of the dust that had settled there over the time. 

Jungwon—the engraved text read out, a name as pretty as the face. 

“I’ll pay anything,” you declared, as if he would cease to exist if you don’t get him, if you don’t keep him preserved with you. 

“Anything,” she echoed, “everything,” she confirmed.

You stared at her, wondering if this was yet another tactic used to get a higher price for a certain possession, to quantify the amount of desperation one can behold. 

Still, she didn’t answer you directly. Instead, she moved around the coffin, unlatching locks you hadn’t even noticed until now—iron clasps, rusted, something that creaked with each movement. Not the lid, never the lid, just the base. Preparing it for transport.

“You’ll take the whole thing,” she started, as if telling you the rules. “Don’t try to lift the glass. Don’t remove the thread. And no matter how much you want to—don’t open the coffin before the onset of new year.”

“How much?” you asked, breath catching in your throat with newfound warmth blooming up your chest. 

She paused her slow movements, scribbling a figure on a torn piece of parchment and handed it to you. Her fingers were cold and dry, like paper itself.

The number was beyond the point of absurdity, a cost that screamed sacrifice, not currency. More than what a doll should be worth, if it was just a doll that is. 

You got your card out without a second thought. It was all you had, a price you got for having the ever so absent parents. She nodded, as if she expected you to say yes regardless of the circumstances. 

“Handle with care, he’s—he’s more fragile than he appears to be,” she murmured, “alas, don’t forget the rules.”

You nodded, fingertips quick to call, informing your driver to pick up the coffin, the brass bell chiming as you stepped out of the Chiller House. Your eyes followed him, throughout the journey. 

All while not knowing that your red thread had disappeared. 

Chapter 2: In the name of love. 

The glass clinked under the brightness of the chandelier, a voice that reminded you much of cages. 

Especially here, at the HYBE Plaza, where every corner shimmered with the festive celebration of New Year’s eve. And yet, not a single thing about this night felt new.

You sat at the long table draped in glitter, surrounded by people who wore their smiles like fake masks. Your parents sat two seats away, laughing for appearances, eyes always glancing sideways. Your fiancé, Jaemin, their choice, sat beside you with a hand on your chair, a smirk evident on his face, the usual routine for him. 

“You barely spoke a word tonight,” he accused, “this night is important.”

“To whom?” You stared into space, fingers playing with the red threads of the table cloth. 

He sighed, a vein popping out with the anger he couldn’t control, “to your family—to my family, to me.”

“The contracts, you mean? The exchange of money for souls, ah? Is that what I was raised for?”

Your fiancé shifted uncomfortably beside you, but his grip on your chair only tightened as he leaned in, teeth clenched. “Don’t do this here.”

“Where should I do it then?” you asked, still not looking at him, “at the altar? In bed? Over brunch with our mothers while they plan the next generation of heirs to ruin?”

He inhaled sharply. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“No,” you replied, turning your head at last, eyes sharp, the chandelier above caught in your eyes like fractured glass. “I’m being honest. You should try it sometime.”

“Sweetheart, maybe you need a breather, want me to walk to the balcony with you?” Your mum breathed out in her sugar dipped voice, almost embarrassed at the way you clearly worded what they’ve been doing all this while. 

“Where was this sentiment when it was my birthday, mother? Perhaps you were too busy to remember? Right, father?” You said, eyeing both, who looked rather embarrassed at your outburst, almost piercing them with the serum of truth. 

Truth that you were their daughter, a human, not an investment or doll, by any means—something that they’d been overlooking all this while.

You didn’t wait for a reply. 

The chair’s legs scraped against the marble like a declaration, loud enough to silence the violins. A hush rippled through the room. Your mum’s painted smile flickered, your father’s eyes narrowed with the slow cruelty of a man too long accustomed to control, however, you kept walking.

When the elevator doors slid shut behind you, the last thing you saw was your mother clutching her pearls, tears glistening her eyes, as if she finally realized a tinge of the hurt she’s caused you, but not a way to make it better. 

Winter had returned to the city like a storm—snow falling not gently, but rather, in solemn sheets. The chauffeur said nothing as he opened the car door. He didn’t dare, not when you looked stoic. 

All you remembered from the car ride was the flashes of colours, the scenery collapsing into an abstract piece too bright for your taste. The lift carried you into warmth in utter silence, juxtaposing the kids in the lobby, way too enthusiastic to celebrate new year. 

The penthouse greeted you with the familiar hush of years long curated wealth. It smelled faintly of roses and marble, of nothing real. The chandeliers stayed lit, as if unaware the girl who lived beneath them had shattered hours ago.

You walked in without removing your heels, only leaving them midway on the velvet of the carpet as your legs started to wobble, as if uncertain if you should be standing anymore or not. 

By the time you reached the bathroom, your fingers could barely unhook the back of your gown. Your body trembled from exhaustion, you peeled the dress off your skin as if it were a second one—a shell of who they wanted you to be, and let it fall in a puddle on the heated tiles.

The water scalded your skin, but you didn’t move, you stood beneath the stream like something carved from grief, arms hanging limp at your sides, head bowed. The steam curled around your body, trying to hold you together, but nothing could. Not tonight.

Your sobs were quiet—choked, too exhausted to echo in the grand bathroom. They slipped past your lips like secrets, buried in the hiss of falling water. You sank slowly to the floor, knees folding, cheek pressed to the cold marble. You stayed there until your fingers numbed and wrinkled.

Eventually, you rose, wrapping yourself in a robe, barely bothering to dry your hair, and stepped into the dim corridor, the lights flickering faintly above. The silence of the penthouse felt sharper now—closer. The velvet underfoot muted your steps as you passed gilded mirrors and untouched heirlooms.

Wrapped in a white robe, you drifted down the corridor, dripping steadily down your spine, leaving a trail of water. The chandelier above the foyer flickered gently behind you, casting your shadow down the hallway like a second self.

You opened the bedroom door, the air inside was chilled from neglect, the heavy curtains still drawn shut from earlier that morning. The only light came from the candle you must have forgotten to snuff—its flame dancing beside the mirror, golden and low.

And in the corner of your room, against the rich velvet of the carpet, rested the glass coffin, the one you had brought home, the one that hadn’t left your mind since.

You walked toward it slowly, your bare feet cold now, trembling slightly as you approached. Your wrist burned as you knelt beside the coffin. Your hands found the smooth edge of the glass lid, fingers hesitating, remembering the warning from earlier, what the shop owner said. 

Don’t open it before the onset of the new year.

It wasn’t new year yet, you were five minutes short of time, of patience. 

What would even happen? It’s just a doll, a pretty piece of porcelain, something you pondered about for the next four minutes. 

Your fingers curled tighter around the latch, “I can’t wait,” you mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

With that, you unlatched the coffin door, and as you did, the sharp corner of the coffin caught your hand, causing a sudden, precise sting.

You flinched, hissing softly, watching as a bead of blood gathered at your fingertip—round and dark, like ink waiting to stain something sacred.

Before you could think, it slipped, fell down, right onto his slightly parted lips.

The moment it touched him—the first firework exploded beyond the window, a bloom of sound and colour cracking through the silence. The sky lit up in gold, and then another, and another—an orchestra of celebration for a world that had nothing to do with the one unfolding here, the celebration of new year beyond your room. 

When you looked back, the blood was gone, disappeared. You wondered if he had a crack, a hairline in his mouth, letting the blood seep through, or it actually disappeared. 

Your hand reached beneath him, slow, cradling him once more—arms beneath his back and knees, lifting him gently from the coffin. The robe slipped further down your shoulder, forgotten. His weight pressed into you softly, the fabric of his suit warm against your chest as you carried him across the room, he was heavy, heavier than any porcelain should have been. 

The fireworks continued behind the curtains, echoing against the window panes like distant thunder. But inside your bedroom, it was just you. Just him.

You laid him down on the bed, carefully—pillowing his head, smoothing the lapels of his suit, brushing your trembling fingers once across his cheek as if to confirm he was still there.

Then you joined him, sprawling over the silk sheets, eyes blank as they stared into the plaster of paris perfectly sculpted into the ceiling. 

Your hand reached out blindly until your fingers brushed his, cold and delicate beneath the satin glove. You held it like it might tether you to something real. 

“I don’t know how to be normal anymore,” you whispered into the dark, voice hoarse from crying. “I’m always pretending, every fucking room I enter, every dress I wear—it’s like a costume. A fucking mask, and no one ever sees what’s underneath. I’m not even sure I do.”

You turned your head, breath catching as your eyes landed on him. He didn’t look human, he looked like an angel. 

Lips parted the faintest bit, lashes long and still, his face peaceful in the way the world never allowed you to be. You watched him, tears welling again, cascading silently down your cheek.

“I’m so tired, I only see red, no blacks and whites.” You sighed, as if curving into the madness of what the world put you up with, “you’re beautiful,” you mumbled, fingers tracing the outline of his lapel, the thorn-stitched embroidery catching against your nails. The silk beneath was soft, too soft—like skin meant to be kissed.

“It must be nice, being a doll, a real one with no feelings, just plush beauty, and stillness,” you whispered, his eyes shining with an understanding, a glint that shouldn’t be seen in the non living creatures. 

It wasn’t just grief now—it was like vertigo. That hollow, high feeling that came when you’d fallen too far and realized there was nothing left to crash into? You’d hit the bottom. The absolute, ridiculous bottom. And here you were—wanting to kiss a fucking doll.

You crawled toward him slowly, silk dragging behind your thighs, breath hitching. Every inch you moved across the mattress felt like a climb up the hill, a ritual of some sort, of great importance.

Your knees slid to either side of his hips. You climbed on top of him like sin climbs onto innocence, soft and slow, an angel falling .

You shouldn’t be doing this, you knew that, and still, you sighed into relief as you cupped his face between trembling palms, his skin was porcelain, yet it wasn’t cold.

It had taken on warmth—not humane, but something subtler, as the sun shone warmly on the sealine, almost a personification of liveliness of a peculiar sort. 

You leaned down slowly, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t realize how hard your heart was beating until you were so close to him you could hear the soft rasp of your own blood roaring behind your ears. 

“Everyone hates me,” you whispered, your voice inhumane, lacking warmth. 

Your finger traced the curve of his reddish porcelain cheek, perfect, “gosh—would you hate me too?” You asked like a child talking to a wall, expecting no answers in return. 

He only listened, attentive and polite, brown eyes staring into yours like an emotional support anchor, “I’m insane, I’m so insane, I,” you breathed out, chest heaving up with your face tilting in a fashion that if you’d bend down a smidge, you’d touch him, “keep me safe, even if it’s for a night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, you slotted your lips onto his, the act purely devastating, trembling against the solid, unmoving porcelain, clinging onto a kiss that gave you nothing physical in return, just pure warmth blooming in your chest.

Your lips parted over his, opening wider, messier—tongue barely brushing his, knowing there was no true warmth to meet it but needing it anyway, making you whimper and push down into his lap. The silence scorched you, it bloomed in your chest like fevered devotion.

The kiss turned wetter, more obscene, your hips rolling over his waist as your tears began to fall—again. You gasped through them, mouth open against his, panting.

“I just wanted someone to want me,” you sobbed, forehead resting against his, “is that so wrong? Is that so—fucking wrong?”

Your bathrobe had fallen open completely by now, the fabric slipping off your shoulders like silk cloth, exposing your bare chest to the cold, to him. You didn’t care, you wanted him to see. You wanted to press every part of your ruined body to the hollow sculpture of his form and pretend it meant something. Your thighs clenched around his tiny waist, your hands fisted in his jacket, still kissing him like a girl who believed enough could bring back the dead.

There, atop a doll who could not hold you back, half-naked, tear-streaked, heartbeat trembling like a loose violin string—you finally slept, not peacefully, but possessively.

And watched. 

He always did. 

Chapter 3: I see your heart is pure. 

Fingers trailed down your chest, not cold, not glass smooth.

It was flesh, real human touch. 

You inhaled sharply, the sound catching somewhere between your ribs and throat. Your breath hitched again as one fingertip circled your tits—tentative, like he was trying to remember it. The pad of a thumb brushed over your nipple, coaxing a shiver so deep it left your spine tingling.

You opened your eyes, the room was cloaked in shadows and gold. Velvet curtains half drawn, a single candle burning, but you didn’t question the shift. You didn’t ask where you were or what time it was, because he was there.

Jungwon.

Seated beneath you on the mattress, half clothed in his black suit, his blonde hair tousled like he’d just woken from the same need that drenched your body. His brown eyes were wide and almost fevered, pupils dilated as if he was starving.

His hands slid down the curve of your body, making you gasp quietly as they touched your bare skin, your robe had fallen open long ago, exposing you to him, thighs spread without any shame, not here. 

“Jungwon,” you breathed, unsure if it was a plea or shock. 

He looked up from where he sat between your legs, lips parted, gaze locked onto your core like he was watching something beautiful unravel. 

“You’re soft,” he whispered.

His voice sounded carved from candle smoke and shadow. Soft, velvet lined in some way. It felt like it was coming from inside you, like something whispered to your soul rather than your ears.

You parted your lips to respond, but your words didn’t come as he bent down, mouth ghosting the inside of your thigh, not touching where you needed him but still close, so close. 

A low whimper was all you managed to let out, making the pretty man smirk, a gentle dimple gracing his innocent face, that didn’t harbour a single innocent thought inside of him. 

He licked once, just beside your cunt, not quite there. A warm, wet trail that made your body twitch.

“Please,” you whispered, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth was so close you could feel it—not just heat, but presence. As though the very idea of him had weight. His lips hovered just above your cunt, parted, exhaling breath that couldn’t possibly exist. He didn’t move—just stared up at you with that hollow devotion, like your worship was the only thing he’d ever known. 

You moaned, soft and broken, hips lifting instinctively. His lips barely brushed you, just a flicker—when suddenly the entire world fell out from under you.

You jolted awake with a harsh breath. 

It was a dream. 

The second you tried to sit up—you gasped, to be pulled back gently by the weight of a hand around your waist. Not accidental, not your imagination. It was real.

You felt a shiver going down your spine. His arm draped around you even though you hadn’t moved him by any means. It was the same doll who once lived in a glass coffin, now lying behind you, cradling your body like a lover who refused to let go. His fingers splayed just below your ribs, unmoving but perfectly placed, as if sculpted for the sole purpose of holding you through the night.

Slowly, you guided his hand away, his arm dropping without resistance, gently settling beside him on the sheets, lifeless, as if nothing had ever happened.

But it had, you knew it had.

Your legs wobbled as you stood. The room felt colder now, like whatever warmth had been there with you had sunk back into porcelain. Into silence. You didn’t dare look at him as you crossed the room, bathrobe clinging to your body with sweat and shame, thighs still aching with want. 

Your skin was glowing in the reflection you saw of yourself, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, before you stepped into the shower, getting ready for your godforsaken uni. 

By the time you got to campus, the city had woken up but barely breathed, snow melted in streaks across the pavement, students milled about like ghosts of themselves, laughter thin. 

You met your friend near the steps—Karina, too bright for this weather, a paper cup of coffee steaming between her hands.

“You came to class on a bank holiday?” She asked, raising a brow, “should I be worried that you’ve final-fucking-ly lost your last marble?”

You smiled thinly, “I just needed to be somewhere—uh, not alone.”

She nudged your shoulder gently, knowing about your family problems, “rough night?”

You swallowed, not maintaining eye contact for once, “is it weird,” you began, voice low, “to want something that’s not, uhm, human?”

She stared at you, caught off guard, “what? Like a celebrity crush weird or maybe a serial killer weird?”

You didn’t laugh, not when you felt this way.

“I mean actually—feel something for it,” you clarified, “something not alive. Something you know isn’t real but—”

You cut yourself off before the words but it touched me could fall out.

Karina tilted her head, “okay, hold on, babe. Are you into one of your artifacts or something?” She teased, half laughing, not serious about the situation at all, “you’re really committing to your collection, I see.”

The second she saw you not laughing, staring at the ground as if you wanted it to swallow you whole, her tone dropped, “babe, you can’t be serious—wait, seriously? Y/N—”

“I have to go,” you whispered, grabbing your bag tighter as you walked away, ignoring the echoes behind you. 

The cold air outside did little to numb the burn still clinging to your skin. It felt as though your body hadn’t fully left the bedroom, like some part of you was still trapped under the weight of him—those porcelain arms, those parted lips, that impossible stillness that somehow kept watching. The memory of it clung to you as you crossed streets and waited through red lights without seeing them, breath ghosting in front of you with every hurried exhale, and by the time you reached your apartment, you were shaking.

Inside, the silence greeted you first, then the sudden burst of warmth.

Not the artificial kind piped through radiators, something richer, something fuller, as if the space had been lived in while you were gone. You turned your head toward the bedroom and froze.

The glass coffin hadn’t moved—but its contents had. Jungwon lay just as you’d left him, and yet his body was no longer the same, his head was tilted toward the doorway, ever so slightly, lips were still  barely parted, but they appeared softer now, not rigid with ceramic but plush, almost flushed. The light caught on his skin differently—as if it had deepened in tone. No grey undertones, but something dangerously close to human. His chest rose faintly, or maybe you imagined it. Maybe you had to.

You stepped closer before your brain could warn you otherwise. The air felt heavier around him. The scent was no longer just cedarwood and dust but warmer, enough to make you shiver in anticipation. 

Don’t open the coffin before the onset of new year.

The voice echoed through your mind, your greed had gotten the better of you, and you didn’t have the slightest clue of the consensus, never having asked the owner about it, her word was final—yet you resorted to disobedience. 

It was hard to figure out where you were meant to be with how often you escaped from places, soon staggering into the Carnival after a silent car ride. It was still there, the rusted iron gates, the music bustling, children laughing. 

You walked fast, passing the clowns with their painted smiles, past the fire breathers, and carousel horses locked in crooked gallops. Your breath came quick and hot now, fogging in the air like you were being hunted.

And then you turned the corner, to where it had been, The Chiller House, gone. 

No dark striped tent, no artefacts, there was nothing, not even footprints. Just untouched snow and a lingering emptiness, a strange dead zone between booths. The kind of space you noticed only because it shouldn’t be empty. 

Only, your wrist burned where the red thread had once been, as if tugging you, as if controlling you. 

As if, you were a marionette. 

Chapter 4: My sacrifice. 

Dim lights surrounded you, black silk draped over your body in an elegant ballroom dress, only, the dress was bunched around your waist as you sighed softly, laid on a long table. 

Your breath came light, dazed. You weren’t bound, but your body refused to move. Not from fear—something else. 

The figure between your thighs moved slowly, Jungwon.

He knelt before you like he was praying. His blonde curls shining in the flicker of dying candlelight, casting a halo around a face too angelic to be real. His eyes met yours once before descending again, gaze dripping down your body like melted gold, like hunger dressed in devotion.

You whimpered as his mouth pressed into your inner thigh like a kiss of worship, porcelain lips gone warm, alive somehow. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you knew, he’d waited to taste you for centuries.

When his tongue finally touched you, you gasped, spine arching off the table in instinct, in need. The room didn’t echo, it swallowed your sound. Your moans melted into velvet as Jungwon held you still.

His hands were delicate but firm, cool at first, then warm, his tongue moved in slow, curling drags, like he was learning you, memorizing you. Every breath against your cunt was a confession. You heard your name whispered into you—not from his mouth, but from your bones.

“Missed you, waited for you all these years, hm—mine,” he mumbled mindlessly, prettier than ever, speaking like a true lover. 

His mouth never stopped, kissing your clit with need, flattening his tongue as if he needed to taste you in order to stay alive, as if you were the oxygen he needed. 

Your body trembled as he groaned into you, eyes rolling back, the familiar feeling of your high coming had you moaning, it was so close, just another flick of his tongue, yet the second his lips touched your cunt, you swore you saw the world collapsing. 

Then, a gasp.

You woke up breathing hard. It was yet another wet dream, however, it felt real, as if you’d lived it before, thighs leaking with your wetness, which had pooled down your cunt. 

Jungwon laid beside you, exactly in the position from last night, after you came home trying to find the chiller house, but to no avail. Pondering upon it didn’t work, which is why you found yourself next to him, telling him about your day as if he’d asked you to. 

As unnatural as it felt, he brought you peace, a sense of belonging, enough for you to forget that he’s a doll, enough for you to fall asleep in his arms, only to dream of him for the second night in a row. 

You looked his way, wondering how his lips looked softer now, hair more tousled than before, lashes longer, nothing seemed artificial anymore. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Or did he truly look more human now, even more so with a tiny drop of moisture on his lips—as if he had tasted you, not in the dream, but reality. 

“Just what—who are you?” You whispered, tracing the curve of his cheek, plush now. 

He was captivating, so utterly beautiful, you found yourself leaning in, pressing your lips upon his in a slow fashion, warmth blooming over again. There was no reciprocation, no movement, just you with your frantic breath as you pulled back. 

You stared at him, eyes tracing every shadow of his face. Something about him had shifted again, not in posture, not in expression—those remained still, but in presence. He no longer felt like an object in the room, but the very gravity of it. The space bent around him. 

You should have been disturbed.

Instead, you reached again, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his mouth. The drop of moisture was gone now, but the memory of it ghosted against your fingertip. It was real, you knew it in your bones that something was changing.

The sharp shrill of your phone shattered the moment. You sighed, reaching toward the nightstand, vision blurred by the dissonance between this world and whatever realm you’d been slipping into beside him.

It was an unknown number.

You answered with a whisper, “hello?”

At first, only static crackled through, then a voice—breathless.

“Y/N? I—It’s your fiancé.”

You didn’t speak, your lips had forgotten how, you listened further, ex fiancé you wished to say. 

“There’s been an accident,” he continued, the words heavy in his throat, “It’s Jaemin. He—he crashed his car, it might be serious. you should come.”

You didn’t speak for a few seconds, heart rate rising up, “how?” you asked, voice low.

“They’re not sure,” your father answered. “There was no ice on the road, no other driver, no brake marks at all. It was like the car veered itself off the highway and straight into a barrier.”

Your free hand tightened where it rested on the edge of the mattress. Jungwon remained still, perfect and innocent in his silence, but your eyes locked onto his again—and something in your chest bloomed in dread and awe alike.

He had looked at you differently, earlier. Just before your dream, as if he’d been listening and he understood. 

You ended the call without another word, the phone slipped from your hand to the bed with a dull thud. And then, slowly—almost afraid of your own confirmation—you reach for Jungwon’s hand, sliding your fingers between his.

“Did you—?” You asked, gulping, “this can’t be, maybe I am going crazy,” you whispered to yourself. 

Completely missing the curve of his lips, a ghost of a smile, warm and satisfying. 

Chapter 5: Lock and key. 

Home felt warmer than ever, which was a foreign feeling to you, granted your own heart was cold. However, it was as if some sort of magic had been sprinkled through your penthouse, it was brighter, your fingers twitching each time you neared your bedroom. 

Madness crept in gently. You found yourself smiling at him—Jungwon, speaking to him with tenderness usually reserved for lovers in candle lit portraits, and lord, worse, you meant it. Even the kisses now felt familiar, the kind you give to someone you’ve missed for lifetimes.

So you left. You needed to be out, carrying your emotional support key to fiddle with, mindlessly so, as you found yourself roaming around where your favourite antique store had been, the storefront looked the same as always, stained glass glistening in the sun, the door carved in spirals like vines curling around the door.

After a few minutes of pondering upon which new piece you could get, your eyes landed on a small wooden crest at the very back of a velvet lined shelf. You picked it up without thinking twice, shivering as you felt the same material as that of your comfort key, which rested warmer than ever in your pocket. 

You bought it in silence, not even bothering to ask its origin. Some objects are meant to be answers, not questions, and when you stepped back into the cold daylight, it wasn’t the antique shop you remembered—it was something older. A feeling curling at the base of your spine.

You didn’t go anywhere else, rushing home, boots echoing sharply on marble floors, coat clutched tighter around you, the crest now held to your chest like a relic. The moment your bedroom door opened, Jungwon was there—exactly where you’d left him, laid beautifully among the folds of your sheets, framed by candlelight you didn’t remember lighting.

His gaze, as always, was half lidded and still, but you felt watched, or rather, held in an embrace. You sank beside him, heart too loud in your ears, and slowly, your fingers reached for the key in your pocket. You’d never understood why it meant so much to you—it was always just a key, until now. Until it began to pulse softly against your palm in the presence of the crest.

You brought both items together. The second the base of the key met the carved sun and moon wood, there was a click. The crest opened like a locket, splitting from the middle in a flowerlike spiral.

Inside, there laid a folded page, yellowed with time, edges charred as if it had barely escaped a fire, you lifted it, hands trembling, ignoring the other stuff that laid inside. 

The ink had faded, but not enough to erase the sketch drawn in hurried, desperate strokes, portraying a girl being mourned in black with her eyes closed, standing beside a young man with soft curls and a thread around his wrist. Red. The face of the girl was not clear, but his face was unmistakable even with the faded colours—Jungwon.

His eyes, his mouth, even the angle of his neck. Him, exactly as he lay beside you now—down to the shadows beneath his lashes, the solemn part of his lips.

“No,” you whispered, but the sound barely made it past your throat, “w—what is this?”

There were no dates mentioned, no names, no title. Just a mark at the bottom—a sigil you didn’t recognize, but which made your body shiver. Like it belonged to you.

You wanted to step back, but you couldn’t, you were already on the bed, his body just inches from yours. You clutched the paper against your chest, as if holding it would keep your sanity from slipping. Your heart thundered against his quiet.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Why are you in this? Why—why do I feel like I’ve seen this before?”

You turned to him slowly, eyes watery.

He lay there, serene and unbothered. A holy thing, but something in your throat twisted the longer you looked. You had no words for it—this quiet ache that gripped your lungs and told you, you’ve been here before.

You didn’t think, simply leaning in, arms curling around him, resting your head beneath his chin, pressing your body against his like it would ground you—like it would stop you from breaking in half.

And as you held him, eyes wide in the dark, the sketch burned behind your eyelids, making you shiver, mind so distraught that you barely pay attention to the fingers who curl tighter around your waist. 

Chapter 6: Can I have a dance?

The room pulsed with heat. Not comfort, but the kind that made you ache, you didn’t remember walking here, but your body had arrived, soaked in watery silk. The chamber around you was vast and dark, stone walls veined in tarnished gold, and steam blooming from a bath sunk deep into the earth like a tomb carved for lovers.

And he was there, of fucking course he was.

Jungwon, kneeling between your thighs like a man in prayer, the water swirling around his hips. His curls were wet, clinging to his cheeks, his mouth already at your skin.

You were bare beneath the surface, soaked in warmth, and him. He kissed the inside of your thigh firmly, reverently, like he’d missed the taste of you more than breathing. His lips trailed upward, and when his tongue finally reached your cunt, your spine arched from the stone—as if blessed.

Your hands found the ledge behind you, fingers white knuckled against the carved obsidian. He licked slowly—decadent, like he was savoring something rare and forbidden, tongue curling with memory and need. You moaned, broken and low, your legs spreading wider.

“Still just as sweet,” he murmured, lips brushing your folds, “even after all this time, hm, sweet.”

His fingers dug into your thighs with something feral, and when he began to suck, kissing trailing upwards, making you cry with each flick of his tongue, it almost felt known, and around you, the air changed.

The mist parted just enough for you to see them, mirrored silhouettes lining the perimeter of the bath, placed with hollow eyes. Their mouths sewn shut with red thread.

Your head snapped down—his eyes were on you, dark and endless. And he smiled against your nipple, which rested between his lips, a faint trace of dimple shadowed his face.

“Let me make you remember, my love,” he whispered.

You shattered with a soundless scream, clenching around nothing, body pulsing, the climax burning hot and holy through your veins, as his two digits plunge into your wetness, warm and inviting. 

And then—silence.

You woke in your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, thighs damp, breath caught in your throat, the room was dim still, velvet shadows all around. 

Then you felt it, an arm deliberately curled around your waist. Fingers resting at the base of your ribs, too precise. 

You turned your head the slightest bit, barely breathing now. He lay behind you, not stiff like porcelain should be, but pliant, like flesh that had long since remembered how to mimic life. His cheek brushed your shoulder, his breath, if it was breath, fanned faintly against your nape.

You had goosebumps all over, not sure if the dream caused it, or was it your mind playing tricks on you, about the fact that you felt it in flesh, the doll feeling more humane each passing day. 

He hadn’t moved last night, but now, he held you.

And you realized that you had no memory of falling asleep, only of speaking to him, barely clothed, trembling. Your body had crawled into his presence like it belonged to him—and perhaps, in some unspeakable way, it did. It always ended like this.

You beside him, asleep, getting pulled into a world you were familiar with, only, it felt foreign the second your eyes snap open, each time. 

As if your soul was following a rhythm it had long since known by heart.

Your wrist burned again, you shook it, desperately trying to ground yourself in a way you won’t spiral, hence, picking up your phone, scrolling religiously as it casted a warm glow on your face. The curtains were drawn shut, candlelight flickering near the vanity—your usual nighttime ritual. You hadn’t looked at Jungwon yet, you didn’t want to.

Not because he scared you—but because tonight, he felt too close. You set the phone down for just a second, reaching for the glass of water at your bedside, and it slipped your gasp, hitting the ground screen down. 

Your speaker picked it up, connected automatically, a moment of silence before that sound, however familiar, but still something you’d heard for the first time. 

A slow, waltz inspired ballroom melody. Instrumental, full of violins, the kind of tune that made the air feel like it’s silky, like it belonged to another century entirely, and maybe, just maybe, it did. 

Your head turned slowly to stare at Jungwon, who glowed under the candlelight, complexion no longer cold, rather, he looked soft, flushed even, lips glistening and brows furrowed, staring at you.

You rose to your feet without knowing why, the melody urged you to move forward, each step feeling as though it belonged to someone else—someone older, someone who had walked these halls before in bare feet and silk. Someone who had danced already to this same waltz, in a time before mirrors.

You reached him, hand brushing his cheek, warm—not startling, not artificial for once, just warm enough to make your breath hitch.

“I must be dreaming,” you whispered, for the nth time you believe.

He didn’t answer, of course. But he didn’t need to.

The music only swelled.

You slipped your arms beneath him, your robe falling open slightly at the shoulder. His body pressed into yours, heavier than it looked, and yet you lifted him, pulled him close. Like he weighed nothing at all. Like he belonged to you, like he walked with you so as to not burden you with his weight. 

You carried him—through the corridor, past the mirrors and the antique cross stitched chairs that no one ever sat in, past the glass cases filled with relics of lives not yours. The music followed, blooming louder now, until—you entered the grand living room.

The chandelier loomed above in fractured crystal and dust, casting slow shadows across the room. The fireplace was cold. 

You stepped into the center, socks covering your bare foot as they turned against the polished marbles, his arms limp around you, but his weight tilted with you, as if his body remembered the rhythm. The two of you swayed—left, then right, a half turn, a pretty dance which wasn’t perfect by any means.

However, it was real.

And as you turned again, as the violins drew longer and you felt it, the shift, not in him but in you. 

Like a dream had opened mid movement. Like the edges of time had folded. The chandelier above flickered.

And suddenly, you were not in the penthouse anymore.

You were in a ballroom.

Massive and candlelit. The scent of wax and rosewater heavy in the air. Gilded frames on every wall. A harp playing somewhere far off.

Your dress was full bodied silk, dark and red like overriped cherries, the ones who love so much. You wore gloves, and his hand was firm at your waist.

He was alive, laughing and whispering something into your hair.

“Don’t look away. If you do, we’ll forget again, don’t wanna forget, not yet.” He pressed his soft lips upon the corner of your mouth, smudging the cherry coloured lipstick. 

You gasped, holding onto him tighter, trying to feel the warmth that he radiated, like a human, as if he was never a doll in the first place. 

Pulling him closer, you tried to maintain eye contact, staring right into his big brown eyes, a soft dimple gracing his face, even more so when you leaned in to kiss him, to feel real, as if you belong somewhere. 

That’s when your feet caught on something.

You gasped, letting go and Jungwon’s body dropped from your arms, slow, the way dreams fall when you wake too fast. He collapsed onto the marble, arms spread loosely, curls bouncing once as his head hit the rug.

“Shit—” you dropped to your knees, breath caught in your throat, “oh, fuck! I’m sorry, I—”

You reached to lift him again, but  your hand scraped something sharp, a low gleam of silver caught, his lapel pin—a small thorn, twisted around perfectly. It pierced the pad of your finger with surgical precision. You hissed, watching a single drop of blood rise.

It rose up and whole—down your finger, and before you could stop it, it fell right on his throat, then another, in his eye which still stared into you, now bloody and more real than ever. 

The music stopped right then, just when you were about to take a step towards Jungwon, heart heavier than ever, mind spiralling as if you’d reached a point of madness, no conscience of past, present, or future. 

“Jungwon?” You whispered, the sound barely coming out, not coming from your throat, but rather somewhere that buried deep inside you. 

He didn’t speak, however, his lips were parted, the same mouth that was carved from stillness, now hung slightly open. His chest, once impossibly still, seemed to move, yet you couldn’t be sure, but one thing was clear—something had changed. 

You gasped the second the shrill voice of your phone rang, startling you, grounding you back into the present, violently so. You picked it up with a shaking hand, the blood now drying along your fingers. The name flashing across the screen was one you recognized, your manager. 

“H—hello?” You answered, dizzy. 

The voice came out clipped, “I—I didn’t wish to call like this, I know you don’t wish to be a part of the mess anymore, but Y/N, listen—it’s about your father.”

That cleaved onto you like a blade, your eyes still fixated on the doll, whose eyes seemed to be glowing by now. 

“The press got hold of his old finance records, the funds which were rerouted, laundered, and offshore holdings. Even political donors—Y/N, they’re everywhere, headlines and broadcast stations are looking into it. I don’t think it can be undone, the police took him in.”

Your phone felt heavy in your hand, or maybe your hand had gone numb. The blood had cooled to a tacky smear against your palm.

“You’re safe, stay there, okay? We’re contacting lawyers to help your parents—”

You cut the call, words barely registering at the moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing about the situation felt normal to you, not when you already found yourself spiraling about different things, about Jungwon. 

You tried to breathe, but your lungs weren’t working right. They expanded too quickly, then refused to collapse. Panic gripped your ribs and twisted as your heartbeat slammed, thudded in your ears, in your skull. Your head was too light, your hands too far from your arms.

You couldn’t think about the phone call, about your father, your mother, the lawyers, the broadcasts. None of it belonged here—not anymore.

Not when something unnatural, divine, was happening just a few feet away. Your mouth opened, a gasp, a name—none of it came. You were spiraling, fast, and the ground no longer wanted you.

The moment cracked with your knees giving out. A soft thud echoed through the room as your body fell sideways, limbs collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. The marble floor rushed toward you, but even that felt dreamlike, distant.

Everything was fading, only one thing remained—him.

The last thing you saw, just before your eyes fluttered shut, was a flash of motion—Jungwon, no longer still, no longer cold. He moved with terrifying speed, rising from the floor like he’d always been capable, like he’d only been waiting.

His eyes locked onto yours in panic, and his arms—real arms, reached for you.

You didn’t feel yourself fall, you only felt him catch you, your eyes closing as the last thing you heard was his voice before passing out. 

“Don’t leave—”

And then, silence. 

Chapter 7: You’re the one I was meant to find. 

You were running. The corridor around you was narrow, candlelit, carved from stone older than reason. Your fingers clutched the sides of your gown as your breath tore from your lungs, heart thundering beneath a bodice bound too tight. Your slippers slipped against the marble, the walls rushing past in a blur. Somewhere behind you, voices rose in anger. The violins still played, faint and far off, as if from another room—or another lifetime.

Just then, a hand caught your wrist, black gloved, steady despite the tremble in his grip—Jungwon, dressed in royal robes, eyes brighter than ever, searching for yours in a hurry. 

He only pulled you forward, faster through the passage, your fingers tangled in his. Behind you, the shadows were growing figures. You could hear the clink of armor now, boots striking stone.

A crack of thunder split the sky.

And suddenly you were in the courtyard, barefoot on wet stone, skirts dripping, hair tumbling free as you spun in his arms beneath the moon. The storm raged above, and yet the violins still played. He held you like he was trying to memorize your shape, the way your breath stuttered every time his hand brushed your spine. The music swelled, and you twirled, laughing into his shoulder—but the sound was short lived.

Another crack of lightning hit—way closer now.

Flames flickered behind tall windows. Guards poured from the doors like an army, making you turn, hand still in his, and run toward the stables. Your lungs burned, his name trembled on your lips. The horses reared in panic as you approached, but he steadied them. A look passed between you—a mix of fear and love, and he lifted you onto the saddle, swung up behind.

But the gates never opened.

The trees beyond the wall seemed so close, and yet, arrows flew like black wings from the towers above. One struck his shoulder. His body jerked behind you, warmth spreading across your back. You turned, horrified, clutching him as he slid from the horse with a cry.

And just like that, the ground returned.

You were on your knees, soaked in mud and blood, sobbing as you cradled his body. His fingers still moved, reaching for you. He tried to rise, he tried to speak. But the clang of metal drowned everything.

The guards seized you both.

The next flash came with the howl of wind tearing through tall windows—tattered velvet curtains flailing like wounded wings.

You were in the throne room, your family lined the steps in judgment. Gold and crimson banners hung behind their heads like execution ropes. Your father’s voice boomed as he paced before the assembly, fury twisted into something rehearsed.

“Loyalty cannot be faked. Treason wears many faces, and fraternizing with the enemy will have consequences, no matter if it’s my own flesh, punishment will be given.”

Your mother said nothing. Her hands were folded tightly, white knuckled in her lap, her pearls glittering like tears that refused to fall.

Jungwon knelt at the base of the dais, blood streaking his cheek, lips split, eyes never leaving yours. He looked regal even then—bruised and broken, but unyielding.

“She chose me,” he said, voice low, shaking, “and I would die for that choice again.”

Another crash of thunder—and you were beneath the cathedral rafters, cloaked in shadow, your fingers pressed to his jaw as you kissed him like it was a rebellion in itself. The scent of incense and storm hung between you. Your tears mixed with his.

“If I could be born again,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his, “I’d still choose you, in every life, I would give my love to you, Jungwon.”

A gust of wind tore through the memory.

Suddenly the forest closed around you again, and your blade was drawn—one you hadn’t even realized you were holding. Blood on your hands. The enemy’s blood, or yours. It was all the same now.

They pulled you back. A scream echoed—his, yours, mixed together in the deepest symphony of pain. 

Steel pierced your side, and then it came, the emptiness.

Your knees hit marble, vision swarming. Your body folded in on itself, cradling the wound as though it could be held shut. You couldn’t see him anymore, but you heard his voice breaking in the distance, each word louder than the last, but fainter in your ears, “don’t take her—don’t—please—no! Y/N!”

Your blood pooled like spilled ink across the floor. The music had stopped, you didn’t know when. Then the world began to dim, his name was the last thing in your mouth.

The next memory didn’t come with lightning, but with silence so deep it felt like falling into a crypt. He knelt again—this time in chains, surrounded by your family, their faces cold as marble statues. There was no trial, no last words.

Your father spoke the curse himself, voice like iron.

“Let him live and never forget, let him see her again, and never reach her.”

The thread appeared—red as blood, drawn through his chest, binding his limbs in place. His skin cracked. His breath froze in his lungs. He didn’t scream. Only stared forward, lips parted in horror as his body hardened.

Porcelain, in silence, cursed like a marionette with the strings invisible, a prince entombed in the skin of a doll.

The centuries passed like ash on wind. You vanished from the records of history, reborn again and again, never remembering. He remained, all these years, shelved. Watched over each time, still long forgotten. Until you, until this year.

Until now. 

You woke with a violent gasp, a cough, as if dragged from beneath water that had long since gone still. Your lungs burned as you clawed yourself upright, heartbeat deafening in your ears, skin cold. The room tilted and shadows had changed. The light no longer flickered against porcelain.

There was heat beside you, some weight, and before your mind could catch up, your body reacted. You turned sharply, hands slipping on the edge of the blanket, still in the living room, eyes locking with his, wide and burning.

Jungwon.

No longer the lifeless doll, no longer the mute witness sealed in centuries of stillness. His chest rose with breath, his pupils blown wide, and his hair, once perfectly styled when you first saw him—was tousled now, disheveled like something had been undone from the inside out. His coat lay forgotten on the floor behind him, abandoned in the chaos of resurrection. He looked alive in the worst way—raw, barely contained, beautiful, and terrifying all at once.

You didn’t think, simply twisting away, a broken sound leaving your throat as you scrambled for the edge of the room, running away from what felt like a nightmare, even though your heart beated out of our chest, urging you to go to him instead. 

However, he was faster, hand catching your wrist before you could rise to your feet, grip firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to shake something loose in you. You yelped, shocked by the strength, by the heat of his touch, how real he felt, how utterly he refused to let you go.

“Stop,” his voice boomed, reverberating, still cracked at the edges, “you’re not running. Not again.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, trembling under the weight of the moment, the tension stretched tight as piano wire.

His jaw was tight, but his eyes were chaos, wild with something that couldn’t decide whether to be angry or longing. “You looked at me,” he said, his voice gritted with disbelief, love—all of it layered in a single breath, “you saw me again, and now you want to run?”

“I—” the word barely formed, your mouth felt numb, the panic in your chest twisted with something else now, a longing of something long forgotten. 

He leaned closer, still gripping your wrist, still breathing hard. His shirt was half untucked, collar loose, neck flushed, the candlelight flickering at his cheekbones. He looked ruined, and furious, but most of all—desperate for you.

“You died in front of me,” he said, louder now, every syllable laced with venomous heartbreak, “and I lived in silence for centuries, waiting for you. You think I’m going to let you leave me again?”

You tried to wrench your arm free, but he held fast, dragging you a step closer, the distance closing like a door slamming shut.

“Don’t you remember what they did to us?” He spat, voice sharp, “you think you’re scared? I’ve been trapped in silence, in a damn glass coffin, hearing your voice in rooms I couldn’t move in. Do you have any idea what it did to me—watching you pass me by without knowing?”

The room swam around you, every breath felt like thunder in your ribs. He wasn’t calm, nor was he composed. He wasn’t the memory anymore—he was the consequence of all of it, of love twisted by time, of passion turned obsessive by grief.

His hand finally loosened, just slightly, fingers brushing down your wrist, but he didn’t let go.

“Say something,” he breathed out, “say my name.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came as you stared at his blonde messy hair, big yearning eyes, laced with despair, rosy lips, dying to get a taste of you. 

He laughed once, bitter and breathless, dimple showing despite the frustration, teeth gritted, “no one has said my name with love in a hundred years, and I only wanted to hear it from you.”

His grip shifted again, gentler now—but still firm, like if he let go, you’d vanish. His forehead dropped toward yours, not touching, breath warming the space between you, gaze locked in yours like a curse reborn.

“You were mine,” he whispered, “you are mine, do you think anything else matters?”

Your hand moved before your mind did, reaching up to brush the strands of hair from his forehead. He didn’t flinch, he leaned into it like a man starved of touch. Your fingers trembled as they slid down the side of his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the realness of it, the pulse just beneath.

“Jungwon,” you breathed.

The moment you said it, everything changed, his eyes fluttered shut, like the sound alone was enough to break him. His fingers dug back into your waist, holding you with quiet violence, breath stuttering against your cheek.

You didn’t pull away, you simply couldn’t, instead, the words clawed up your throat, bitter, almost angry, “was it you?”

He stilled, lips hovering just beside yours, controlling himself, “what?”

“The stories, t—the leaked accounts, ruined finances. My ex fiancé’s accident,” your voice cracked, but you pushed forward, fury threading through the fog, “did you do that to them?”

He opened his eyes slowly, the look in them wasn’t apologetic by any means, “yes, I wanted to burn every name that ever tried to replace mine,” he said, voice low and shaking, “and I did. I watched him touch you like you were some fragile, pitiful thing to be married off. Like you were his to protect, to claim, as if I hadn’t died screaming your name.”

You should’ve felt sick, perhaps a part of you did, but the other part—the darker, crueler one buried deep in your chest was quiet, pleased.

He was the only one who ever loved you so violently, so completely, that he’d ruin anyone who dared stand where he once stood, even if it was wrong, even when it was madness. 

Your voice dropped to a whisper, “you destroyed them for me.”

“I’d do it again,” he said without blinking, “in less time, with worse consequences.”

Your breath came harder now, lips brushing his,  “you’re insane, you—you’re not real, am I still dreaming?”

“I’ve been waiting over a century. What do you expect me to be, not insane? Not real for you?”

Your hand tightened around the collar of his shirt, fisting it. He exhaled like he was finally allowed to breathe again. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp and shaking. The line between hate and hunger blurred like smoke between your mouths.

He looked at you like he was about to kiss you—or devour you, maybe both. 

“You think I give a damn about right and wrong anymore?” He whispered, voice as sweet as you could remember, and lord, now you did remember, even if it made you spiral into madness, you remember now, “they never loved you. Not like I did, not like I still do.”

This time, it was you who moved first. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a desperation that didn’t feel like yours, but something older, something buried. It wasn’t sweet, rather, it was starving. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, hands scrambling to pull, to grip, to ground yourself in the heat of him.

He groaned into your mouth, and it was deep, guttural, ragged from centuries of holding back. His hands flew to your hips, pulling you into him like proximity could undo time. There was nothing patient in the way he kissed you—just need consuming him altogether, the kind you didn’t walk away from.

“Say it again,” he begged against your lips, not stopping, “say it, my name, say it like you remember.”

“Jungwon,” you breathed, again and again, like a spell, like a lifeline, like you were anchoring him to this world.

Each repetition made him more frantic. His grip on you tightened, his body shuddering under your touch like he was afraid it might fade, your lips parted as he kissed down the side of your jaw, then lower when you whimpered, hot open mouthed kisses all over your neck. 

“I need to feel you, need to know you’re mine again,” he groans against your skin, voice beautiful, “that I’m not fucking dreaming—”

“You’re not,” you breathed out, pulling his face back up to yours, looking him in the eye. “I’m right here.”

He surged forward with something close to a snarl, crashing his mouth to yours with violent purpose, lips swollen and slick as his hands gripped your waist and hauled you into his lap on the silk covered couch like you belonged nowhere else. You straddled him, legs falling around his hips, your chest pressed to his as he devoured your mouth with a hunger you didn’t know a body could carry. It was angry, obsessive—years of silence and watching and grief pouring into every kiss, every clash of teeth, and tongue.

You tried to speak, maybe to say his name again, maybe to tell him you wanted him now—but he didn’t let you.

“I said no more running,” Jungwon grunted against your mouth, voice low and beautifully frayed, “ you’re going to stay right here, on me, just like this.”

His hands traced your back, slow and possessive, until they gripped your ass and grounded your hips down hard against the bulge straining beneath his trousers. You gasped, fingers curling into his shoulders for balance, your cunt rubbing right against him—too much friction, yet not nearly enough.

“Oh god—”

“No,” he groans, breathless, biting down on your shoulder, “not god. Me. Say my name when you’re like this, yeah?”

“Jungwon,” you gasped, your whole body twitching as he rutted up into you again, cock grinding against your bare cunt through the fabric of his pants. “Fuck, Jungwon—”

“That’s it,” he breathed, mouth against your throat, sucking a bruise into your skin as you rocked your hips down on him like instinct. “That’s all I wanted for a hundred fucking years, you, falling apart on top of me.”

He grabbed the backs of your thighs and stood in one swift, jarring motion, lifting you with him. You wrapped around him by reflex—legs clinging to his waist, arms around his neck, body flushed against his chest. The room blurred as he carried you, stumbling back into the bedroom you’d long since abandoned when he was nothing more than porcelain.

You barely had time to think, the chandelier flickered above, casting gold and red across the walls like spilled blood and candlelight. Then the bed hit your back, his weight covering you a second later.

He kissed you again, deep and slow this time, like he was drinking from your mouth. His tongue curled over yours, wet and thick, stealing every breath you had left. Your legs parted for him without thought, and his hips slotted between them, his clothed cock rubbing right against your soaked core as he started to grind again.

“Feel that?” He panted, pressing harder, rutting his hips down in short thrusts that had you moaning into his mouth, “you’re dripping for me, darling, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You whimpered, eyes rolling back at the friction, so raw and filthy it bordered on unbearable.

“You used to do this in secret,” he said, thrusting again, his voice rasping as he rocked into you, “when you thought I couldn’t see, pressing your thighs together, grinding against your pillows, pretending you didn’t want me.”

“I did,” you gasped, “you know I always did.”

He groaned, hips stuttering as you clung tighter to him, “I used to imagine this before we got together—holding you down, just like this, feeling you grind all wet and desperate over me, crying my name.”

You could feel how hard he was through the fabric. He was panting now, moving faster, the rhythm filthy. His cock slid against your clit with every stroke, and it had your thighs trembling, cunt pulsing with the tension coiling in your gut.

“You’re going to cum like this,” he whispered against your lips, like a command, “right here, before I’m even inside you, hm?”

Your hips moved on their own, chasing the friction, chasing him, your breath caught in your throat, “please,” you whimpered, “don’t stop—don’t ever stop.”

He kissed you sloppier now, his teeth catching your lower lip as he groaned into your mouth, sweat slicking your skin.

“Say my name,” he ordered again, fucking up into you harder, grinding your clit perfectly with every motion.

“Jungwon—Jungwon, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“You’re mine,” he groaned, “you hear me? No one else, never again.”

The pressure burst like it was breaking your body, your back arching as you came hard—loud and shaking, your moans swallowed by his mouth. He groaned with you, grinding hard through your climax, his own hips bucking as he rutted with desperate rhythm, chasing his own peak.

“You make me insane,” he gasped against your neck, still grinding, “you don’t even know what you do to me—”

You held him tighter, your body still pulsing, already dizzy again from the aftershocks.

You still hadn’t caught your breath—your body trembled beneath him as he flipped you over on your back, lips swollen from kissing, slickness coating your thighs, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. His hands were already moving, ruthlessly so, as if he didn’t trust time to wait for him this time.

“Mine,” he muttered, voice ragged, chest rising and falling like he was barely containing himself. “You’ve always been mine.”

Then you heard it, the nasty sound of fabric tearing.

You gasped, hips jolting as his hands flipped your robe up, gripping your soaked panties and tearing them clean in half—fingers curling into the delicate fabric like it had irritated him just by existing between you. The torn scraps fell to the side, forgotten.

“I’ll rip through anything that keeps me from you,” he said, low and fervent, voice thick with heat and hunger. “I don’t care if it’s silk, steel, or fucking centuries.”

His mouth hovered above your core, breath hot, uneven, “I should’ve done this the second you walked back into that house,” he growled, eyes locked between your legs. “Should’ve thrown you down and tasted you until you forgot the name of every man who touched you after me.”

You writhed beneath him, already breathless, your thighs falling open for him like muscle memory, but then he paused, sitting back on his knees and reached up to his collar.

Your chest rose and fell faster at the sight—his fingers moving slowly now, unbuttoning the pristine white shirt clinging to his chest. One button, then another. With every inch of skin revealed, your pulse surged harder—his collarbone, the plane of his chest, each line of him carved like something ancient and holy, divine and terrifying. The candlelight bled gold down his stomach, catching in the cut of his abs, the trail of veins along his arms twitching from restraint.

You watched, dazed at his pure beauty, he looked like a prince raised from the grave—beautiful and damned.

“You look at me like you remember,” he whispered, letting the shirt fall from his shoulders with a smirk, “do you? Does your body know me now, darling?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, lips parted, “I do. I remember all of it.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, the sound nearly a growl, “then lay back,” he said, crawling between your thighs again, “and let me remind you why no one else ever satisfied you.”

He didn’t waste a second as he was on you, mouth open, tongue wet and greedy, licking through your folds with a growl like he’d gone feral. Your body jolted at the first contact, back arching, thighs trying to close from the intensity—but his hands gripped your knees and forced them open, pushing you wide as he buried his face in you like he was starving.

“Fuck—” you gasped, hand flying to his hair. “Jungwon—”

The sound of his name broke something in him, making him moan, a sound so loud and obscene, right into your cunt, reverberating, tongue curling against your clit, sucking so hard your hips bucked. His hands pressed your thighs flat to the bed, holding you down as he devoured you like a man who’d waited lifetimes to be fed. There was no rhythm, only unadulterated hunger and reverence. His mouth was wet, tongue fast and erratic, fucking into you like he needed it to live.

You mumbled out something incoherent, and he groaned again, louder, mouth sealing over your clit, sucking until your vision blurred, until your voice cracked.

“Jungwon—please—”

“Say it again,” he ordered, teeth brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves, tongue never stopping.

“Jungwon, I swear Jungwon, uh fuck, please—”

He didn’t stop, he couldn’t.

“You belong to me,” he said, licking deep into your entrance. “Even now, even after death. Say it, baby, say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours—” you gasped, near sobbing from the pressure building inside you again. “I’m yours, I’m, oh fuck, Jungwon, I’m gonna, fuck!”

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice thick with lust and control, “make a mess on my tongue. Let me taste every fucking inch of you.”

That sent you over the edge, you came with a cry so sharp it felt ripped from your chest—your thighs clenching around his head, your hands yanking his hair, hips rocking up as you fell apart. It was too much, way too intense, too long coming.

He moaned into your cunt, licking you through every pulse, every twitch, swallowing down your release like it was holy, and when you finally opened your eyes—he was still between your legs, a dark lopsided grin on his face, attractive, but even more so, scary, as he laid there, still hard. 

Still hungry.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice deep, “but you’re not scared of me anymore, are you?”

You couldn’t speak, only shook your head, throat too raw from moaning. Your wrists still burned faintly, the red thread pulsing under your skin as if it knew something ancient had shifted.

He sat back on his heels, slowly, dragging his palms up your trembling thighs, claiming every inch he touched, he looked mad, in an obsessive way, in a fashion that creepy dolls do, but he was real, and waiting. 

“You came so sweet for me,” he whispered, brushing a finger between your folds, smearing you across your thigh with reverence, “but, baby, it’s not enough, just not nearly enough, hm?”

His hands moved to his belt, and you froze for a second, eyes following every inch he moved. The sound of leather sliding through the loops echoed in the room, his eyes stayed locked to yours the entire time, not blinking once as he tugged the belt loose, then let it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

“You don’t know, baby, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this,” he continued, voice cracking, “not just having you like this, but fucking you still half clothed, holding you open while you scream my name into the dark—because you remember me now, and you’re not going anywhere, fuck—I’ve missed this.”

He didn’t take his pants off—not completely. His hands dropped to his belt, the metal buckle clinking open with a quick, practiced tug. The soft hiss of leather sliding through loops reverberated the air. His eyes never left yours, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled, the fury in his body barely caged.

Then the button, the zipper. He shoved his pants down with one hand, just low enough to free himself, his cock springing out, flushed and thick, already leaking, twitching from how long he’d held back.

He fisted the base with one hand, the other still holding your thigh open, “you’re mine,” he said, almost to himself, then louder, “fucking say it.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed, almost choking on the words.

He chuckled, a devilish smirk on his face as he looked at you with dark eyes, “again.”

“I’m yours, Jungwon.”

He groaned, like your voice alone could unravel him, and leaned in, bracing his forearms beside your head. His cock dragged through your slick folds as if he was teasing, catching on your entrance, and he hissed at the feel of you already so wet, so ready.

“I should’ve never let you forget me,” he growled, lining up, “never should’ve waited this long,” he mumbled, “wanted to fuck you right there when you climbed on my lap and cried even when I was a doll, when I fucking lost my mind, you kissed me, baby, you needed me even then.”

You whined as he brought up what you had done, and just as you were distracted, he thrust in without much warning, no build up before, simply a deep, brutal snap of his hips. 

You cried out, head jerking back, back arching off the bed. He was thick, too big for you, and the stretch was unbearable, perfect, like you were being broken in half. His hands clamped around your wrists again, pinning you down with bruising force, and your skin lit up. 

The red thread under your wrists seared like fire, glowing bright, like the curse had been reawakened fully the moment he was inside you.

Jungwon’s breath hitched against your ear, “lord,” he rasped, “you feel that? That’s it, that’s fucking us—”

You whimpered, overwhelmed by the stretch, by the thread, by the way your body clenched around him like it already belonged. Like it had been waiting for this moment through lifetimes.

“I knew it would burn,” he whispered into your throat, hips snapping forward, “I knew it would recognize me the second I was inside you again.”

He thrust again, hips grinding now, like he was savoring every inch of your slick, shuddering cunt.

“And it does, doesn’t it?” he hissed, “your body knows. Even if your heart forgot me—your body never did.”

You sobbed out his name, barely a whisper, and that made him lose what little control he had left. He slammed into you, again and again, hips snapping with violent rhythm, his cock dragging against your walls with every brutal stroke. The bed creaked beneath you, the air around you fogging up in a mist of sex. 

“Fuck—Jungwon, slow—”

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he groaned, “centuries of silence—centuries of emptiness. You think I’m going to take it slow?” 

His lips crashed into yours, devouring your cry, tongue sliding past your lips like he needed to taste everything at once. And still, he kept moving, hips hammering into yours with a punishing rhythm, every thrust sending sparks of pain and pleasure through your entire body.

“Do you feel that?” He gritted against your lips, “the way you squeeze me—fuck, baby, you’re shaking.”

“I can’t, please Jungwon—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was feral, “you’ll take it, all of me, every fucking inch. You’ll take it because you’re mine.”

His grip shifted—one hand sliding down, hooking under your knee, throwing your leg over his shoulder so he could drive in deeper. The angle made you scream, body arching off the bed, stars flooding your vision as his cock hit the spot that made you unravel.

“Right there?” he chuckled, “that’s the spot. That’s the one that used to make you cry for me in your past life. Remember it?”

You sobbed—half lost, the sensation too much for you to incorporate any new information in mind; and nodded.

He thrust harder, deeper, so much rougher, every movement frantic with obsession, “say it,” he moaned, “say you remember.”

“I remember,” you gasped, “I remember you, Jungwon, I remember everything—”

The noise he made wasn’t humane by any means. It was broken, starved almost. He bent over you, still buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down between your bodies.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he whispered, “so deep you never forget again. So full you won’t be able to think of anyone but me.”

The red thread pulsed yet again—twisting tighter, glowing like fire at your wrists, along your thighs, down your chest.

“You were made for me,” he breathed, “bound to me. You’ll die with me inside you, if I have to make it happen, and I’ll die with you again, over and over, again.”

He groaned through those words, your moan was louder, vibrating through his skin, squeezing him tighter as your body agreed, you were made for him, and gave him exactly what he wanted, you, falling apart all over his cock. 

The sight was enough for him to lose his control, letting himself go, filling you up, deep and hard, cock pulsing inside your fluttering cunt, as your body convulsed around him once more, milking him through it.

However, he didn’t pull out, didn’t bother moving, stopping. 

His hips rolled again, already hardening inside you. He looked down at you, eyes burning red under the chandelier’s flicker.

“I’m not done.”

Chapter 8: With or Without you. 

The water shimmered with faint steam, delicate curls of warmth rising into the candlelit hush of the room. The tub was enormous—black marble, sunken into the penthouse floor, surrounded by tall gothic windows that looked out over the city like a cathedral watching the living. The only light came from candles, myriads of them, flickering along the ledges, their glow casting long, trembling shadows across the walls. 

You were weightless, finally, your bare body floating gently between Jungwon’s thighs, your back pressed to his chest, your head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, palms resting on your belly, then lower, fingers brushing just above your thighs, as if he couldn’t stop touching you even now, not even here.

The red thread had faded back to a dull, molten line along your wrist, no longer burning, but you could still feel it, tied between your pulse and his.

He was warm behind you, human, finally, irrevocably real.

He kissed the side of your neck, slow and deliberate, his lips dragging up to your jaw, “you’re still shaking, darling,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate, as if speaking louder might wake the rest of the world.

You let your eyes drift shut, “I’m not sure it’s real yet.” You said, scared, abandonment being your worst fear, and now you knew why, you had a reason, carved deep inside you. 

“It is,” he whispered, “I am.”

You felt his hand curl tighter across your stomach, protective, anchoring you in place. He kissed you again, and again, trailing his mouth down the curve of your throat as though trying to memorize every inch of skin, leaning back into his embrace.

“I never want to wake up if this is a dream,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you said, softly. “Not unless I do too.”

There was silence for a long while—only the water shifting around your bodies, the distant hum of the city beneath the stained glass, soft fluttering in your stomach, and Jungwon’s possessive hold, telling you that it’s real, that no matter what happens, he’ll stay. 

You had no idea how you would explain the addition of a new human into this world, how you’d describe where he came from, but that was the least of your worries now.

You turned in his arms then, straddling him in the deep water, your knees pressed to either side of his hips, your hands finding his shoulders. His hair was damp, pushed back from his face, his cheeks flushed from the heat. There was something about him like this—messy, still a little inhuman. Like the remnants of porcelain had never quite left. His eyes gleamed like something ancient.

“You never stopped loving me,” you whispered, fingertips brushing down his chest.

He shook his head once, slowly, his blonde curls now wet, caressed your skin in the process. “Not once. Not even when you died.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his, but didn’t kiss him just yet, “and all that time, you waited?” You asked, as if you needed confirmation over and over again. 

“I waited, burning all alone,” he said, voice thick, eyes shining with the truth, taking you in with nothing but unadulterated love, “every night, every time someone else touched you in another life. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I just felt it, you moving on. You forgetting.”

You cupped his face, stared into the truth of that devastation, “I never really forgot, not because I wanted to at least.”

“I know,” he breathed, “I felt it. Even before you remembered—your blood called me back, you cried to me, you just didn’t know it yet.”

You finally leaned in, noticing the faint dimples on his cheek as you got closer, eyes holding hearts for you. The kiss wasn’t frantic, not like before. This one was slow, perfectly drawn out, all breath and lips, and silent apology. It was centuries of mourning buried in a kiss, two lovers who had lived and died with that ache carved into their bones.

He sighed into your mouth, letting you take from him as long as you needed. When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“I won’t let go,” he whispered, “not in this life. Not ever again. I love you so fucking much.”

“You don��t have to,” you breathed, “I’ve loved you, I love you, I’ll love you.”

For the first time, it wasn’t a curse, it wasn’t a punishment, it was real, a promise.

The candlelight caught on the red thread beneath your skin once more, pulsing faintly between you like a heartbeat in unison.

He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into his chest as you sank back into the water, your cheek against his collarbone, your limbs tangled under the surface. Outside, the world continued, the time marched on, the city moved.

But in here, in this penthouse above the world, time stood still, he had returned to you. 

And he would never let go.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[acidsoju]

𝑰'𝑴  𝑵𝑶𝑻  𝑨  𝑲𝑰𝑫 he was indeed written by a woman and seen as the picture-perfect guy. he held the reputation of someone so caring and loving, the soft soft boy that could make you melt with those kitten-like eyes.

soft, gentle, kind, and cute were usually the words that described yang jungwon. people saw him for his sweet and silly personality; you couldn't blame them, because it was true.

but what jungwon wanted you to know was that he wasn’t a kid anymore. behind all the cuteness, the oversized hoodies, and the cat-like habits was a man with quiet confidence. a man with broad shoulders and skillful hands. he could be serious, stern, even. when he needed to be, and the members could testify to that with every intense practice, every sharp command during meetings. he wasn’t all smiles and giggles. not always.

he was twenty-one now, and he wanted to show you the other side.

you’d seen glimpses of it, the way his eyes darkened on stage, scanning the crowd with that low-lidded, knowing gaze. those piercing looks that seemed to search and strip you down to your core, making you forget where you were, who you were. the way he moved, how his body rolled and hit every beat with intention, it was alluring. sexy, to put it lightly. and that jungwon? he wasn’t just for the stage.

he wanted to bring that version of himself into the quiet moments, too. when it was just you and him. no lights, no cameras. just soft breaths and low whispers between stolen glances. he wanted you to see the side of him that didn’t just hold your hand, he wanted you to feel how firmly he could hold you, how certain he was. how grown he’d become.

because the world still saw the sweet boy with the hoodie and the dimples.

but you, he wanted you to see the man behind the smile.

you were curled up on his bed, legs tangled beneath you, your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve as you watched him from across the room. he was leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted as he stared at you quiet, unreadable.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, smiling without really meaning to. the warmth in your voice made his lips twitch, but he didn’t smile back. not right away.

instead, he pushed off the desk and walked over slowly, each step deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours.

“you always look at me like i’m soft,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed. “like i’m harmless.”

you blinked, thrown just a little by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “you are soft,” you teased gently, reaching out to poke his cheek. “and very cute.”

he caught your hand before it landed, fingers wrapping around your wrist but not tight, not rough, just enough to make you feel the strength he usually kept hidden. he looked up at you from beneath his lashes, his voice low and steady.

“what if i don’t want to be cute tonight?”

your breath caught, not because you were scared. no, nothing about him felt unsafe but because this was a different jungwon. still quiet, still calm. but there was something new in his voice. something that made your heart thud a little faster.

you swallowed. “then… what do you want to be?”

he leaned in, resting his chin lightly on your knee, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist. his gaze didn’t waver. “i want you to see me,” he said, his voice like silk. “in the way i feel when i look at you.”

you couldn’t look away from his eyes. there was no teasing in them now, just heat. something sharp and focused and entirely unfamiliar coming from him.

“you always say i’m cute,” he continued, his voice dipping softer, slower. “but you don’t know how hard it is not to show you what i really think about when you smile at me like that.”

your cheeks flushed instantly. “jungwon-”

he smiled now, just a little. not the wide, dimpled grin everyone else knew. this one was slower. deeper. knowing.

“say it again,” he said, fingers brushing gently against your wrist where his hand still held you. “say i’m cute.”

you hesitated. "...you’re cute."

his eyes flickered with something playful and dangerous all at once.

“mm. that’s too bad,” he whispered, leaning closer. “because i was just about to stop being cute for you.”

it didn’t happen all at once.

it came in little shifts, in glances held longer than they used to, in the way he touched you like he was sure of himself now. not hesitant. not boyish. just sure.

the first time you noticed it, really noticed it, was when you were out with the boys, walking through the busy streets late at night. you hadn’t realized how close someone had gotten to you in the crowd until jungwon’s hand slid around your waist and pulled you slightly behind him, wordless, smooth. he didn’t say anything. just kept walking, his hand staying there like it belonged.

he didn’t let go until you were back in the quieter part of town and even then, it lingered.

“you okay?” he asked simply, not even looking at you when he said it. like he already knew the answer. like he was already prepared to fix it if it wasn’t.

and just like that, you saw that side of him. the one no one else really got to see.

another time, it was in the practice room. you’d stopped by after schedules to bring him something, thinking he’d be too tired to really talk. but when you sat down on the floor, he dropped next to you sweaty, flushed, hair sticking to his forehead and pulled you straight into his lap.

not beside him. into his lap.

“missed you,” he murmured into your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist, his voice so low and husky with exhaustion it made your heart skip. “you okay? you look tired.”

and maybe you were tired. but the way he held you? made it feel like you didn’t have to be anything at all, just his.

then there were the smaller things.

his hand on the small of your back when he led you into a room. the way he always opened the car door for you now without saying a word. how his texts had changed from “did you eat?” to “don’t skip meals. i mean it.” or the quiet “let me handle it” when someone talked over you in a conversation.

nothing loud. nothing showy.

but it was him. steady. quiet. there.

and when you’d catch him looking at you, really looking, it wasn’t shy anymore.

it was that same stage stare, the one that used to belong to the stage lights and loud music, now softened just for you. intense. direct. like he saw everything and liked it. wanted it.

wanted you.

it was in those moments you realized:

the soft soft boy with the oversized hoodies hadn’t disappeared.

he’d just grown up.

and now he was showing you exactly who he’d become.

[acidsoju]

NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE - YANG JUNGWON ᯓ★

"someone's gonna walk in and get the wrong idea" ≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ y,jw x reader 𖹭 not exactly part two but a similar fic to "i'm not a kid" ˎˊ˗ this one's for all my anons that requested for more .ᐟ

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. enjoy

it was late into the evening. the bedroom lights were already dimmed, and the room is quiet. jungwon is lying in bed with a pillow keeping his head propped up. you, yn is currently perched on top of him and to others it could look very suspicious as you straddled your man. you were leaning forward onto him, back to the door. leaving a surprise to anyone who could possibly walk in.

what they wouldn't see is that you were holding tweezers in your hand. "can you keep still, won? i could poke your eyes"

you tried to sound serious and threatening but jungwon groaned dramatically and reach up for your wrist to stop you. "yn, please, don't"

"what do you mean? you asked me to pluck the stray hairs!"

"but you're not being very nice with it"

it's been a while since jungwon started making noises suspiciously close to whines, holding onto your thighs for dear life.

"can you not squeeze me like that? i'm not trying to aim for your eyeballs"

"my bad" jungwon muttered. "your legs are warm and the way you're uhm- positioned is quite distracting"

people never got to see this side of jungwon, not that they should because this was just between you two.

"you're about to cry and you're thinking like that?" you say as you continued to pluck at his innocent eyebrow hairs. "okay, one more and we're done"

just as you plucked out the last one, jungwon cries out one last time.

"FUU-"

and that's when the door flew open. "hey won, have you-"

poor jay, just wanted his charger back. stopping by the door with wide eyes.

seeing you straddling jungwon on the bed, your hair a mess and his shirt slightly rucked up. and to mention jungwon's teary eyes.

"oh. my. god" jay immediatly and very dramatically makes a turn, facing the other way. "i did not need to see any of that, i'm so sorry for not knocking"

"ay jay, it's not like that!"

"i want to scold you so bad but you were in the comfort of your own room and i was at fault and-" jay went on rambling, back still towards you and jungwon, refusing to look at you both.

"jay, relax. i was doing his eyebrows" holding up the tweezers even though he's not facing you two. holding it up like it was a badge of innocence.

jay cautiosuly turned around and walked over, examining jungwon's now neatly brows and his teary eyes. looking flustered from what he walked into or what he thought he walked into. "you were just grooming his brows?"

"yes, what the hell did you think, dummy?"

jay gave you a look, glancing between you and the postion you both were in, as if he's giving you a 'be for real' look. "what else, idiot?"

swatting him away as jungwon just laughs at the tiny bickering. "get out, jay"

to which jay gladly does, slamming the door behind him, showing you how scared you both made him.

"you think he believed us?"

jungwon smirks and shakes his head "no, babe"

jongseong [9:20] guys, don't EVER walk in jungwon's room without knocking

riki [9:20] no shi- it's basic manners?? shouldn't you know that, old man

jake [9:21] ?????

[acidsoju]

ONE NIGHT ONLY. 𝜗ৎ᭪ PARK SUNGHOON

he was the worst boy in high school, a little too pretty, way too cocky, and completely unbearable. you hated him. his smirks, his popularity, the way he said your name like it was a joke. now he’s a rising idol with a solo debut he thinks will change everything. and you? you’re the filmmaker hired to document it all. he remembers everything you said back then. and he’s still determined to make you pay for it. the hate still runs deep… but the desire runs deeper. between tight shooting schedules, shared hotel rooms, and buried tension, the camera sees it all. even the night he crawls into your bed — mouth full of vengeance, hands full of something else.

⠀ ✶‎ WARNINGS & THEMES

unresolved anger, emotional tension, past high school bullying, grudge-holding, arguments that turn sexual, thin walls, filming interviews with rising idols, trust issues, miscommunication, hate sex, a hard exterior but he’s actually very soft for you. smut with feelings, enemies to lovers sex (it’s biting and needy), Sunghoon is very talkative in bed, dirty talk, filmmaker!reader gets ruined on camera, unprotected sex, soft dom!Sunghoon, sub-leaning reader, yearning, creampie, fingering, oral (f&m receiving and giving), riding, clit stimulation, brief nipple play, handjob (pretty messy), aftercare because he’s obsessed.

𓏸 25,OOO+ 𝓛ibrary REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

’ 𝒏 ★ hey guys! sunghoons series won the poll so here is the masterlist for one night only, my sunghoon x reader fic with all the messy tension, behind-the-scenes drama, and a lot of steamy scenes hehe. just a heads up, there’s mature content, so read at your own pace and skip things in chapters that might be too much for you. your comfort is extremely important to me!! thank you so much for reading and sticking with me! can’t wait for you to see how everything unfolds !??? (also the other series be posted after this fic, cus theyre all too good to go to waste mwwhahahhaa)

ONE NIGHT ONLY — CHAPTER LOG

1 — roll the tape ✧ the boy i swore i’d never film again (soon)

flashback to high school, the very first time you crossed paths with sunghoon, the cocky, untouchable bad boy who always seemed just out of reach. from the moment you met, there was a sharp edge between you two, filled with teasing, biting remarks, and an undeniable tension that neither of you knew how to shake off.

　 WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST !?

if you want to join the tag list, and get updates for this series, send an ask or comment under this post and I’ll add you to the list :3

TAGS: @invsomnixa1 @mryeyy @xiaotheworld @heelvr78 @standisease @ineedthatsalsa @wcnderinglover @siyusiee @velvetkisscs @cheolaholic @hees-h0e @heelovesmeknot @dollvtte @diameuwu @tojiworshipper @m1kkso @jun2ki @toastmenace @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @hii01mii @sunghoonsslut4ever @mymentalityprince @enhypenlovre

[acidsoju]

CHEFS KISS

summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: double update yayyyy! i hope you guys enjoy it, have a nice read! 😎

disclaimer: tumblr has a limit paragraphs block and i didn't know about that until now 🤡🤡, so when i tried to upload this chapter as a whole, it didn't let me. so this chapter was splitted in two (4th and 5th chapter of this story). this the direct continuation of the last chapter. the warnings will be only copy and pasted, so they are the same for the two parts. the word count was originally 35.1k.

warnings and tags: mommy issues • cancer treatment mention (chemotherapy) • sunghoon is whipped • sunghoon and reader are so domestic on this one i swear • chef sunghoon and menace niki (as usual) • again, i should remember everyone that jungwon is fully tatted in this au • poor attempt at comedy • suggestive! • we're horny i'm sorry • desperate!sunghoon • sunghoon calls reader doll, i'm sorry if you don't fw that • a tiny bit angst if you squint • fluff and drama • the whole last scene is a little bit cringe and i won't apologize for it • graphic description of making out, but no smut 😈

word count: 17k (pls read the disclaimer)

previous chapters: series masterlist.

cleaning up the screening room was quicker than you expected.

not because the mess was small — half the floor was covered in popcorn and questionable throw pillows, and someone had somehow spilled grape soda behind the couch — but because jungwon took over like a mob boss assigning hits.

“niki,” he said, pointing at the soda disaster, “clean that before it stains.”

“sunoo, take the mugs.”

“you—” he turned to you, already holding a dustpan— “actually, you can sit down.”

you blinked. “i can help.”

jungwon raised a single eyebrow. slowly. like he wasn’t surprised, just vaguely disappointed in your predictability.

“you’ve had a long day,” he said — not unkind, but in that final-sounding tone that made you feel like you’d just been handed a polite command wrapped in velvet.

his voice didn’t bite. it didn’t scold. but it didn’t leave much room for argument either.

still, you stepped forward anyway, crouched near the low table, and started picking up the nearest trail of snack wrappers like your pride depended on it.

“i’m fine,” you said — too quickly, probably.

jungwon watched you for a second longer, then sighed through his nose like someone spiritually tired of your nonsense.

“we’re aware,” he muttered. “but just because you’re fine doesn’t mean you need to be on your feet right now.”

his hand reached over to take the wrappers from yours — gently, like he wasn’t trying to make a point, just take something heavy off your plate.

then he wiped a small smudge from the table with the edge of his sleeve, as if that was just part of the job.

and walked away.

you stayed kneeling there a moment longer, blinking down at the spot he’d just cleaned, weirdly touched by the whole interaction.

he hadn’t treated you like glass. not quite. but he’d seen something in you worth protecting — and that wasn’t something you were used to.

you straightened slowly, glancing toward the others. they were still half-engaged in the great dishwashing debate, with jake now arguing that “soulmate hospitality” legally absolved you of chores for at least a week.

sunoo had started organizing mugs into categories by aesthetic. niki was hiding behind the couch. poorly. heeseung was pretending not to notice any of it.

and then —

“you’re not supposed to be doing that.”

you turned your head just in time to see sunghoon reappear from wherever the hell he’d vanished to after the movie ended.

leaning against the big screen now, arms crossed again, hair slightly tousled like he’d run a hand through it on his way in.

his eyes locked on yours immediately.

you narrowed yours. “doing what?”

he tilted his head. “anything.”

you huffed. “okay, but that’s vague and unreasonable.”

“it’s what we agreed,” he said, like that settled it. “you rest. we take care of it.”

you crossed your arms to match him, even if yours were slightly less intimidating and significantly more hoodie-covered. “i don’t remember agreeing to that.”

sunghoon didn’t flinch. didn’t even blink.

“that’s what i was going to talk to you about,” he said, voice quieter now. “it’s your first night here. we should talk.”

you paused.

just for a second.

“oh, right.”

you pushed off the couch slowly, brushing imaginary dust from your borrowed hoodie, suddenly too aware of how small you must’ve looked kneeling on the floor like that.

you weren’t exactly nervous — but there was a flicker of something, somewhere between tension and anticipation, winding itself low in your stomach.

you tucked your hands into the sleeves, just for something to do.

“okay,” you said, meeting his gaze again. “then talk.”

“you should eat something first,” sunghoon said, voice low and steady — not a suggestion, not quite a command, but something in between.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “i’m not hungry.”

he tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. “you should.”

you stared at him, ready to push back. to tell him that you were fine, that you didn’t need anyone worrying over your appetite — that you hadn’t needed that kind of attention in years. but the words caught in your throat before they could land.

because now that he’d said it — you should eat — you realized… you hadn’t.

not since before the hospital. not since you woke up sweating and confused. not since the shower.

your brows furrowed. you did the math in your head. twenty-four hours. probably more.

no meals. no snacks. not even water.

you should have felt faint. weak. aching with emptiness. but instead, you felt strangely level — not energized, not sleepy, just… regulated. like your body had decided not to need anything without asking your permission.

and sunghoon — of course — noticed your silence before you could speak.

he didn’t press. just studied your face for a moment longer before offering, quietly,

“it’s the bond.”

your breath hitched. not from surprise — you were already suspecting — but from the way he said it. gentle. like it wasn’t just a fact, but a truth he didn’t like forcing you to carry.

“your body knows i’m near,” he went on. “it’s adjusting to that. regulating what it thinks you need, based on me.”

you looked down at your hands. flexed your fingers slightly, like you expected to feel something shift. you swallowed down the cringiness of his words.

“so what?” you asked, softer now. “if you’re close, i won’t feel hungry?”

“something like that,” he said. “your system doesn’t think you’re in danger. so it… puts itself on pause.”

you swallowed, not sure what to do with the tight feeling rising in your chest.

you hated how much sense that made. hated how creepily efficient it was. and hated most of all how it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t asked for.

sunghoon didn’t add anything else. just watched you — not hovering, not crowding — like he was giving you space to be mad, or weirded out, or scared.

you let out a breath.

“…something small, then.”

his expression didn’t change, but there was something almost satisfied in the way he nodded — like that was the right answer. the only answer, really.

then he turned and gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated for half a second, then stepped after him.

high ceilings stretched above you, broken by sculpted beams and recessed lighting that bathed the space in a soft, golden warmth. floor-to-ceiling windows lined one entire wall, overlooking the glittering lights of seoul at night. thick curtains were drawn back just far enough to catch the glow.

the living room flowed into the kitchen with that seamless kind of design that screamed money. velvet armchairs clustered around a sunken fireplace framed in black marble. the floor was warm under your socks — heated, maybe? of course it was.

you followed sunghoon through the arched doorway leading out of the screening room, your steps slow, almost cautious — not because you were afraid, but because this place still felt like something out of a dream you hadn’t caught up to yet.

the hallway split in two: one direction faded into a darker corridor lined with closed doors — bedrooms, maybe, or more rooms you hadn’t been trusted with yet — while the other opened wide into the heart of the penthouse.

sunghoon took the latter.

the air shifted as you stepped in behind him.

gone was the dim, enclosed coziness of the movie room. the space here was open, sprawling — a soft echo followed your footsteps, barely cushioned by the polished dark wood floors beneath your socks.

the living room was sunk slightly lower than the rest of the space, separated by a few shallow steps. it looked like the kind of place people posed for magazines in but never actually lived.

built-in bookshelves framed one side, filled with hardcovers and old records, interspersed with small, sculptural lamps that cast ambient light across the walls. a record player sat nestled in a custom alcove beneath a piece of abstract art you didn’t understand but kind of respected.

everything had that curated, timeless quality — not cold, just impossibly intentional. like every piece had been placed for a reason.

the kitchen stretched beyond it, elevated by a wide platform of dark slate tile. there were no upper cabinets to block the view — just open space, warm lighting, and surfaces so clean they looked untouched.

sunghoon walked like he’d done this a hundred times, navigating the small change in elevation with fluid steps as you hesitated just a beat behind him, still taking it all in.

the countertops were a deep, matte charcoal, cut in sleek lines and accented with soft gold fixtures. a wide island separated the kitchen from the living area, with minimalist stools tucked neatly beneath it. the sink was built into the far end, next to a panel of floor-to-ceiling glass that framed a quiet sliver of skyline.

you realized, distantly, that there wasn’t a single overhead cabinet. everything must’ve been stored below — drawers, hidden panels. the design was too seamless to be anything but expensive.

sunghoon didn’t say a word as he opened the fridge, bathed briefly in its pale, chilled light. he pulled out something — leftovers, you guessed — and moved to the stove with quiet confidence.

you lingered near the edge of the island, unsure if you should sit or just… exist.

sunghoon moved like he belonged here — which, you guessed, he did.

he pulled out a glass container of rice, set it gently on the counter, then grabbed a small frying pan. didn’t ask what you wanted. didn’t make a fuss. just… started.

the stove clicked once, then flared to life. you watched as he stirred leftovers into the pan with slow, practiced movements, adding a splash of sesame oil, a pinch of salt, eyes never leaving what he was doing.

his silver chain caught the light again when he leaned forward, collar dipping slightly — and for one long second, you didn’t feel overwhelmed or hunted or tired.

you just watched a boy make you dinner.

the scent of toasted sesame and warmed rice filled the kitchen, soft and familiar in a way that made your stomach clench — not with hunger, exactly, but with a kind of recognition. something your body had been too busy to register until now.

you stayed still at the edge of the island, watching his movements — precise, fluid, quietly practiced. 

there was no hurry to it. no rush to fill the silence between you.

from somewhere down the hallway, laughter echoed — quick and breathless. niki’s voice, unmistakable, followed by heeseung’s sharp gasp of protest and a thump that sounded suspiciously like someone being shoved into a sofa.

you glanced over your shoulder at the noise, a small smile twitching at your mouth.

sunghoon didn’t turn.

but you could tell he was listening.

there was the faintest shift in his posture — a pause in the way his wrist turned the wooden spoon — like part of him was tuned in to the chaos, keeping track of it even while his eyes stayed fixed on the pan.

heeseung padded in at some point, barefoot and quiet, crossing the kitchen to grab a glass of water from the tap.

he nodded at you. didn’t say anything, just offered a soft, polite smile before slipping back out as quickly as he came.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it wasn’t heavy, either.

it just was.

you could hear the soft clink of the spoon against the pan, the occasional pop of oil, the hum of the ventilation system hidden somewhere overhead.

and sunghoon — steady and still and strange in how gentle he could be — never broke rhythm.

you couldn’t explain why that moved you. but it did.

maybe it was the change in scenery — finally free from his room, finally somewhere with open space and warm light and a view of the city that looked too expensive to be real.

or maybe it was just the overload of everything — all the velvet and marble and glass, the glowing floors and ridiculous architecture, the quiet.

but more than anything, maybe it was the fact that after the ridiculous stinkiness argument and the truce-by-towel gesture, sunghoon didn’t feel like a threat anymore.

he didn’t feel like a mistake. or an enemy.

he felt like… someone who’d been trying. awkwardly, maybe. but sincerely.

and somehow, that shifted something in your chest. just slightly. just enough to notice.

after a couple of minutes, he slid a plate in front of you — still warm, neatly portioned, the edges of the rice just starting to steam against the cool air of the kitchen.

you just stared at it at first. not because you were hungry — you still weren’t, weirdly — but because something about the gesture itself made your chest feel tight. he didn’t say anything. didn’t ask for praise or point out the effort. he just placed the plate in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world — like taking care of you was becoming a habit.

you didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until the scent hit you — savory and clean, like comfort food pulled from someone’s memories and offered up without explanation.

sunghoon leaned back against the counter again, his voice quiet: “eat slow.”

you stared down at the plate, a little stunned.

for a six-hundred-year-old vampire who probably hadn’t touched a stove since electricity became a thing, it… wasn’t bad.

actually — no. it looked really decent. 

warm rice mixed with bits of egg and veggies, a few carefully arranged side dishes that definitely hadn’t just been dumped onto the plate. he’d even sprinkled a little sesame on top like it was intentional, like he’d done this for someone before.

the thought that he might’ve — or worse, that maybe he hadn’t, and this was just for you — made your chest pull tight in a way you didn’t want to unpack right now.

so you picked up the spoon instead.

he didn’t say anything. didn’t ask if you liked it, didn’t hover or wait for a reaction. but you felt him watching.

you took the first bite.

warm. savory. not oversalted. the kind of food that tasted like it had been made by someone who’d been paying attention — not just to ingredients, but to you.

you glanced up and met his eyes.

he looked… cautious. like he wasn’t sure if you’d like it, and even though he’d said it didn’t matter, it clearly did.

and that?

that was maybe the cutest thing you’d seen all night.

you chewed slowly, just to mess with him a little. then nodded. “it’s good.”

the tension in his shoulders dropped immediately, just enough for you to see it.

he gave you a small nod back, as if to say of course it is, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

he stayed where he was, standing beside the island, arms folded loosely now — not guarded, just… there. like a guard dog in expensive knitwear. like he was watching over you instead of just watching you.

you took another bite. then another. it was better than good. 

“you know,” you said, still chewing, “for someone who scowls at me in ninety percent of our interactions, you sure put a lot of effort into feeding me.”

his brow twitched. “you needed food.”

“aw,” you said, spoon hovering. “so you care.”

he blinked slowly, like he was weighing whether or not to argue.

you grinned. “sunghoon… you’re whipped.”

he immediately looked away, face angled sharply toward the cabinets like they’d just said something fascinating.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.

you laughed — a real one, bubbling up before you could stop it.

because he did care. and the fact that he couldn’t lie about it — not well, anyway — made it so much worse for him and so much funnier for you.

your cheeks were already warm, but the smile stretched wide across your face now.

“sure,” you said, dragging the word out, “whatever helps you sleep in your vampire coffin at night.”

“we don’t use coffins.”

“but you didn’t deny being whipped.”

he shot you a look.

you bit back another laugh and shoved a bite of rice into your mouth to keep from teasing him further — but god, it was getting so easy. too easy. 

he wore his defensiveness like armor, but it didn’t quite fit when it came to you. and now that you’d found the cracks, it was hard not to want to press every single one.

he didn’t move from his spot beside the counter. just stood there, steady as ever, as if making sure you ate was some kind of mission he couldn’t abandon halfway through.

a few minutes passed in that comfortable, charged quiet — then soft footsteps padded into the kitchen from down the hall.

“hyung,” jake called, his voice casual and low. “i’m heading out.”

you turned as he appeared in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp like he’d just come from the shower. his sneakers squeaked faintly against the tile, and his car keys spun lazily around one finger like he was used to never being in a rush.

he caught your eye and offered a grin — easy, familiar. “gotta run,” he said. “my girl’s waiting.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he chuckled, like your reaction was exactly what he’d expected. “yeah. she’s patient, but not that patient.”

you nodded slowly, unsure why that made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

sunghoon didn’t say much, but his voice was quiet when it came: “be careful.”

and jake… jake nodded like that meant something more than it sounded — like he’d heard more than the words.

then he was gone, slipping out with a wave and a soft clack of the front door closing behind him.

the kitchen went quiet again.

not awkward — just still.

you finished the last few bites of your food in silence, not because you felt pressured, but because something about the quiet felt important now. like breaking it too fast would shift the weight of the moment.

sunghoon didn’t leave your side.

he stayed where he’d been all along — one hand braced loosely against the counter, gaze drifting somewhere just over your shoulder like he wasn’t watching you, even though you knew he was.

you pushed your empty plate slightly forward, letting your spoon rest against the edge. you didn’t speak. didn’t move much.

and still — he didn’t look away.

“this is why,” he said quietly, after a long moment.

his voice wasn’t sharp. it didn’t rise above the soft hum of the appliances or the wind brushing against the windows.

but it reached you all the same.

“this is why we need you to sleep here this week.”

you glanced up. his eyes met yours then — steady, unreadable in the way that used to scare you, but now just… held.

“because even if you don’t feel hungry,” he continued, “your body will still shut down if it doesn’t get what it needs. it won’t warn you. it won’t scream. it’ll just stop.”

you swallowed. something in your chest prickled, heat curling on your low stomach that should make you feel embarrassed.

“you were running on instinct earlier. adrenaline, maybe. the bond numbs things — that’s part of it. it makes you feel like you’re okay when you’re not.”

his jaw shifted slightly. not clenched, just tight. restrained.

“but i’m here to make sure you survive it.”

the words landed like a stone dropped in still water. not loud. not dramatic. just true.

you opened your mouth to respond — to say something sarcastic, maybe, or brush it off like he was being overly dramatic again — but nothing came out.

before you could even think about standing, sunghoon was already moving.

he reached across the counter, his fingers brushing the edge of the plate like he’d been waiting for the moment you’d finish.

the sound of the spoon clinking against the ceramic was soft — barely louder than the low hum of the appliances or the faint wind against the windows.

he took the plate without a word. not rushed, not performative. just… casual. practiced.

like this was always going to be part of his evening — not something to fuss over, just something to do.

you stayed still.

watched him move toward the sink, roll up the sleeves of his sweater with quiet efficiency. he rinsed the plate, stacked it in the dishwasher, wiped his hands on a cloth draped over the edge of the counter.

he didn’t ask you to help. didn’t glance back like he expected you to stand or follow or do anything at all.

it wasn’t a show of dominance or control — more like muscle memory. like keeping you from doing the small things had already become second nature to him.

you stood there, fingers lightly skimming the edge of the counter, watching him with a strange shyness that didn’t quite feel like you. not after everything.

the hoodie and joggers clung comfortably to your skin — soft, worn in. a little too big in the sleeves, but they wrapped around your frame like armor. not yours, but not foreign anymore either.

you hadn’t lifted a finger all night. hadn’t helped clean, hadn’t done anything but exist while the rest of them picked up after the movie and argued over chores like some chaotic domestic sitcom.

part of you still felt guilty about it.

but standing here now — barefoot in a kitchen that smelled like sesame oil and soap, watching sunghoon move with all the quiet grace of someone who didn’t expect anything from you — that guilt softened into something else.

comfort, maybe.

you shifted your weight slightly, the thought surfacing without much warning.

“can we…” you started, hesitating just long enough for him to glance over. “can we go to my apartment tomorrow?”

his hands paused mid-rinse, but only for a second.

you cleared your throat. “i want to take some things. make a bag, you know… for our, um. sleepovers.”

you braced for a smirk. a quip. some sarcastic one-liner about the bond or the word sleepover.

but sunghoon just nodded. like you’d given him a task. something to file under important.

“sure,” he said easily, drying his hands on the cloth. “whenever you feel like it.”

his tone was calm. matter-of-fact.

“i was going to talk about that anyway,” he added, leaning back against the counter. “you should feel comfortable here. i don’t know how many days you’ll be staying over — but we should keep things calm. slow.”

you nodded. a small, shy bob of your head.

“sure. yeah.” your voice came out a little lighter than you meant it to. 

heat crept up your neck. you didn’t know why that word felt so… loaded.

but sunghoon didn’t seem to notice. or maybe he did and just didn’t call you out on it.

“you’ll be staying in my room,” he continued, tone still even. “if that’s okay.”

your eyes widened slightly, that same heat from before still pooling on your stomach.

“we usually go to bed when the sun’s up,” he added. “i’ll be in the guest room, if you need anything.”

you swallowed.

“thanks…” you murmured. “niki said it’d be better if i stayed there. so i guess it’s fine.”

sunghoon nodded again, like that confirmed something he’d already decided. and maybe that should’ve been the end of it — one of those simple, quiet moments that fade out with nothing left to say. but your body had other ideas.

a flutter began near your neck, that spot right behind your ear again, subtle at first, almost like a trick of the air — but then it bloomed into something warmer, sharper. a thrum that pulsed just beneath your skin, right behind your ear, steady and strange like it was knocking for attention from the inside out. it wasn’t painful. not exactly. just… noticeable in a way that made your breath catch and your shoulders go stiff.

your hand moved before you could think, pressing gently over the spot like you might be able to flatten the sensation, or hide it. 

the skin was warm, almost embarrassingly so, and you realized just how fast your heartbeat had climbed without permission. the rush of blood behind your palm pulsed steady and loud, like it had been waiting for this moment to make itself known.

you dared a glance up at him, expecting indifference — or maybe just mild confusion. instead, you found sunghoon watching you with a focus so quiet it startled you. 

his gaze was steady, unreadable at first, but then he cleared his throat and shifted slightly, stepping around the sink with a kind of carefulness that made the floor feel smaller between you.

“do you feel this too?” you asked, your voice softer than you meant it to be. 

the space between you suddenly felt too charged — two steps, maybe less, and yet still enough to ache. 

you were painfully aware he was standing exactly where you’d told him to earlier. he’d listened. of course he had. and god, part of you wanted to roll your eyes at that — at his ridiculous self-control, at how seriously he took your boundaries. 

you wanted to tell him that was before. before you made up those rules just to feel in control of something. before you saw his brothers treat each other like family. before your brain accepted the possibility that vampires could love, too.

you meant to say all of that — right there in that stupid, expensive kitchen — but then the pulse behind your ear surged again, hot and sudden.

“oh…”

sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward your hand — not sharply, but like he couldn’t help it. like the sight of you touching the mark was something that pulled his focus whether he wanted it to or not.

“i noticed it when i woke up this morning,” you murmured, almost like a confession. your fingers stayed pressed gently to the spot behind your ear, feeling the warmth pulse through your skin in a rhythm that didn’t feel entirely yours. “it keeps moving at random times. it’s like it has a life of its own.”

the words hung in the air for a second too long. not dramatic — just heavy.

and then, something in him shifted.

not dramatically, not all at once, but enough that you noticed the small signs. the way his jaw tightened slightly. the quiet inhale through his nose. the sharp tilt of his head as he cracked his neck — not like he needed to, but like the pressure building inside him was starting to push at the seams.

his eyes shut for a second, just long enough for you to realize it was taking effort to stay composed. when they opened again, the shift was subtle — but the restraint behind them was clear.

you took a step closer. just one. deliberate.

sunghoon’s throat worked visibly — a thick gulp that seemed to scrape on the way down.

you watched his shoulders tense, just barely, like his whole body was reacting on instinct. and for a brief second, something flickered in his expression — not panic, not even hunger, but pure, quiet ache.

and that was all it took.

that single, visible reaction sent a jolt straight through you — hot, immediate, undeniable. he wasn’t untouched by this. not even close.

he was just as affected as you. maybe worse.

the pulse behind your ear throbbed a third time, sharper now, like it was trying to claw its way out. instinctively, your hand flew up to cover it again, fingers pressing into the heat blooming there.

“do you know what that is?” you asked, your voice low, careful. not afraid — just trying to read him.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he just breathed — deep and slow — like he was trying to suppress something building under the surface. when his eyes opened again, they looked different.

not completely, but enough.

there was a flicker of gold threaded through the brown — a faint shimmer, like sunlight breaking through murky water. it reminded you of something strange and warm, something you couldn’t quite place at first.

then it hit you.

the dreams. the ones you had while half-conscious in your apartment, burning with fever and bond-induced chaos. the ones where he looked just like this — distant, glowing, almost not real.

goosebumps rose across your arms. every nerve stood a little taller.

but then the gold slipped away. just like that. his eyes faded back to their usual, unreadable brown.

and sunghoon finally spoke.

“that is my mark, doll.” his voice was rough around the edges, like it had been scraped raw from the inside. but when you looked up, his face had settled again — calm, composed, the same sunghoon who watched that stupid movie like it didn’t cost him effort to sit still.

“your… mark?” you echoed, confused, still pressing your fingers to the tender skin like you were afraid it might vanish if you let go.

“yes.” his voice dipped low, warm and steady. “i have one too.” he reached up, fingers hooking the collar of his sweater, pulling it down just enough to reveal a faint, glowing patch of skin — just above his collarbone, more toward the curve of his shoulder. it was faintly luminous in the light, not flashy or obvious, but there.

you couldn’t help it. you leaned in. the mark was delicate, pale against his skin but not weak — like it had been drawn into him, etched by something ancient and permanent. 

his skin was flawless, unmarred except for that single spot, and it hit you all over again — he wasn’t human.

sunghoon didn’t move when you leaned closer. not at first.

you weren’t even fully aware you’d done it — just a slow, curious pull forward, like your body was answering something before your mind had caught up.

the mark wasn’t glowing exactly, but it seemed to catch the low kitchen light in a way that made it shimmer faintly — like it was alive, but calm.

your eyes traced the outline of it, not touching, just hovering. he smelled faintly like cedar and laundry soap, and underneath that something cooler, like stone in winter.

you felt his breath hitch.

barely. a ripple in the air between you.

and then, quickly — maybe too quickly — sunghoon pulled his sweater collar back up.

not harshly. not like he was angry.

just… self-conscious.

his fingers lingered there at the fabric for a second, pressing it into place like it was a shield. like he needed a second to remember where he was.

you blinked, startled by how fast the moment had closed again.

he cleared his throat, softer this time. his jaw tensed like he was trying to unclench it slowly, subtly — like he didn’t want you to see that any of this had affected him.

“sorry,” he said, voice still a little thick. “just— it gets more intense when you’re close.”

you tilted your head, watching him carefully.

“intense?” you echoed, your voice softer now, less teasing and more genuinely curious. “so you do feel it, don’t you?”

sunghoon let out a quiet breath through his nose — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, like he didn’t mean to smirk but couldn’t stop himself.

and suddenly, he looked a little like the version of him you’d met earlier today — the one with the frustrating grin and sharp eyes who’d spoken like everything he said was a dare.

“i feel everything worse, sweetheart,” he said, voice dipping into something low and almost fond. “you don’t even know half of it.”

your breath hitched. not because of the nickname — though, okay, that wasn’t helping — but because there was something in his tone that made the pulse behind your ear kick up again. like the mark had its own opinion on the conversation.

you looked up at him, eyes wide, your heartbeat skimming faster just beneath your skin.

“how do you do this?” you asked, voice light but incredulous. “why does it feel like you’re controlling it?”

sunghoon didn’t flinch. didn’t smirk or tease. he just looked at you, calm and steady — like the answer was obvious.

“that’s because i do.”

he didn’t elaborate. 

your skin prickled all over.

“explain me more, please,” you said, quicker than you meant to — the words falling out before you had time to soften them. “you said you wanted to talk, but you just fed me like a baby and now is teasing around the subject.”

his expression shifted again. something in his jaw tightened.

he wasn’t smiling anymore.

his eyes dropped for a second, then flicked back to yours — sharp, alert, unreadable in the way that made you feel like standing perfectly still.

“you don’t know how hard it is, do you?” he asked. his voice had dropped — not in volume, but in weight.

“you asked for distance,” he went on, quieter now, each word drawn a little slower. “and i respected that. every second of it.”

you swallowed.

he took one small step forward. not enough to close the space — not really — but enough to shift the air between you.

“but here you are,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “invading my space like that’s fair. like that’s how things should be played.”

the heat in his gaze was something you hadn’t seen before. not just tension. not just restraint.

longing, maybe. something deeper.

you felt it ripple through you — the pulse, the bond, the breath between you that stretched thinner and thinner with every second.

and you realized then that whatever you’d felt — whatever confusion or instinct or curiosity had been swirling under your skin — he’d been feeling it twice as loud.

you were still learning the edges of this thing. sunghoon’d been living in it from the moment you entered that greenhouse two weeks ago.

“i wanted to ease you into it, y/n. i really did.”

his voice wasn’t sharp anymore. not teasing. not playful. just… quiet. stripped down. it carried none of the heat from earlier — only a kind of weariness that felt older than him, older than the words themselves.

he looked at you then — really looked. no smirk, no sharp corners.

“i know how a bond can be hard on the human,” he said. “but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard on me, too.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but something in his expression kept you still.

“just because i’m on the supernatural side of this,” he went on, eyes flicking briefly toward your hand — still resting lightly against the pulse at your neck — “doesn’t mean i’ve done this before. doesn’t mean i know how to carry it.”

he paused. the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it just gave shape to the things neither of you had had time to name.

“you think you’re the one unraveling,” he said softly. “but you don’t know what this is doing to me.”

the way he said it — low, like he was half-telling you, half-admitting it to himself — made your throat tighten.

“i’m not human, haven’t been one for a while,” he said then, the words quieter still, almost like a confession. “i’m a creature. out of this world. that’s what i’ve been told since the day i turned — that i’m something, not someone.”

his eyes didn’t leave yours. they held steady, dark and unreadable, but not cold. never cold. there was something else in them now — something that buzzed beneath the surface like a current waiting to pull you under if you leaned too close.

“i know this feels unfair to you. and maybe it is,” he said, voice low, nearly flat — like he’d said it to himself before, maybe more than once. “but trust me when i say — i know what hard feels like.”

your breath caught.

he stepped closer, slow enough that you didn’t flinch, but close enough now that the distance you’d asked for earlier had completely dissolved.

you could feel his breath when he spoke next — warm, steady against your cheek, brushing just barely along your skin like a warning.

“and i need you to trust me back,” he said quietly. “i know it’s stupid. illogical. maybe even reckless.”

he paused just long enough for the silence to dig in.

“but it’s necessary. if you want to survive.” and then — softer, almost like a breath instead of words — “if you want me to survive.”

your heart thudded once, sharp and loud in your chest.

his voice broke just slightly around the edges, but his eyes didn’t waver.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure what was burning hotter — the mark behind your ear or the space between your bodies, which no longer felt like space at all.

the kitchen had gone still around you. the low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence like background noise in a dream. golden light from the recessed fixtures caught on the edge of the counter, painting soft shadows across the marble and steel. everything was clean, expensive, controlled — except you. except this.

his dark sweater clung to his frame like it was tailored to carry tension. the silver chain at his collarbone glinted faintly, a sharp contrast to the warmth in his skin. and your eyes, traitorous as they were, followed that glint down — past the dip in his throat, to the faint rise and fall of his chest, too steady for someone pretending to be unaffected.

his hand hovered near the sink, ringless fingers curling slightly, knuckles tense. he wasn’t moving. neither were you.

the bond pulsed behind your ear like a second heartbeat. sharp, persistent, and not just yours.

you swallowed once.

then again.

your voice came out in a whisper — softer than you meant it to be, like anything louder might snap whatever thin, invisible thread was holding this moment together.

“how does this bond thing work?” you saw his brow twitch, just slightly, but he didn’t move. didn’t even blink. “can we survive it,” you asked, eyes still locked to his, “without triggering each other all the time?”

you had to tilt your chin up to keep meeting his gaze — had to crane your neck just a little more than felt natural — but sunghoon didn’t step back.

“you stay,” he answered simply. “and we bond.”

his voice dipped low, steady in a way that made your chest tighten.

“with time, it’ll feel less like it’s strangling us,” he continued, “and more like it’s holding our hands… if you promise to trust me.”

you wanted to say something — anything — but the pressure behind your eyes tightened first.

your gaze dropped.

you stared down at your feet instead, at the mismatched socks that suddenly felt like the most vulnerable part of you.

“i can’t…”

the words came out smaller than you’d intended.

“you can’t ask me that right now,” you said, barely above a breath. “i don’t know you at all, sunghoon. you don’t know how absurd all of this still is to me.”

he was quiet for a beat. then he exhaled — not impatiently, not frustrated. just… like he’d expected this. like he’d played out this conversation a dozen times in his head already, and this was the version that hurt the least.

“i know,” he said, cutting gently through your hesitation. “i know it’s unfair.” he shifted slightly — not to move closer, not to press, just to ground himself. “you were born in the second millennium. things are different now. you’re a woman, and you’re right to be cautious. you should be.”

his voice didn’t waver.

“but vampires aren’t humans, y/n” he said, almost like a reminder. “we’re animals, if that makes it easier to understand. we seek pleasure. we run from pain. that’s what we do.”

your breath caught.

you weren’t sure if it was from the words, or the way he said them — like he wasn’t trying to scare you, just be honest.

“i need you to understand this is absurd to me too,” sunghoon said, his voice lower now, raw around the edges. he didn’t look away, didn’t blink. “i was born in 1392. i saw words being created, watched entire languages shift. i’ve seen empires rise and vanish. crimes committed that were never recorded, names lost to ash. i’m more ancient than the fucking joseon dynasty.”

he paused, shoulders tight with a tension he couldn’t seem to shake. “i’ve been so many people,” he added quietly. “so many times.”

you didn’t move. didn’t breathe. just watched as he kept speaking — not to convince you, not to scare you — just to say it. like maybe the weight of it had nowhere else to go.

“finding my soulmate after centuries of just existing?”

his voice cracked, soft and sharp like the sound of a page tearing. not much. just enough to make your chest twist.

“this is the most crucial moment of my life, y/n,” he continued, slower now. “and i’ve lived so many lives, doll. you don’t even know.”

he laughed then — barely. a sound made of breath and regret.

“i can’t let you go, do you understand?”

the words hit the air like a promise and a warning all at once.

“i thought i could ease you into it. take things slow. respect your space.” he looked at you again, and there was something raw in his eyes now — not hunger, not heat, just yearning. “but i need something to hold on to. you have to give me something, anything.”

he took another breath — quieter, more fragile this time — and the edge of his voice softened like sugar melting on your tongue.

“do you understand where i’m coming from, doll?”

his voice was barely a whisper, tucked between the hum of the fridge and the soft buzz of the lights overhead.

you took a deep breath and looked up at him again, heart thudding painfully behind your ribs.

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you stood there, quietly staring at the man in front of you — if you could still call him that — trying to wrap your head around the sheer weight of what he’d just said. born in 1392. more ancient than the dynasty you’d barely paid attention to in school. not as a metaphor or exaggeration — he meant it. 

he’d lived it.

and yet he stood here now, looking nothing like a myth or a monster. he just looked… like a man. a desperate one.

not dramatic, not dangerous. just a little frayed at the edges. like he’d held himself together for so long, and suddenly realized someone else was close enough to see it.

it messed with your head more than anything else had so far.

because when you first met sunghoon — when he handed you that ridiculous printed email and refused to make eye contact — you thought he was cold. unreadable. like something out of place, too beautiful to trust, too composed to relate to.

but now?

now you saw the strain in his shoulders. the quiet way he’d said this is the most crucial moment of my life, like he was trying not to collapse under the weight of it. you saw how carefully he watched you, how much he was holding back — not just from hunger or instinct, but from you. from saying the wrong thing, from pushing too hard, from losing whatever fragile connection this was becoming.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

you weren’t ready to say i trust you, not fully. but you weren’t scared of him anymore either. not in the way you were that first night.

and that was new.

that was something.

you thought about his brothers — the way they looked at each other, the way they looked at you. you thought about the warmth in the penthouse, the quiet hum of a family that wasn’t yours, but somehow didn’t feel off-limits.

and then you looked at sunghoon again.

really looked.

he was so still. so careful. like if he moved wrong, you’d vanish.

and that’s when it hit you.

he wasn’t just worried about what you felt. he was scared you’d walk away. and for the first time since this entire nightmare started, that thought made something ache in you, too.

so you took a breath.

and when you finally spoke, your voice came out smaller than you expected — lighter, not serious at all, but honest in a way that surprised even you.

“my dad doesn’t live here,” you said softly. “you’ll have to call him and ask him first.”

sunghoon blinked.

just once, slow and deliberate, like the words hadn’t registered right away. the crease between his brows deepened as confusion flickered across his face, and you could see the moment it hit him — the way his mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something, then shut again, clearly short-circuiting.

he looked genuinely thrown off, like you’d just started speaking in riddles, and it was almost enough to make you lose your nerve.

almost.

“he’s… he’s a fan of vampires,” you said, the words tumbling out faster now. your voice pitched high, pout forming almost involuntarily like your brain was trying to soften the absurdity of what was happening. “he’ll probably like you right away, honestly. but—”

you hesitated, horror dawning a half-second too late.

“god, i can’t believe i’m saying this.”

your hands flew up to cover your face, heat blooming fast and relentless across your cheeks as a full-body cringe rolled through you. a small, miserable sound escaped your throat — something between a groan and a whimper — muffled against your palms.

you could feel sunghoon still watching you, probably questioning all his life choices, and somehow that only made it worse.

the bond pulsed, sure, but what was worse was how sunghoon just stood there — perfectly sculpted, beautifully confused, sympathy written all over his stupidly divine face — and said absolutely nothing.

which, somehow, made you want to cry.

fuck you and your gentle vampire concern.

you sniffed and dropped your hands. “you have to pretend this is like a… marriage,” you said, all in one breath. “that’s the only way i can see this. i’m sorry. it’s realer for me if i think about it that way.”

his reaction was slow — blinking again, slightly tilted head, like someone watching a movie in a language they almost understood. sunghoon’s eyes narrowed just a little, his mouth parting like he was buffering the meaning one word at a time.

“you want me to ask your hand in marriage?” he asked carefully, voice laced with quiet disbelief. “like humans do?”

his frown didn’t shift — that same soft, kicked-puppy look he wore every time you said something too human for him to compute. it wasn’t judgment. it was… cautiousness. like you’d handed him something delicate and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold it.

you let out a slow, tired sigh and ran a hand through your hair, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie down again like armor.

“i’m trying to help you here,” you said, voice dropping. “you sounded like you were going to die if i offered to get out of your sight one more time.”

he didn’t deny it.

he just kept looking at you like that — like this whole thing was breaking and fixing him at the same time.

“that’s because i will, doll.” he let out a small laugh — shocked, breathless — shaking his head a little at the absurdity of it all. “eventually.”

he paused, and then added with actual curiosity, “so… do you want to get married? isn’t that, like, the ultimate form of love to you humans?”

you gave him a look that could only be described as unhinged exasperation.

“it depends,” you said, hands flying in vague gestures. “i’m just worried about you. this bond — this thing — it’s been eating me alive for days now. i’m fucking twenty-three. i never even dated before. not seriously. and suddenly i move into my late chaebol grandmother’s penthouse and you’re at my door that day, handing me my email like some k-drama lead with a god complex—”

sunghoon looked like he might interrupt, but you held up a finger.

“and then i start hearing things from this apartment, and niki’s there, and niki is so nice sometimes but also a pain in the ass—”

“accurate,” sunghoon mumbled.

“—and then i started getting attached without meaning to. to this place. to you. to them. and then i followed you — i can’t believe i’m admitting this — i followed you, into the greenhouse, and there was hydrangeas blooming in fucking winter, a stupid hot man tending to the flower at night, which still doesn’t make sense to me, by the way—”

you threw your hands up.

“—and you’re so pretty, it’s so fucking unfair.”

sunghoon had started laughing somewhere between “k-drama lead” and “pain in the ass,” but by the time you said pretty, it turned into something else entirely.

a full laugh.

a real one. the kind where his head tipped back and his whole chest moved with it.

the sound filled the kitchen, warm and genuine and beautiful in the kind of way that made your stomach twist and your heart squeeze and your brain immediately want to deny everything you’d just said.

but then he looked back at you — really looked — eyes crinkled at the corners, grin still pulling soft at his lips, and somehow… it didn’t feel humiliating at all.

it felt like relief. 

relief that didn’t quite settle in your bones, but loosened something that had been coiled tight behind your ribs for days now.

you shifted your weight, tucking your hands under your arms like they might stop your mouth from running, but of course — they didn’t.

“i’m serious,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek. “i’ll try to trust you if you promise to marry me or something.”

sunghoon’s eyebrows jumped slightly — not mocking, just stunned.

you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “god, i can’t believe i’m saying this. i don’t even know how to cook properly.”

he was quiet for a second. just long enough for you to crack one eye open and peek at him.

then he exhaled a laugh, softer this time.

“i know you’re serious,” he said, voice gentler now, the warmth of it curling through you like steam off a cup of tea. “it’s just… you’re so human, like nothing else. i’ve never met someone like you before, doll.”

you blinked. not because it was a compliment — though it kind of was — but because he said it like it mattered.

like being human was a strength. not a flaw.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

so you defaulted to what you always did when things got too soft — you spiraled.

“look,” you said, throwing up a hand, “i don’t know why the fuck your vampire instincts, or soul, or whatever chose me — but they did, and that’s on them, okay? because my dad’s been fighting cancer since i was thirteen, and my mom sends emojis to fill the space she left when she bailed on me years ago.”

sunghoon’s face didn’t shift — not with pity, not with shock. just steady, like he was listening and not planning to run.

“i used to live in a small province called boseong,” you continued, the words tumbling faster now, “and yeah, we’ve got great tea there, but the cell signal sucks, and the only people i ever really talked to were my dad and the two old ladies from the chess team who thought i was secretly eighty.”

you paused, breath shallow.

sunghoon hadn’t moved.

he just stood there, arms loose at his sides, watching you with that same quiet intensity from earlier — but now, it didn’t feel like he was assessing you. it didn’t feel like he was searching for weak spots or waiting for you to trip over your own nerves.

it felt like he was receiving you.

and somehow, that made your throat ache worse than anything you’d just said out loud.

because why were you like this? why were you trauma dumping and spiraling and oversharing all over again — like your emotions were some leaky faucet that wouldn’t turn off the second he looked at you too kindly?

you’d felt this before. this exact feeling. back in the greenhouse, three weeks ago. pink phone case clutched awkwardly in your hand. a desperate attempt at conversation on your tongue. and sunghoon — tall, unreadable, frustratingly composed — barely sparing you a glance.

some things never changed, apparently.

because here you were again — not in a greenhouse this time, but in his penthouse kitchen, surrounded by marble and silence and the soft hum of your own unraveling — talking too much, feeling too much, giving too much. all because being near him made you forget where the filters went.

you didn’t know why you always did this.

but you did.

and he was still listening.

“i don’t care about all that, you know that, right?” sunghoon’s voice came low and steady — the kind of tone that didn’t need to prove anything. it just was. solid. quiet. the kind of sound that pressed into your chest and settled there.

your breath caught. not because you didn’t believe him, but because you did. more than you expected to.

then he took the final step forward.

it wasn’t dramatic, just definite. one quiet movement and the space between you vanished — no more buffer, no more carefully measured distance. he was close now, close enough that you could see the fine strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead, the faint flush at the tip of his ears, the way his pupils darkened as he looked at you.

you saw everything. every angle of his face, each detail sharp but softened by the kitchen’s warm glow. his lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something else — or maybe just breathing too carefully, like even that required restraint.

you weren’t touching. not yet. but your body felt like it was already reacting. your skin buzzed. your pulse fluttered. the bond throbbed faintly behind your ear, more alert than ever.

and still, he didn’t reach for you.

not until he looked you straight in the eye — and asked, slow and deliberate, like he wanted it to count.

“can i touch you, doll?” the words came slow, deliberate, dragging over your skin before he even moved. his voice was deeper now, almost hoarse, like something he’d been holding back had finally pushed past the threshold. 

it lit up your nerves all at once, like your body had been waiting for permission to react. your heart thudded so loud it echoed behind your ribs, and you hated that he probably heard it.

you swallowed, unsure why your throat suddenly felt so dry. “will i be okay?” you asked, softer than you meant, the question small but real. 

you hadn’t meant to sound innocent — or scared — but something about the heat and the tension and the impossibility of it all made you fragile in a way you couldn’t joke around. it was raw. vulnerable. too real.

“of course, sweetheart. it’s me.” he said.

just like that, the tension didn’t drop — it changed. tilted into something warmer, heavier, something you weren’t ready for and didn’t want to stop. the pulse behind your ear flared again, sharp and possessive, like it knew exactly what was coming before you did.

his hand lifted, and for a second you thought he’d touch you right then — settle his palm over your skin, anchor you to the moment. but he didn’t. instead, he held it there, close enough to feel the static hum between you but far enough that it made you ache. 

sunghoon was waiting.

for you.

his fingers hung in the space between you, unmoving — suspended like a thread stretched too tight. they didn’t shake, didn’t twitch, but somehow you could feel the weight of them anyway. like your body had already registered their presence even before contact. like your heartbeat was tied to the stillness of him.

you frowned slightly, eyes flicking down to his hand. “what are you doing?” you asked, genuinely confused. because he hadn’t moved. not really. and still, everything in you felt like it had.

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“you didn’t answer me, doll.”

his voice was low, almost a murmur, but the strain in it cracked just under the surface — not from anger. not even from impatience. it was restraint, and you could hear it now as clear as breath: how hard he was holding himself still. how much of himself he was keeping behind the line you'd drawn.

and god, you hated how good he was at it. hated how seriously he took your boundaries. how much control he had, even now, when you could feel the tension buzzing under his skin like a live current.

your cheeks were already flushed, but you nodded once and whispered, “yes.” the moment you said it, you knew it was the right answer — not because of the bond or the pulse or anything other than the fact that your whole body had been screaming toward him from the second he stepped forward.

sunghoon’s lips twitched into a smirk, the kind that was just this side of cocky and absolutely intentional. “are you sure?” he asked, and then — with a kind of unholy confidence — added, “i’m going to touch your no-no zone.”

you groaned, the tension snapping just a little under the weight of how dumb he could be. “that was before.”

“that was literally six hours ago,” he corrected you, brow arching, like he was deeply offended by your short-term memory.

you narrowed your eyes at him, the heat crawling up your neck for entirely different reasons now. “shut up,” you said, your voice firmer than before, trying to mask the way your pulse was thrumming in your ears. “i’m a changed woman.”

sunghoon let out a soft, amused breath — not quite a laugh, but close. “mm. didn’t seem so changed when you were blushing five minutes ago,” he said, and his smirk returned, just a little, like he couldn’t help himself.

“you made me blush,” you argued. “with your weird vampire bond voice and your tragic soulmate speech.”

“you liked it,” he said. not cocky, just certain. dangerously certain.

you hated how right he was.

but before you could fire back, sunghoon tilted his head slightly, the teasing falling away from his voice — not completely, but enough to signal the shift.

“you might feel something,” he said, voice lower now. steadier. “more than before.”

you blinked. “like what?”

“depends,” he said. “pressure. warmth. sometimes it moves through the whole body. it’s just the bond syncing — like your system catching up.”

“catching up to what, exactly?”

his gaze didn’t waver. “to me.”

you stared at him, heart skipping in your chest like it wasn’t sure whether to fight or surrender.

he studied you for a moment longer, his voice quiet when he added, “i won’t hurt you. you’ll be in control the entire time. but once it starts… it might feel intense.”

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “and you… you’ve done this before?”

a pause.

then, softly, “no.”

your breath caught.

“not like this.”

you gave a small nod before you even realized it — not dramatic, not brave, just instinctive. like your body had already decided for you. 

the air between you stretched thin, humming with something weightier than silence. you weren’t sure what exactly you were agreeing to — the bond, the closeness, him — but you knew you wanted to understand it. and more than that, you wanted to feel whatever it was he’d been so carefully holding back.

you watched as his fingers hooked the collar of his sweater, tugging the fabric down again, revealing the pale stretch of skin just above his collarbone. the same spot he’d shown you earlier, faintly glowing beneath the soft kitchen light, sharp and quiet and impossibly intimate. 

sunghoon didn’t look at you as he did it — not right away. just pressed three fingers to his mark, slow and deliberate, like he was flipping a switch you didn’t know existed.

and for a second, you just stared at him.

you blinked, confused, stunned, borderline betrayed by how calm he looked while your brain tried to make sense of what he was doing.

he didn’t say anything. didn’t offer explanation or warning. it was like some silent ritual he assumed you already understood — or worse, like niki understood and had chosen not to warn you out of pure evil.

your mouth opened to ask, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

because then it hit.

a lightning strike.

that same pulse behind your ear ignited all at once — not subtle, not simmering — a bolt of heat that shot down your neck and bloomed through your chest so fast your knees actually wobbled.

your fingers gripped the edge of the counter instinctively, and your breath caught halfway to your lungs. the mark wasn’t just warm now — it burned, not painfully, but with a kind of intensity that screamed alive.

and the worst part — or maybe the best part — was how fast the rest of your body responded.

heat pooled low in your belly, immediate and sharp, and you hated how natural it felt. hated how instinctual the ache was, how fast it flooded between your legs like your body had just been waiting for the smallest excuse.

your breath went ragged. your vision blurred slightly, eyes watering from the sheer suddenness of it, like you’d been pulled out of your own skin and thrown straight into something older and deeper than you were ready for.

you stared at him, wild-eyed, every nerve in your body strung tight and quivering.

the mark behind your ear still pulsed, hot and steady, like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to you. you could feel your breath coming uneven now, shallow and fast, like your lungs had been caught mid-sentence — like your whole body was trying to recover from something you hadn’t prepared for.

sunghoon’s eyes widened — just barely, but enough. enough for you to see that flicker of something break through his usual calm, that too-smooth mask he wore like armor. the flicker didn’t last long, but you caught it. surprise, maybe. or hesitation. like he hadn’t expected it to work so well. or hit so fast.

or maybe he had. and it still rattled him anyway — watching you react like that, watching the heat bloom high on your cheeks, the way your breath stuttered like your lungs had skipped a beat.

his hand pulled back from his mark immediately. not like he was scared — more like he didn’t trust himself to keep it there any longer. his fingers hovered midair, suspended in a moment he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. and then his gaze found yours.

something shifted in him.

not dramatically — sunghoon wasn’t the kind to make scenes — but you could feel it. something in the way his shoulders dropped slightly. in the quiet steel of his jaw unclenching. in the way he finally stepped toward you again.

slow. steady. careful.

not like a predator, not like a vampire closing in on prey — but like someone walking barefoot across glass. like he didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to push, didn’t want to ruin whatever this fragile thing between you was becoming.

his hand rose, not rushed, fingers curling loosely — and then he touched you.

not roughly. not possessively.

he touched your face like it was something he’d dreamed about and didn’t think he’d ever be allowed to hold.

his palm was warm. steady. not trembling, but his thumb paused just slightly when it brushed over your cheek.

you could almost see the pity in his expression — not the kind that belittled you, not condescending, but soft. aching. like he hated what this bond had done to you, how fast it had taken root.

your eyes didn’t leave his. not for a second.

but now, instead of raw shock, there was something else crashing under your skin — something heavier, hotter, more impossible to hide. embarrassment burned up your neck like fire catching on dry leaves.

because of course your body had responded like that.

of course you were standing here — flushed, aching, breathing like you’d just run five flights of stairs — while he looked at you like he was both sorry and enchanted.

you didn’t know whether you wanted to punch him or kiss him. maybe both.

your mouth parted, not to speak but to breathe, like if you stayed still any longer you’d combust.

and sunghoon, still holding your face with that maddening tenderness, just looked down at you — like he could feel every beat of your pulse through the air between you, and wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to respect it.

“is this normal?”

your voice came out smaller than you wanted — barely above a breath, tight around the edges, like your throat hadn’t quite recovered from the way your body had just short-circuited.

sunghoon’s face shifted immediately. not out of annoyance, not from impatience — but something softer, more painful. his brows pinched together again, that same frown curling at the edge of his lips, the one that looked dangerously close to pity.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rushed, suddenly holding your face with both hands like he couldn’t bear the idea of you looking away. 

his palms were warm and grounding, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if they could soothe the flush. “i didn’t know. i swear i didn’t know you were in this deep already.”

he looked desperate — not dramatic, not unhinged — just sincere. like he needed you to believe him. like it mattered more than anything he’d said all night.

you searched his face, trying to decipher what he meant by this deep.

“is this not normal?” you asked again, breath catching at the edges of the words.

sunghoon hesitated. and honestly, that alone was your answer.

“fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair like even he couldn’t believe what just happened. he still looked slightly dazed, like he was buffering in real time.

you swallowed hard, bracing for whatever was about to come out of his mouth next — and then the thought hit you.

he could probably smell it.

your reaction. your very biological reaction.

god.

great. amazing. nothing like a six-hundred-year-old vampire watching you almost cum from one light finger tap behind the ear.

“it was supposed to only make you feel a little,” he said finally, his voice quieter now — slower too, like he hated how that sentence sounded out loud. the apology tucked into it wasn’t loud, but it was there, pressed between the syllables like something he couldn’t unsay.

he pulled back a little — not far, just enough to breathe — and lifted a hand to your hair, brushing it gently behind your ear. his touch was featherlight, almost reverent, like he was being careful not to spook you or set off another unintended detonation.

your skin prickled instantly, awareness blooming down your neck like heat under glass.

and then his fingers moved lower.

“this point right here—” he murmured, and when his fingertips met the place behind your ear, you felt it — not just the contact, but the echo of it, the spark that shot straight through your stomach like your body had been waiting for it.

you tensed, just slightly, breath catching in your throat.

but he didn’t tease. didn’t smirk.

his eyes stayed soft, steady, the pads of his fingers barely pressing into your skin as if the gesture alone might translate something you hadn’t been ready to hear.

“it’s the mark. the bond.”

the words landed heavy — not because of how they sounded, but because of how close he was when he said them.

you swallowed, eyes flicking from his mouth to his collarbone and back again, trying not to think about the fact that his other hand hadn’t moved. that he was still standing close enough that your hoodie brushed his sweater every time you breathed.

“i marked you that day in the greenhouse,” he continued, lower now. “when you got close.”

your stomach flipped.

of course it was that day. the weird flutter behind your ear. the way the air had felt heavy after. his silence. your spiraling.

“and you marked me today — when you saw me.”

you blinked, startled. “i did?”

he nodded once, solemn. “it’s invisible. not permanent yet. but it’s there. physical. it connects us. both parts of the bond live there.”

his fingers lingered, brushing gently once more against your skin before pulling away.

and suddenly, it wasn’t just your ear that felt hot.

you stayed very still, too aware of his fingers, too aware of the fact that your body was still buzzing from his touch just moments ago.

“normally,” he continued, drawing in a breath, “i would’ve received your mark after we imprinted — after something mutual, intentional. but today… i noticed it. i saw you had marked me, that’s why i didn’t lose it without the suppressants.”

his hand curled slightly, not leaving your skin, just pressing a little closer, like he needed the contact now.

“this—that shouldn’t be possible, y/n. not for a human.” he shook his head, almost like he was still processing it himself. “you were supposed to feel it. sure. maybe a pull. maybe a little heat.”

his eyes flicked up to yours again, darker now, soft and reverent like he couldn’t believe you were still standing here.

“but not that deep, doll. not like this.”

his fingers hadn’t moved from your skin, still resting lightly at the curve behind your ear like he was anchoring you to the moment — or maybe to him. his eyes searched yours with a kind of careful panic, like he was waiting for you to break, to pull back, to do anything that told him he’d gone too far. 

but all you could do was breathe — shallow, unsteady — while your brain slowly tried to catch up with your body.

“are you okay?” his voice had softened again, low and laced with concern, but there was something else beneath it too — wonder, maybe. guilt.

you blinked, still reeling from the mark, the heat, the everything, and gave him the flattest look you could manage with your heart in your throat.

“i think you broke me,” you said slowly, voice hoarse but steady enough to land the punchline, “you’re a sex god.”

for half a second, sunghoon just stared at you, clearly caught between horror and disbelief — like he wasn’t sure if you were joking or traumatized or both.

then, as the words registered, his mouth parted — not to speak, but to laugh. it hit him in a single breath, full-bodied and startled, and for the first time in the past five minutes, he looked genuinely undone.

“you—” he tried, blinking hard, shoulders shaking. “you can’t just say that when i’m trying to be responsible, sweetheart.”

“well,” you muttered, face on fire now, “you did blow up my spinal cord with vampire magic, so.”

“fuck, it’s not magic,” sunghoon muttered, rolling his eyes as he stepped back half a breath, finally giving your skin a reprieve. his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, though — trailing off your jaw with a softness that completely contradicted the annoyance in his tone.

but then he caught the color in your cheeks — the unmistakable, humiliating flush climbing up your face like fire in real time — and the protest in him melted. 

he didn’t finish whatever lecture he was building toward. didn’t correct your dramatic assumptions or dive into more vampire biology. instead, he just looked at you, eyes warming in that annoyingly fond way that only made your embarrassment worse.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, this time quieter, a little amused — but still genuinely checking in.

you groaned, tipping your head back toward the ceiling and covering your face with both hands like maybe the tiles above could save you from yourself.

“i’m embarrassed,” you announced, words muffled through your palms. “i think this should be my last day on earth. tell my father i’ll wait for him in heaven.”

sunghoon made a sound — part scoff, part laugh — and you could feel his eyes on you, unbothered, patient, and somehow smug all at once.

“you’re being a little dramatic.”

“a little?” you dropped your hands, scandalized. “i almost came because you pressed your sexy vampire fingers to your collarbone like it was a light switch. i’m allowed to spiral.”

he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed again, his posture too casual to match the tension still curling in the air. the chain at his neck caught the light, gleaming faintly — as if on purpose, as if it knew you were trying not to look at him.

then his expression changed — just slightly, but enough to still the air between you.

“don’t say that,” he said, quieter now, but with weight that made you blink. “please. i want you to trust me, doll. i need you to trust me. you don’t understand how much.”

he wasn’t teasing anymore.

his voice, low and sure, landed with the kind of gravity that didn’t allow anything else to breathe beside it.

“even if there aren’t feelings yet,” he continued, eyes fixed on yours like he was daring you to look away, “i need you to survive. do you understand?”

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. the heat that had just a minute ago been tangled up in embarrassment and flirting had shifted — deeper now, more real. something serious humming between your ribs.

you swallowed. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie — his hoodie — like it might give you the right words.

“okay,” you said softly, nodding once, voice steadier than you expected. “i understand.”

and then, maybe because you were still a little flustered, or maybe because you just needed to lighten the pressure coiling in your chest, you added:

“i’m willing to help you not die. you’re too sexy for that.”

you half-expected a laugh. a scoff. even a groan. something to acknowledge the ridiculousness of it — the weight of your fear softened under the edge of your humor.

but sunghoon didn’t laugh.

he didn’t roll his eyes or smirk or brush it off.

instead, he looked at you like you’d were something sacred.

his gaze softened — not with pity, not with gratitude, but something almost reverent. like he saw you. not just the bond, not just the girl he was tied to by fate — you.

“you’re too good to be true, y/n.”

his voice was barely louder than a whisper now, but it shook something loose in your chest anyway.

“i can’t believe the universe put you at my door.”

you froze.

not in fear. not in denial.

just — stunned.

because for the first time since this whole thing began, since you’d stumbled into that cursed greenhouse and woken up with your life flipped inside out, you felt it.

the weight of what was happening.

not the heat. not the chemistry.

the meaning.

and suddenly, you weren’t just embarrassed or confused or even flirting —

you were standing in a kitchen, heart caught in your throat, watching someone look at you like you were the one thing keeping him grounded — like your existence made the air easier to breathe. 

and still, some part of you tried to resist it. to make it smaller, manageable, something you could pretend didn’t reach beneath your skin.

“you don’t have to say things like that just to make it easier,” you said, voice softer now, your gaze drifting to the edge of the counter, to anything that wasn’t him. “i don’t need… catchy lines. i just want to help you. and help me, too. that’s it.”

sunghoon didn’t move for a second, but when he did, it was like a tide rolling in — slow, inevitable, quiet in its arrival but impossible to ignore.

sunghoon looked at you like you’d offended him somehow. not with anger — but with something softer, heavier. like the mere idea of not treating you like a queen wasn’t even listed in his book of possibilities. like it didn’t occur to him that you could expect anything less. 

his brows pulled together just slightly, and his lips parted like he wanted to interrupt you — correct you — before you even finished thinking whatever it was that made you doubt him.

“do you think i won’t cherish you?” his voice came gently, like he didn’t want to startle you, but meant every word with his whole chest. “do you think those are just catchy lines?”

his intensity almost made you coward. 

“sweetheart, my dead soul chose you before you were even born. if you think i won’t cherish the ground you walk on—” he paused, brows knitting like the thought genuinely hurt him, “then i’m sorry. truly. i’m sorry i ever gave you that impression.”

your breath hitched again, embarrassment blooming across your face like heat. you let out a sigh, cheeks flushed, trying and failing to keep your heart from spilling out of your voice. 

“you can’t say things like that,” you whispered, fingers curling around the hem of the hoodie again just to keep yourself grounded. “it’s— it’s too much.”

“why?” sunghoon stepped in close again, closing the distance without hesitation now. his hands found your face like they belonged there — thumbs grazing along your cheeks, palms warm and steady against your jaw. “you won’t let me?”

you shook your head once, not as a no, but in disbelief — still caught somewhere between resisting and falling straight into him.

“i just wasn’t expecting this, i thought you were cold,” you murmured, blinking up at him. “you barely looked at me that first day. in the greenhouse.”

his expression didn’t falter. but the corner of his mouth lifted, barely.

“because i didn’t know who you were,” he said. “i’ve encountered plenty of curious people over the years — students, strangers, investigators. people who found us suspicious, or dangerous, or fascinating for all the wrong reasons. people who wanted leverage. people who wanted secrets. why should i give my attention to any of them?”

his thumb brushed along your cheekbone again, slow and careful.

“why would i give any part of myself,” he continued, voice dipping lower, “to someone who wasn’t you?”

your eyes widened. you hadn’t expected the confession to land like that.

he wasn’t being flowery. he wasn’t even trying to be charming.

he was just telling the truth.

and now you understood why niki had said sunghoon was so popular with women. it wasn’t just the face, the mystery, the air of restrained danger — it was this. the quiet intensity. the way he chose his words like he meant to carry them for the rest of his life.

you were screwed.

completely, utterly screwed.

your voice caught in your throat, barely there as you asked, “fuck, do you even mean it? all of this?”

and your eyes — too wide, too honest — searched his like you were looking for permission to believe him.

that look — the wide-eyed softness of it, the vulnerable way your question hung between you like it could unravel everything — seemed to undo something in sunghoon. 

not just emotionally, not just metaphorically, but viscerally. like a cord had snapped inside him, one he'd spent days trying to keep taut. 

it pulled at all the wrong places — or maybe all the right ones — dragging out the feelings he’d been trying so carefully to ignore since the moment he touched your soul before he ever touched your skin.

since the greenhouse. since your pulse revealed itself to him before your name ever did.

since you looked at him like maybe you weren’t afraid.

he remembered that first moment in the greenhouse — the way you stood there all nervous energy and winter wear, holding your phone like it was some kind of shield. you’d tried to act unimpressed, tried to hide how overwhelmed you were. 

and he, in all his arrogance, had thought you were just another curious human with too many questions and no sense of self-preservation.

but you weren’t.

and now, after everything — after the movie, the teasing, the hesitation, the heat — you stood there looking at him like you wanted to believe. like the weight of everything he’d been carrying wasn’t just his to bear anymore.

and suddenly, sunghoon understood what jake meant.

you’ll stop pretending you can be normal about it. when it hits, it hits hard.

that’s what jake had said.

and this — you — this was what “hitting hard” looked like.

he wasn’t thinking about control anymore. not about distance or restraint.

he just knew one thing now, with a clarity that made his chest ache: he needed you close.

sunghoon wasn’t sure who moved first — maybe it was him, maybe it was the bond — but suddenly he was leaning in, slowly, reverently, as if giving you every chance to pull away.

he prayed his fangs wouldn’t slip.

prayed the venom that had pooled beneath his tongue the second he smelled you — sweet, human, his — would stay exactly where it was.

his mouth hovered just a breath from yours, and he took one last moment to look at you. to memorize the pink on your cheeks, the shimmer in your eyes, the shape of your lips he’d been refusing to think about all night.

then he kissed you.

softly. carefully. like you were something fragile wrapped in flame.

and you—

you seemed to freeze and melt at the same time. your body tensed for half a second, surprise blooming behind your ribs, but then your fingers curled in the fabric of his sweater, anchoring yourself to him like you didn’t trust the ground to hold you up.

sunghoon felt everything.

the jolt of the bond — electric, intimate, hungry. the heat of your breath. the curve of your mouth parting just slightly in surprise. the way your heartbeat kicked up the second your lips touched his.

it made something wild claw at his chest.

because this wasn’t just instinct.

it was you.

and when you didn’t pull away — when you leaned in instead, eyes fluttering shut, lips moving softly against his like you were learning him by feel — sunghoon knew he was gone.

utterly and completely gone.

the kiss didn’t break.

if anything, it deepened. not fast, not messy — but with a kind of aching gravity, like neither of you had any say in the matter anymore. like the bond had taken one breath between you and decided: this.

sunghoon tilted his head just slightly, slotting his mouth more fully over yours, and when you made the softest sound in the back of your throat — not quite a moan, not quite a sigh — he inhaled like it had knocked the wind out of him. like that one sound rewrote every rule in his body.

his hands, still cradling your jaw, flexed slightly before sliding down, slow and sure, along the curve of your neck and into the dip where your shoulders met your collarbone. his thumbs brushed along your throat, feeling your pulse jump under his touch, and he groaned — low, almost inaudible — as he pulled you closer, impossibly closer.

you leaned in like gravity tilted toward him now. like your entire body had decided this was where it belonged.

your fingers curled tight into the front of his sweater, clutching the soft knit like a lifeline, and sunghoon’s control — always so practiced, so clean — wavered.

he moved.

one strong arm slid around your waist, hand splaying against your lower back, and he guided you — gently but firmly — until your hips bumped the edge of the counter. the marble was cool against you, a contrast to the heat building everywhere else.

he didn’t break the kiss. not even when he pressed in, just enough to box you there — not trapping, just surrounding. letting you feel the full breadth of his body. his chest against yours, the slow drag of his breath against your skin, the tension in his arms like he was still holding back the storm behind his ribs.

his mouth moved against yours with a precision that didn’t feel practiced, just natural. confident. hungry in the way only someone who had gone without for a very long time could be.

he licked into you like he wanted to know how you tasted when you whispered his name. like he could kiss you long enough to learn your pulse by memory.

your knees weakened, just a little, and he noticed — of course he did — one hand rising to brace at your hip, fingers gripping through the thick fabric of your hoodie like it might tether him to this moment.

you felt devoured. not rushed, not handled. just… consumed.

and god, you let him.

because somewhere between his mouth and his hands and that low sound he made when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, you realized you wanted to.

you wanted to feel what it was like to unravel in the arms of someone who’d waited centuries for a reason to.

his grip tightened at your waist, pulling you fully into him, and this time, the kiss wasn’t careful. it was hungry. his mouth parted yours with ease, tongue brushing against yours in a slow, possessive stroke that made your whole body tense — and then melt.

your hands slid upward, bunching his sweater in your fists, dragging it up until your fingers met bare skin. his stomach was solid under your touch, flexing when your nails scratched lightly across it, and sunghoon groaned — a deep, guttural sound you felt more than heard.

he bent you back slightly against the counter, one arm still locked around your waist while the other slid beneath the hem of your hoodie, fingers tracing the bare skin of your back, slow and deliberate. he didn’t rush. he knew what he was doing — every touch calibrated, every movement designed to push you just a little closer to losing it.

your knees gave, and sunghoon caught you effortlessly, both hands gripping under your thighs now. he lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the counter without breaking the kiss — just a soft thud against the marble as he stepped between your legs, chest heaving.

you gasped into his mouth, fingers slipping under the chain at his neck, tugging him forward.

he kissed you harder.

his hips pressed into yours, slow, deliberate pressure — not grinding, not yet, but teasing the friction he knew you both wanted. he swallowed your moan with a groan of his own, one hand sliding up your side until his thumb brushed the edge of your bra. he didn’t touch more — not yet — but the heat of his palm burned through the fabric like a promise.

his teeth grazed your lower lip, tugging gently before his mouth dropped to your jaw, trailing kisses along the line of your neck.

you tilted your head without thinking, giving him access. inviting it.

his breath hitched.

“fuck, you’re so warm,” he muttered, mouth dragging just under your ear. “i could taste you for hours.”

his tongue flicked at your pulse point — your mark — and your hips jumped. he smirked against your skin, tongue smoothing the sting like an apology he didn’t mean.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered.

but you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

his hands were everywhere — cradling your hips, skimming under your hoodie, dragging heat across your ribs as if he could memorize your body by touch alone. he kissed you like a man who’d been starving. like you were water in a desert he’d forgotten how to survive.

your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking, ankles locking at his back, and sunghoon hissed through his teeth — a sharp, needy sound that scraped at the edge of his control.

his hips pressed forward once — slow, firm — and the contact made you gasp into his mouth, whole body arching toward him.

he was hard against you, no hiding it now, and you rocked into him instinctively, trying to find more friction, more pressure — more of him.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice thick. “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

his lips trailed back to your throat — soft kisses at first, then deeper, open-mouthed. hot breath dragging against your skin. when he reached the place just under your ear — the mark — he froze.

his body stilled, except for the tremble in his hands. his mouth hovered there, breath uneven, lips parted — not kissing anymore. just holding.

you felt it before he said anything: the sharp edge of something darker, needier, ancient pressing into the moment like a shadow.

his fangs were out.

you didn’t see them, but you felt them.

not against your skin, not yet — but close enough that your body responded with a thrill of heat and warning. it was primal, sharp, an almost electric pull of wait.

and that’s when you remembered.

what he was. what this could be. what you could be, if he lost even a second more of control.

your breath caught, the pulse behind your ear flaring like it had its own alarm system, and suddenly, your hands were at his shoulders — not shoving, not panicked, but pressing. clear. certain.

sunghoon stopped instantly.

you blinked, cheeks burning, lips parted from the kiss, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater like you hadn’t quite decided whether to push or pull.

“i—” you started, but the words jammed in your throat. heat rushed to your cheeks, and for a second, all you could do was breathe through it — the kiss, the pressure, the closeness.

your hands pressed lightly against his chest. “fuck.”

you weren’t sure if it was regret or just too much, but sunghoon stepped back the instant you touched him — like your fingertips carried weight. like he’d been waiting for your signal.

he moved away slowly, deliberately, jaw tight and eyes still shining with something not human. his back hit the edge of the kitchen island and he stayed there, hands braced on the counter, head tipped down as if to hide his face.

his breath came rough, like his body was still winding down from a place you hadn’t meant to take him.

and then you saw them — the tips of his fangs still peeking past his parted lips.

he clenched his jaw. hard. once. twice.

you could see the shift happening — the fight in him to shut it down.

he didn’t speak at first. didn’t even look at you.

you stood frozen for a second, watching the tension roll off him like heat waves. he looked beautiful like this — too beautiful, if you were being honest. sweater rumpled, lips swollen, hair mussed from your fingers. he looked wrecked in the best, most reverent way.

and it was your fault.

you stayed still. legs still bracketing the counter’s edge, hands curled at your sides like they didn’t know what to do anymore.

sunghoon stood a few steps away now — not far, not nearly far enough — but no longer touching you. his chest rose and fell in slow, sharp movements like he was forcing air in and out, trying to rebuild the wall he’d let you walk straight through.

you watched him — the curve of his neck, the sharp edge of his jaw clenched tight, the way his hands flexed once, then again, like they didn’t trust themselves.

he looked wild. undone. so thoroughly affected by what just happened.

and still, he hadn’t said a word.

but he wasn’t walking away either.

he just looked at you — chest tight with the effort it took to hold back, to force a long breath through his nose and let it calm the fire building low in his gut.

and then he smiled.

barely. faint and wrecked and full of something that bordered on grief.

and that — more than the kiss, more than the press of his hips or the sound of your name in his mouth — was what undid you.

because it wasn’t a predator’s smile. it wasn’t ego or hunger or even confidence.

it was soft. tired. hopeful, somehow, in the most fragile way.

you’d thought he was all cold restraint and old-soul aloofness, a vampire more myth than man. and maybe he was, sometimes. but this version — the one who looked at you like he didn’t trust himself but trusted you to stop him — that was something else entirely.

something real.

and after everything, after the movie and the laughter and the mess of a kiss you’d just shared, you finally understood why the bond scared him so much.

not because he couldn’t feel it. but because he felt everything. too much. all at once.

sunghoon wanted you — god, he wanted you in every way a vampire wasn’t supposed to want anyone — but he also wanted to deserve you. and right now, right here, with your mouth swollen from his, your eyes shining in the dim light of a kitchen that didn’t even feel real anymore, he knew this wasn’t the moment. 

it was your first night here. you were tired, scared, confused, still learning what the bond even meant. this wasn’t about what he craved — this was about what you could carry. 

and so, instead of kissing you again — instead of letting himself drown in the warmth of your mouth, the trust in your eyes, the pull of the bond that never stopped humming beneath his skin — sunghoon chose stillness. 

he let the heat cool just enough to regain control, just enough to keep his promise to take things slow. it wasn’t easy. it hurt, actually. but he held himself back, like a hand gripping a ledge, and put you back on your feet.

before letting you go, he leaned in just enough to press his forehead against yours.

the contact was light, barely there, more air than touch — but it grounded him. it quieted the noise in his head long enough to remember this wasn’t about what he wanted. not yet.

he felt your breath catch, your eyelashes fluttering as you waited, confused. he didn’t need to look to know your eyes were still on him, wide and warm and searching. and in that space between breath and silence, where you could’ve said anything — you did.

“asshole,” you muttered, soft and full of reluctant frustration.

sunghoon laughed under his breath, low and warm, the sound rumbling somewhere between his chest and yours. it wasn’t mocking. if anything, it was affectionate — the kind of laugh that said i know, i know, even if he wasn’t sorry.

“you’ll thank me tomorrow,” he whispered, not pulling away, not yet. and even though you still felt like you were floating just above the floor, even though your lips still buzzed from the kiss you hadn’t fully gotten back from, part of you believed him.

after a beat, when the air between you finally felt less like it was going to combust and more like something you could breathe again, you spoke — your voice small, tentative, but laced with that familiar shade of dry humor he was starting to crave.

“so… we’re getting married for real?” you asked, your words slow and a little shaky, like you were half-joking, half-trying to convince yourself this was all still reality. “i’m yet to start college. i hope you’re okay with that.”

sunghoon pulled back just enough to see your face — not far, just enough for his eyes to find yours again. his smile wasn’t wide, but it was there, carved soft at the corners of his mouth like you’d etched it into him permanently. the kind of smile you give someone you already know too well.

“guess i’ll have to learn how to pack lunch boxes,” he murmured, voice low and fond.

you rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the way your lips twitched — the way the glow of him, of this whole night, had sunk into your chest.

you were starting to believe it now. not just the bond, or the danger, or the chaos of it all — but him.

sunghoon wasn’t human. he would never be. not anymore. not after six hundred and something years of living with powers no human could ever touch, no matter how far they stretched. 

you couldn’t expect him to behave the way people did — the way you did. he wasn’t wired for it. his world was older, stranger, stitched together by instincts and memories that lived longer than most buildings.

maybe that’s why he felt like this — different, yes. but also magnetic. electric. almost unreal. he was both too much and not enough at the same time. there was always something just off about him — in the precision of his stillness, the weight of his gaze, the way his voice dropped like it had been trained to carry command over centuries.

sunghoon had seen things. not in the romantic, dramatic kind of way — but in the raw, ancient, painfully real way. 

he’d survived wars that never made it into your schoolbooks. probably watched jazz get born in a harlem basement, thick with smoke and rebellion. he’d probably fucking kissed queens and stabbed liars and buried friends. he’d sinned. probably loved. probably killed.

and now — somehow — he stood here, in a penthouse kitchen in seoul, barefoot and exhausted, holding your face in his hands like it was the first new thing that had mattered in a very long time.

you weren’t stupid. you knew you were barely brushing the surface of the kind of life someone like sunghoon had led. you knew there were things he hadn’t said — wouldn’t say — things too old, too ugly, or too beautiful to fit between words.

but none of it scared you right now.

what scared you was how much you were starting to want to understand.

because even if he wasn’t human, even if he never would be again — tonight, in the low light of a kitchen too expensive to belong to someone like you, he’d been soft. not perfect. not safe. just… real. in a way that you weren’t used to.

and maybe that’s why you hadn’t passed out yet. why your hands weren’t shaking, why you could still crack jokes after kissing a man who hadn’t aged since your great-great-grandparents were in diapers. maybe it wasn’t strength. maybe it was just… 

legacy.

you were your father’s daughter.

the daughter of a man who never feared the dark — only disrespected it when it wasn’t handled with the right amount of lore accuracy. a man who treated vampires the way other people treated endangered species: with reverence, fascination, and a strange, unwavering protectiveness. he didn’t just like the stories — he believed in them. believed they deserved care. preservation. truth.

it all made so much sense now. the old books lining your childhood shelves — yellowing paperbacks with cracked spines and dramatic titles that your school librarian politely suggested you keep at home. 

the stories weren’t just bedtime tales for your father, they were homework. he’d quiz you on vampire mythologies across cultures, pause movies to correct historical inaccuracies, and once, actually filed a complaint with a tv network because they’d misrepresented blood rituals in a prime-time special.

and then there was the docuseries.

a five-part, low-budget vampire anthropology show he’d made you watch with him over the course of three school nights — because “this is how we bond, sweetheart. through the critical analysis of immortal social structures.” 

you’d rolled your eyes the whole way through, complained about the narrator’s fake accent, but still sat beside him on the couch, feet tucked under his thigh, popcorn in hand.

maybe he’d known.

maybe some part of him had understood, in that eerie, unspoken way parents sometimes did, that the world had plans for you that didn’t include safety or normalcy.

and maybe this — standing in a penthouse full of vampires, pulse marked by an ancient bond, heart too full for your body to hold — was the most terrifying and natural thing in the world because of that.

sunghoon leaned back against the counter, watching you silently. not like he was waiting for you to speak — just… observing. like he didn’t want the moment to end yet.

you blinked at him, arms loosely crossed, brain still a little melted from the kiss, the mark, everything. and when the silence stretched, you couldn’t help yourself.

“you’re thinking about it again,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “the marriage thing.”

he didn’t deny it. just tilted his head, lips twitching into the barest smile. “a little. mostly wondering what color scheme we’re going with.”

you scoffed. “okay, absolutely not. you don’t get to kiss me once and start planning the ceremony.”

“so you are admitting it was a good kiss,” he said.

you stared at him. blinked. then turned on your heel. “i’m going to bed.”

he laughed — low and full and genuine — and followed behind you at a respectful distance, like he was still trying to honor your space even after you'd just melted into his mouth.

“you’re staying in my room, right?” he called after you.

“yeah, yeah,” you muttered. “but only because niki said so.”

he nodded sagely. “excellent. then you can take the left side of the bed.”

“you’re not sleeping in there.”

“i meant the guest bed. obviously.”

you didn’t bother replying. not because you were mad — but because smiling would’ve ruined your exit.

and as you disappeared into the hallway, still fighting the grin that tugged at your lips, sunghoon stayed behind just a moment longer.

watching.

and smiling too.

author's note: THIS IS SO CRINGE I'M GONNA DIE. reblogs and comments are appreciated :) send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @ikeugirly @vixialuvs @hoonprksung @kyunlov @verialuv @sagegreenhairclip @gal821 @hoonstrology @httpenhoon @questionsdearreader @mynameis-rosie1 @ninistranaut @staygenesblog @stercul1a @nshmrarki @imeowni @harusoraa @niki788 @sosaphiee @seokjinthescientist @gloomyasphodel @ferjinyoungiee @temuao @p1ecetinyzen @theothernads @jellymiki

[acidsoju]

OMG WRITING SO GOOOOD also propaganda im falling for: tatted jungwon🫦🫦🫦🫦

summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: listen, the first 8k words of this chapter are not so entertaining to read but pls hear me out, don't give up on this chapter, this chapter is very important to the story overall. the pacing is weird at first but it'll get better, i promise. i had no chance to properly proofread it yet so pls be patient with any misspellings. i LOVE the father and daughter relationship i build for the reader here urghhhh. enjoy it!

disclaimer: tumblr has a limit paragraphs block and i didn't know about that until now 🤡🤡, so when i tried to upload this chapter as a whole, it didn't let me. so this chapter will be split in two. the warnings will be only copy and pasted, so they are the same for the two parts. the word count was originally 35.1k fyi.

warnings and tags: mommy issues • cancer treatment mention (chemotherapy) • sunghoon is whipped • sunghoon and reader are so domestic on this one i swear • chef sunghoon and menace niki (as usual) • again, i should remember everyone that jungwon is fully tatted in this au • poor attempt at comedy • suggestive! • we're horny i'm sorry • desperate!sunghoon • sunghoon calls reader doll, i'm sorry if you don't fw that • a tiny bit angst if you squint • fluff and drama • the whole last scene is a little bit cringe and i won't apologize for it • graphic description of making out, but no smut.

word count: 18.2k (pls read the disclaimer)

previous chapters: series masterlist.

the best part of being soul bonded to a vampire is that you get free central heating. permanently.

niki tried to explain it to you as soon as he spotted you stepping out of sunghoon’s room, fresh from the shower, skin still damp and hair clinging to your neck. 

this was the very same day sunghoon’d tried — and succeeded, spectacularly — to convince you that the bond was real.

he’d popped up in the hallway like he’d been waiting for this exact moment, hands stuffed in his pockets, grin too wide to be trusted.

“see? i told you,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you like your entire existence was now proof. “you’re not cold, right? that’s the bond. built-in heating system. you’re welcome.”

you blinked at him. your brows furrowed slightly, like maybe the words hadn’t landed yet — like your brain was still buffering through the absurdity of everything. you glanced down at your hands, turning them palm up, then palm down, as if the answer might be written somewhere on your skin.

your fingertips were freezing — technically. ice-cold, like you’d just dipped them in snowmelt. but… you didn’t feel it. not really. no goosebumps. no shiver crawling up your spine. just this strange, quiet warmth humming through your chest like it belonged there.

like you’d swallowed a mug of tea that never cooled down.

not a burn. not even heat, exactly. something softer. steadier. it sat in your lungs and wrapped around your ribs, curled behind your heart like it had always been waiting for a chance to settle in.

you didn’t get it. niki tried explaining again, something about “energy sharing” and “soul circuits” and “vampire body temperature osmosis” — and okay, maybe he was making that last part up, but you weren’t exactly in the headspace to fact-check.

you were, in fact, still thinking about slapping your so-called soulmate across the face because he had the audacity — the absolute gall — to call you “stinky” earlier.

no, you still weren’t over it.

because sure, you’d just woken up from a fever-coma, and sure, maybe you hadn’t been at your freshest after fourteen days of near-death and medical-grade misery, but that didn’t mean he had to say it. out loud. with his stupid beautiful face.

your jaw clenched at the memory, heat rising to your cheeks, the embarrassment still burning bright like it had happened five seconds ago instead of… whenever.

niki caught the shift in your expression, smirk twitching like he could read your mind. or maybe he just recognized the universal look of someone planning violence.

you wanted to pretend you were okay with all of it — the bond, the weird warmth in your chest, the fact that your life had done a complete 180 in the last 24 hours. but first, apparently, you had to work on your facial expressions. 

you weren’t exactly selling cool and collected right now.

you exhaled, tried to focus on literally anything else, tried to remember what normal even felt like. 

tried to think of home, of your tiny home back at boseong and your too-loud kettle and the way your dad always texted you memes that didn’t make sense. 

tried to think of your old routines — study, sleep, repeat — like repeating them in your head might ground you.

tried to ignore the pulse behind your ear, the one that kept reminding you nothing was normal anymore.

you glanced around at the hallway, at the sleek walls and the ridiculous height of the ceiling, at the soft hum of the penthouse that felt too big, too polished, too much.

but even if you tried — really tried — to hold onto something familiar, your new life wrapped around you like a fog that wouldn’t lift. it was in the air, in the too-clean scent of polished marble and ancient wood, in the way the penthouse seemed to hum beneath your feet like a living thing.

and the bond — god, the bond — it throbbed gently in your chest, low and steady, like background noise you couldn’t quite tune out. not painful, but present. like something just under your skin, breathing with you.

then there was the warmth.

not yours. not completely.

it moved differently than your own body heat — it sat low in your stomach and curled against your ribs, slow and stubborn, like someone had lit a candle inside you and refused to blow it out.

none of it felt normal. none of it belonged to the version of you that had existed two weeks ago.

and no matter how hard you tried to pretend, your body already knew the truth.

nothing was the same.

not the bond. not the air. not the way the silence in this place seemed to watch you.

and that was when you noticed the clothes.

yes, the clothes.

right after the shower and yours and sunghoon’s banter of stinkiness, bonds, and no-no spaces, you’d wandered back into his room, only to find a neat pile on the bed — a soft black hoodie (big enough to drown in), grey joggers that fit too well, and socks that didn’t match but somehow felt intentional.

you stared at them for a second longer than necessary, like the clothes might explain themselves if you gave them enough time. they didn’t. 

so you tugged them on, each piece somehow making you feel smaller, more out of place, more aware of everything that had happened in the last fourteen days.

and of the fact that now you had one more worry: why did he have clothes that fit you? why did this feel like it wasn’t the first time someone human had worn them?

your brain, helpful as ever, supplied the worst possible theory.

maybe sunghoon wasn’t just brooding and mysterious. maybe he’d been a vampire whore.

the idea hit harder than it had any right to. sharp and stupid and petty, blooming in your chest like some ugly, unwanted thing.

jealousy. that’s what it was. pure, irrational, completely unwelcome jealousy.

because what did it matter if he’d had girls over? what did it matter if he kept a drawer of perfectly sized joggers just waiting for the next human he dragged into this mess? what did it matter if someone else had worn this hoodie first, had curled up in it, had been here — in his space, in his orbit — before you?

it didn’t. it shouldn’t.

but god, it felt like it did.

you crossed your arms tighter, as if that would somehow keep the feeling in, contain it before it showed on your face. because the last thing you needed was niki, or anyone else, catching on.

you shut it down, or tried to. forced the ridiculous, petty jealousy back where it came from. focused on the mismatched socks — one black, one grey, like the universe couldn’t even be bothered to match them today. focused on the black pattern of the hoodie, the way the fabric felt soft from too many washes. focused on how the joggers were actually… annoyingly comfy.

focused on the fact that they were better than your dirty and too-sweated blue bear pajamas, at least. that’s for sure. 

it was also comforting — borderline life-affirming, actually — to take a shower after a trip to the hospital and hibernating for a whole day in a stranger’s bed like some kind of fevered victorian ghost.

you’d been sick for fourteen days straight, your body hijacked by whatever this bond was doing to you, and now you were suddenly… fine. healthy. clear-headed. honestly, you didn’t have much energy left to complain about the clothes at this point.

what you did feel the need to process — to talk out, to overthink within an inch of your sanity — was the fact that it was 7 p.m. now, and the penthouse seemed more alive than usual.

brighter in that odd way that didn’t match the hour, like the world outside had gone dark but inside, everything had just switched on. 

everybody was awake. the apartment buzzed with life — not the winding down kind you’d expect at this time, but sharp, alert, like this was when they truly came alive. 

and maybe that was the strangest part: that now, with the sun gone, they felt more awake than they ever had during the day. and you were standing there, realizing that you weren’t part of that rhythm — not yet.

but now that you were certain they were vampires — no more dancing around it, no more “maybe they’re just really pale night owls” denial — all the weird things you’d noticed since moving in lined up in your head like a string of fairy lights blinking in sync.

like the way they always seemed to be awake past sunset. the way the apartment buzzed with music after midnight — not loud, just present, like a heartbeat in the walls that only someone paying too much attention would notice. 

like the way the entire building’s decor looked like it had been styled by someone who’d watched too many noir films and thought, yes. this is subtle. 

and now it all made sense. every odd glance in the hallway, every too-quiet conversation that stopped when you entered the elevator, every perfectly timed exit to avoid the daylight. the greenhouse at night, the apartment, them — none of it had been random, none of it had been coincidence. 

it had always been this.

even the air felt different now. heavier, like it was holding secrets just out of reach. the kind of atmosphere that made you second-guess every step, every breath, like the walls were listening.

you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the too-big sleeves of the hoodie swallowing your hands, the joggers soft against your skin, the faint hum of the bond curling low in your chest.

somehow, standing there in your borrowed clothes, still damp from the shower, you felt more awake than you had in weeks. like your body was synced to their rhythm now. like your old routines — morning alarms, college entrance exams, vampire-obsessed father — belonged to another lifetime.

and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

you tried not to overthink it. really, you did.

but standing on their multimillion penthouse that somehow seemed bigger than yours — it was impossible not to feel the weight of it all.

it was impossible not to admit that sunghoon had woken up earlier that afternoon because of you.

because he felt a pull on his chest, you are certain of that — sharp at first, like a breath caught too deep, like something inside him had been hooked and yanked without warning. 

it hadn’t been pain, exactly. not in the way he knew pain. it was deeper than that. older. like a tether that had always been there had finally been yanked taut, demanding he move, demanding he find you, as if staying still another second would tear him in half.

he’d felt it like a second heartbeat, heavy and out of rhythm, pounding against his ribs until he couldn’t ignore it. that instinct, that impossible urge to go, had dragged him up from whatever haze the suppressants had tried to keep him under and led him to you.

because it was you. and the bond — that thing you both hadn’t wanted to name, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge — wasn’t waiting anymore.

he’d felt that pull. and instead of leaving you to your existential crisis, he’d come to your room. or, well, his room, apparently. because of course they’d stuck you in his room. 

and when he stood there in the doorway, when he looked at you — he didn’t look hollow anymore. not like the first time you woke up that day, when he’d seemed half-dead, suppressants pulling him under, skin too pale, eyes too empty.

no. this was different.

sunghoon looked divine. he looked like the sunghoon you had come to know in your greenhouse encounters, when he first brought you your mail that first day. the sunghoon who had struck you with beauty so sharp it had made you forget how to speak for a second.

gone was the hollow, half-there version of him from that morning — the one dulled by suppressants, drained of color and fire. this was the real thing. or at least, the version of him you’d started to piece together in your mind: all impossible lines and quiet intensity, like he’d been carved out of something older and better than the rest of the world.

and god, you hated how much you noticed.

his skin had color again. his eyes had that impossible gleam, like moonlight on water. his smile — god, his smile — wasn’t even a real smile, just a faint quirk of his mouth, but it disarmed you faster than any sharp-toothed threat ever could.

you’d tried to play it cool. really. tried to act like standing in a vampire’s coven, in his room, post-almost-death, wasn’t deeply embarrassing on multiple levels. like the fact that he was insanely attractive now that he wasn’t actively dying didn’t bother you at all.

spoiler: it bothered you.

because every time he spoke, soft and a little amused, like he knew how hard you were trying not to stare, it felt like something under your skin was reacting.

every time he bickered back, or he teased you without actually teasing you, you felt exposed. raw in a way that had nothing to do with danger you could see — like your nerves were bracing for a threat you didn’t even understand. like he could peel you back with a look, with a word, without ever meaning to.

you tried to blame it on the stupid bond you heard them talking about, on the exhaustion, on the strangeness of standing in a blue bear pajamas pattern that was drenched in sweat in a place that didn’t feel like it could ever belong to you. 

but deep down, you knew better. this wasn’t about the day. this wasn’t about the clothes. this was about him, and the way the air seemed to change when he was near, like the world itself shifted just slightly out of balance.

you told yourself to stop thinking about it, to focus on anything else, but your body wasn’t listening.

because he was still here right now, somehow. in the air you breathed, in the soft fabric of the hoodie that clung to your skin. 

you could swear you caught it — that faint, clean scent of him that made your pulse trip, that made it impossible to forget how close he’d been, how easily he’d taken up all the space around you.

even now, you could almost hear his voice. that low, careful way he’d said your name, like it tasted unfamiliar on his tongue but he didn’t mind trying again.

you hated that it stayed with you. hated that he stayed with you.

and then there was the other thing.

that spot behind your ear — low, just at the curve where your jaw met your neck — it pulsed. slow. steady. in sync with your heartbeat, but not necessarily yours. like a second rhythm, subtle but there, a little thrum of heat that hadn’t been there before.

you found yourself rubbing at it absently, like you could will it away. like that would help.

it didn’t.

sometimes it felt hot, like someone had pressed warm fingertips against the skin. sometimes it felt like a quiet hum beneath the surface, matching the way your heart sped up whenever he got too close, or smiled that crooked almost-smile, or said your name like it meant something.

you made a mental note — ask niki later. because of course niki would know. or at least, niki would pretend to know, and right now you were too tired to care about the difference.

but before you could even finish the thought, after you put on your new clothes and stopped overthinking every detail about your encounter with sunghoon, there niki was. 

like he’d been summoned by sheer confusion, or maybe by the scent of a post-shower existential crisis.

niki popped up at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorframe like he lived for moments like this — hands jammed in his pockets, sneakers untied, grin way too pleased for someone who clearly hadn’t done a single helpful thing all day.

he’d gone on about the built-in heating system, vampire wi-fi and blood energy stuff, rattling off explanations with so much fake confidence that, for a second, you’d almost believed him.

the worst part was that, despite how ridiculous it all sounded, his description weirdly matched what you were feeling — that odd internal warmth, the way your fingertips stayed cold but your chest felt like you’d swallowed a cup of tea that never cooled.

it was too niki to be true. and yet, annoyingly, it fit.

you opened your mouth. closed it. tried again. “that sounds fake.” you said standing in front of sunghoon’s door.

niki grinned wider. “it’s not. probably.”

you crossed your arms, giving him your best unimpressed stare. “you’re making this up, aren’t you?”

“i’m helping,” he said, like that settled it.

you made yet another mental note — stop trusting niki. but you knew, deep down, that wouldn’t stick. 

niki had that unfortunate combination of being the least reliable person in the room and somehow the first one you’d turn to when you didn’t know what the hell was going on.

and god, there was so much you didn’t know.

you didn’t even know all their names yet. there was niki, obviously. sunghoon, unfortunately. that heeseung guy. maybe a j-something? jake? jay? you were at a point where you were about 90% sure someone in this apartment was named after a letter.

the rest blurred together in your head — flashes of sharp jawlines, too-pale skin, voices that sounded like they’d been built for secrets.

the penthouse felt too big around you now. too polished, too quiet in the wrong way. you could hear your own heartbeat, steady but loud in your ears, and that damn spot behind your ear wouldn’t stop pulsing along with it.

you crossed your arms tighter over your chest, tried to shake it off, but it clung to you — the warmth, the weight, the reality of what you’d stumbled into.

they were vampires. they were really vampires.

and you were here. in their space. in their world.

you tried to remember what it was like before — before the black curtains, the midnight music, the way the building felt like it belonged to another century. before sunghoon’s gaze made your pulse trip like it wasn’t yours.

you inhaled slowly, rubbed at your neck again, and tried not to think about how your life had turned into a gothic fever dream.

“you’ll get used to it,” niki said, like that was supposed to be comforting. he rocked back on his heels, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching you like you were his favorite episode of whatever chaotic sitcom lived in his head.

you stood frozen in the hallway, still damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves swallowing your hands, the too-big fabric making you feel smaller than you already did. 

“the heat thing, the no-cold thing. you’ll probably stop noticing by tomorrow.” he paused “or you’ll combust. fifty-fifty.”

your head snapped toward him. “fifty-fifty? was that supposed to calm me down?”

he shrugged, grin stretching wider. “ish.”

you blinked at him, waiting for him to elaborate, for some kind of reassurance, for literally anything that didn’t sound like he was making it up as he went.

he didn’t give you one.

“you’re fine,” niki said again, tipping his chin at you like that settled it. “you always say we’re not actually friends, but i’m kinda glad we hung out a little before all of the soulmate thing, you know? you’re strong. sunghoon-hyung’s vampire wouldn’t choose you otherwise, so don’t fuss too much over the new sensations your body is going through right now.”

the words hit harder than you expected, threading into the hum of the penthouse, the hush of the hallway, the warmth curling low in your chest.

niki shrugged like it hadn’t meant anything at all, like he hadn’t just shifted the air around you. 

“just saying. it might be weird a little for now, but i’ve seen jake-hyung deal with his soulmate. she was stubborn just like you. now she’s just as whipped.”

you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. stubborn. that was what he took from this? out of everything? you were starting — just starting — to really listen to him for once, starting to think maybe he had something insightful to offer, something you could actually hold onto.

and then he called you stubborn.

niki caught the look you shot him, that deadly mix of are you serious right now? and i will bite you before your brother bite me. but instead of backing down, his grin only widened, like he was enjoying watching you fight the urge to throw him off the balcony.

he took his hands out of his pockets, gave you a shrug that said what can i say, i’m right.

“you’ll see it,” niki added after a beat, like he couldn’t resist pushing it further. “sunghoon-hyung doesn’t go out much, but he’s the most popular with the ladies.”

this time, you didn’t just roll your eyes — you let out a breath that was halfway between a groan and a laugh, too tired to fully commit to either.

“oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing at your temples, like maybe that would block out the nonsense. “don’t ever talk to me again.”

but you didn’t move right away. you stood there, glaring at him, waiting to see if he’d take the hint. of course he didn’t. niki looked at you like he was proud of himself, like he’d just shared some ancient prophecy instead of the dumbest thing you’d heard all day.

the hallway stretched out behind you, unfamiliar and quiet, but somehow it still felt safer than standing there and letting niki keep talking. so you finally spun on your heel, determined to walk down some hallway — any hallway — even if you had no idea where it led.

but behind you, you heard his laugh — that soft, amused sound that made it impossible to stay mad for long.

and before you could get far, his hand shot out, fingers curling gently around your wrist, stopping you without really holding you back.

“hey, hey, i’m kidding,” he said, voice warm, mischief still sparking in his eyes but something softer beneath it. “mostly.” 

you glared at him, but your lips twitched before you could stop them, betraying you with that traitorous hint of a smile.

niki caught it instantly, smirk stretching wider like he’d just won some invisible bet.

“see? you’re almost immune to my jokes. that means you’re basically part of the coven now.”

you rolled your eyes — again — but it didn’t hit with as much force this time. the weight in your chest lightened just enough that you could actually breathe without feeling like the universe was watching and laughing.

niki let go of your wrist, shoving his hands back into his pockets like he hadn’t just been seconds from getting smacked.

niki’s words echoed longer than they should’ve. jake-hyung’s soulmate. the way he said it, so casual, like you were supposed to know what that meant. like you were supposed to know them. 

this soulmate of whoever jake was came up more than once now, in passing mentions, like some inside joke you weren’t part of yet. 

she’d first been mentioned casually — a throwaway comment from niki about how she “kept hyung sane” during some story you hadn’t been paying attention to at the time. then again, when jake’s name had come up, niki had tacked on something about “his girl” like it was obvious you should know who that was. 

and now, here it was again, dropped like common knowledge, like the kind of thing you’d get if you belonged here, if you were one of them.

and you hated that it made you curious.

because if they called her his soulmate, the same way they’d started calling you that — well, it made your head spin with questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. 

was she human, too? was that even possible? was this whole vampire-human soulmate thing normal for them, or were you both just some freak accident of fate?

or maybe she wasn’t human at all. maybe she was a witch, a werewolf, something else entirely. maybe that would make more sense, would explain why she seemed to fit into their world so easily, why no one batted an eye when her name came up.

what was she like? did she feel as lost as you did at first? or had she figured it out, made peace with it, made peace with them? had there been someone before you, for any of them? or were you really the first human dumb enough — or stubborn enough — to stick around?

and god, why did it bother you so much that you didn’t know?

the curiosity sank deeper, heavier. because it wasn’t just about her anymore. it was about them. 

about the way they moved, the way they seemed to know what they were doing — like a well-rehearsed play you’d stepped into too late. every glance exchanged felt deliberate, every quiet moment between them loaded with meanings you couldn’t begin to translate. 

they moved like a pack, like a machine built from old loyalty and older secrets. 

there was grace in it, something almost hypnotic, the way they seemed to always know when to step back, when to step in, when to let silence speak for them. it was easy to believe they had it all figured out — that they’d lived long enough to smooth out the edges, to make their world run like clockwork.

but did they really? or were they just making it up as they went, the same way you were? all instinct, old habits, sheer vibes, like niki would say. 

maybe they weren’t as untouchable as they looked. maybe all that confidence was just centuries of practice holding up something that could break like anything else if pushed hard enough.

you wanted to believe they had it together. you wanted to believe you could trust them — that behind the sharp smiles and easy banter, there was a plan, a purpose, a safety net you could fall into without shattering. you wanted to believe they had experience dealing with a human.

but the truth sat there, quiet and sharp: you didn’t know. not really. you didn’t even know who jake was. or half of them, for that matter. their names blurred in your head sometimes, faces too perfect, voices too steady, as if they’d been designed to keep you off balance.

and then, the worst part. the part that snuck up on you when you weren’t looking.

god, you thought, i sound just like my dad.

the realization made your stomach twist. because wasn’t this exactly his thing? always romanticizing the monsters, always searching for the humanity in what everyone else was smart enough to fear. 

always believing there was more — more to them, more to the world — no matter how much it broke him in the end.

you sighed, rubbing at the back of your neck, like you could scrub the thought clean out of your head.

niki didn’t say anything. for once. just stood there, watching you with his head tilted, letting you get lost in your own head, while the penthouse stretched out in front of you — too big, too quiet, too full of things you didn’t understand yet.

then, like the tension had bored him, niki shoved his hands again into his pockets, rocking back on his heels once again. “today is movie night day, do you want to join us?” he said, casual as anything, like that was supposed to sound natural.

you blinked. once. twice. your brain scrambled to catch up, like it had been running full speed down one hallway of thought and had slammed face-first into a locked door.

movie night?

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline that didn’t come. your heart was still beating too fast, mind still knotted up with all the talk of centuries-old covens, ancient bloodlines, and the terrifying weight of history stitched into the walls around you — and now niki wanted to watch a movie?

your mouth opened, but no sound came out. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to laugh, scream, or just sit down before your legs gave out from sheer whiplash.

niki just kept grinning, like he hadn’t just shattered your grip on reality again.

you finally blinked at him after a minute. “what?”

niki didn’t seem to notice — or maybe he did and just didn’t care. his hand ran through his hair, as if nothing about this moment was strange at all, as if you weren’t standing there in the middle of a vampire lair having an existential meltdown.

“we’re watching a movie,” he repeated, slow and patient like you were the one struggling to keep up, not the other way around.

he turned, started strolling off down the hallway like it was a perfectly normal night.

“it’s tradition. come on.”

and you stood there for a second longer, watching him walk away, feeling like you’d been dropped into some surreal dream where nothing followed the rules anymore.

“you’re kidding, right? how do you people keep getting weirder?” you said, voice sharper this time, calling him back, needing him to explain because what the hell was happening anymore.

niki glanced over his shoulder, that grin still firmly in place, the kind that said this is fun for me.

but you weren’t done. the words tumbled out, fast, messy, as your heart tried to catch up with your brain. “how do y’all even exist in the first place? god, i think i’m gonna pass out again.”

you braced a hand against the nearest wall, breathing hard, as if that might ground you — as if anything could at this point. the polished surface felt cool under your palm, but the world still tilted just enough to make you doubt your legs.

niki laughed, the sound easy and infuriating, like none of this was as big a deal as you were making it. like he wasn’t dropping reality-shattering facts every five minutes just to watch you flail.

“don’t be so dramatic,” he said, though his eyes sparkled with pure mischief. he was absolutely loving this. “what? you think we sit around drinking blood and listening to organ music all night? suck it up, rookie. movie night’s sacred — it’s the only night of the week where jungwon and jay actually stay inside.”

you stared at him, mouth half open, trying to figure out what part of that sentence was the most ridiculous. “you’re serious.”

“dead serious.” he wiggled his brows, clearly pleased with himself.

you blinked at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, anything that said this was all just some elaborate bit he was running for fun. but no — niki looked like he was ready to drag you to a movie night with the same casual ease as if he’d invited you to grab coffee.

“what the hell do you even watch? documentaries about yourselves?”

niki snorted. “nah. sunoo picks. always some trashy romance or bad horror. last week it was a vampire movie. i think he likes to see how wrong they get it.”

you dragged a hand down your face, still rooted to the spot. “i can’t believe this.”

niki had started walking again, slow, like he was giving you time to catch up. “better believe it. or stay here and sulk. your choice.”

you hesitated, glanced at the empty hall behind you, then back at him.

“vampires have movie nights?” you said again, like maybe if you kept asking, it would start to make sense.

niki glanced over his shoulder, grin wide. “yeah, and tonight you’re invited. don’t make it weird.”

you groaned but, without realizing it, your feet started moving. because the alternative — staying here alone in this too-quiet hall with your spiraling thoughts — sounded worse.

“why wouldn’t we have movie nights?” he wondered out loud, already strolling down the hallway like this was the most normal thing in the world. “we’re not just blood roomies. we’re friends too.”

the hallway swallowed you both as you walked, the silence of it pressing in, broken only by the soft sound of your steps. dark wood walls rose high on either side, carved with patterns you couldn’t quite make out in the low light. 

black marble floors stretched ahead like still water, polished so perfectly you caught ghostly reflections of yourselves with each step.

the air smelled faintly of leather and something older, like books shut away for too long. the whole place felt ancient and heavy, like it had been holding its breath for centuries.

you were still trying to take it all in when niki glanced at you and added, “actually, sunghoon-hyung and sunoo-hyung have been friends since, like, the joseon dynasty. so that makes them besties for centuries, of course we would have normal people hangouts too.”

his voice echoed a little in the vastness of the hall, like even the building didn’t want to interrupt the weight of what it was holding.

you kept walking for a step, maybe two, before the words actually hit you. and then you froze, breath catching, hand reaching out for the nearest panel of dark wood like you needed to steady yourself.

the joseon dynasty.

the hallway felt colder all of a sudden. the hidden lights along the floor flickered softly, casting slow-moving shadows across the black marble, as if even the place itself was waiting for you to catch up.

you turned toward him, voice slipping out before you could stop it. “the joseon dynasty? like—the actual joseon dynasty? as in the korean dynasty? do you hear yourself right now?”

the disbelief cracked through your tone, loud in the thick quiet of the hall. 

niki glanced back, grin wide, eyes glinting with mischief. the overhead lights caught in the silver threads woven through the curtains at the end of the hall, the whole place gleaming like it had been made for secrets. “why are you so shocked, cutie? did you think we were fresh outta the grave or something? you don’t even know the half of it.”

your mouth opened. then closed. then opened again, but no sound came out — because what could you even say to that? the hallway felt endless now, like it had grown longer while you weren’t looking. the polished marble stretched ahead like a tunnel lined with centuries you weren’t ready to walk through, centuries you hadn’t even thought to ask about until now.

and that was the part that hit you hardest — you hadn’t asked. not once. not until this moment, when niki’s ridiculous grin and offhand comments finally snapped the last thread holding your sense of normal together.

the shadows clung to the corners, soft but heavy, like they were listening in.

you blinked at him, heart thudding somewhere between panic and awe. “wait. how old are you guys?”

the question came out louder than you meant, half accusing, half horrified, like you’d just realized you’d been living next to a group of immortals and somehow forgot to check their birth dates.

niki lifted a brow, slowing his steps, like he could see your brain short-circuiting and was giving you a chance to catch up. “i’m the youngest,” he said, casual as anything. “born in ’46. turned at fifteen. sunoo-hyung found me. brought me in.”

that was it. no drama, no pause, like it wasn’t the most insane thing you’d heard all night.

you froze. properly froze. your breath hitched, your heart doing this wild stutter-step in your chest, and your hand shot out to the wall like you suddenly didn’t trust the floor to stay steady under your feet.

“nineteen forty-six?!”

it came out louder than you meant, echoing off the marble, bouncing back at you like the walls wanted to be sure you’d heard yourself.

your head spun as you stared at him — at his sneakers, at the untied laces, at the grin that said this is hilarious for me — and tried to process how that face went with that year.

“you were born in nineteen forty-six?!” you said again, because apparently saying it once wasn’t enough to make it real.

niki just kept grinning, hands stuffed in his pockets like your entire meltdown was his favorite movie.

he turned slightly, gesturing with a lazy sweep of his hand for you to keep moving, his sneakers scuffing the floor like he owned it. “yep. sunghoon-hyung’s the oldest. and then we have jungwon-hyung, sunoo-hyung and jay-hyung next. jake turned 250 last year. i’m practically still in diapers compared to them.”

you stared at the intricate patterns carved into the black wood of a nearby door as if the details might help you process. your reflection flickered in the glass display case beside it, warped by the curve of the glass and the low lighting.

your head spun as you finally forced your feet forward, trying to make sense of how you’d gone from hospital bed to vampire history lesson in less than a day.

“1946?!” you blurted once again, voice bouncing off the marble like you’d just discovered time travel was real.

niki shrugged, like this was nothing. “yeah. what, you thought i was from the eighties or something? rude.”

your mouth worked silently for a second. “you look like you barely have a driver’s license.”

he grinned, unbothered, as the hallway opened into a lounge so grand it felt surreal. “perks of eternal youth, babe. plus good skincare. sunoo’s been forcing serums on me since i joined.”

you barely registered the babe because the room had swallowed your attention whole.

you stepped in slowly, feet sinking into a rug so soft it muffled your steps, like even sound wasn’t welcome here unless invited. black velvet couches sprawled across the space, arranged like a nest around a sleek, low table carved from dark wood that gleamed in the soft light. silver fixtures lined the walls, casting a glow that made everything look expensive and untouchable.

bookshelves rose high, their contents a mix of cracked leather spines and objects that didn’t look like they belonged to this century — or the last. between them, ancient weapons hung like art: swords with worn hilts, daggers with patterns you couldn’t place, a bow strung with something that didn’t look like string.

you turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. the air smelled faintly of something rich and clean, like old paper and cold stone. the ceiling stretched higher than it should for a penthouse, lost in shadow.

“wait—wait.” your voice came out softer now, like the room itself had stolen the breath from your lungs. “you said sunghoon’s the oldest?”

“mhm,” niki said, dropping onto one of the massive black velvet couches like it was his personal throne. he sprawled out instantly, legs stretched long, one arm draped over the back like he owned the place — like this strange, dark, impossible room was his living room and not something out of a vampire fever dream.

you watched as he tapped his fingers lazily against the carved wood of the armrest, his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded like he was settling in for a show.

you suddenly felt completely underdressed standing there in your borrowed hoodie and joggers, the fabric soft and warm but out of place in a room like this. 

the joggers swished quietly as you shifted your weight, suddenly aware of how small you felt in the middle of all that history, how wrong it felt to stand here in something that smelled faintly of sunghoon, like that somehow made it worse. like the room, the coven, he could see right through you.

“how old is he then?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to hear it any more of niki’s version of their story.

niki hummed, the sound low and drawn out, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm like he was savoring the moment. “sunghoon-hyung? eh, give or take six hundred years.”

you stopped again, standing in the middle of that impossible room, the soft glow of the lamps throwing long shadows on the floor. 

“six—six hundred? years?!”

niki leaned back, sinking deeper into the couch like he belonged there, like the whole grand, shadowed room was his personal stage. his grin widened, pure mischief lighting up his face.

“yeah, somewhere around there. joseon dynasty, remember? he’s like ancient. but, you know…” he shrugged, utterly unbothered. “hot ancient. don’t tell him i said that.”

your brain stalled. hot ancient.

your knees almost buckled right then and there, the words hitting harder than they had any right to. you hated — hated — that your brain didn’t even argue. instead, it supplied the image of sunghoon in the greenhouse that first day, or standing in his doorway earlier, and you felt heat crawl up your neck.

you stumbled back a step like that might help, like putting distance between yourself and niki’s nonsense would make any of this easier to process. it didn’t.

finally, you dropped onto the edge of the couch like your legs had given up trying to hold you upright, hands braced on your knees, heart thudding loud in your ears.

you stared at the velvet beneath your fingers, at the glint of silver in the low light, at the ridiculousness of all of this.

you exhaled, long and slow, trying to convince yourself to keep it together for at least another minute. “and that jake guy is… what? two-fifty?”

“yup. threw a party last year. sunoo tried to bake a cake. it was awful. but hey, the thought was there.”

you stared at the polished floor, the glint of silver in the low light, the endless shelves of books and old things that seemed to hum with history.

“i can’t believe this,” you muttered, half to yourself.

niki stretched his arms across the back of the couch, grin easy.

“i’m happy you agreed to stay for a couple more days so the bond symptoms stabilize a little. that means i get to see your identity crisis in real time. and that means sunghoon-hyung will be too busy to assign me any tasks.”

you turned to look at niki beside you — all long limbs sprawled across the couch, sneakers kicked off, socks half-on like he owned the world, and that same dubious smirk stretched across his face.

he looked way too pleased with himself, like watching you mentally spiral was better than any movie they could’ve picked. like your slow-motion collapse was the best entertainment he’d had in decades.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “glad my suffering is so convenient for you.”

niki just grinned wider, chin propped in his hand. “hey, at least i’m honest about it.”

you leaned back against the couch, trying to slow your breathing, but your eyes kept roaming — taking in the space like maybe if you looked hard enough, it would make sense.

“okay but—” you gestured vaguely at everything with one hand, the other still braced on your knee like you were trying to keep from sliding off the edge of reality. “why the hell is this penthouse so much bigger than mine? my grandma’s is literally right next door, and it’s not even half this size.”

niki snorted, tilting his head toward you, amusement glinting in his eyes. “because hers was built for people. ours was built for us.”

that didn’t help at all.

you glanced around again, trying to take it in: the massive space carved out in rich black and deep charcoal, heavy velvet curtains drawn back to reveal walls lined with shelves of old books, framed maps so faded you couldn’t make out the names anymore, weapons displayed like art. 

the theater setup was absurd — an enormous screen at the front like a real cinema, plush armchairs and couches arranged on staggered levels like you’d stepped into some exclusive, private screening room no one outside their world ever saw.

a soft amber glow from antique sconces lined the walls, casting long shadows that made the room feel older, deeper — like it didn’t just belong to this building, or even this century.

niki stretched his arms out, smirking like your brain short-circuiting over their luxury cave was the highlight of his night.

“you’re joking. this looks like a—”

“cinema?” he offered, wiggling his brows. “yep. used to be. this whole floor wasn’t even part of the original building. they rebuilt it for us after… stuff happened.”

“what stuff?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, already sensing you were about to get an answer that would make your head hurt.

niki got even comfier on the couch, hands interlaced behind his head like he was settling in for storytime. “this place was built in the 1800s. jungwon-hyung’s family property. he came straight from the yang’s bloodline dynasty.”

you kept glaring, waiting for that to mean something. niki caught it, paused just long enough to smirk at your expression.

“i don’t know what the fuck that means, niki.”

he chuckled under his breath, gaze flicking ahead toward the massive screen like the conversation was just background noise. “oh, right. that basically means that jungwon-hyung is rich. like, filthy rich. that’s why we’re able to maintain a place like this.”

you tried to process that as your eyes wandered the room — the soft gleam of polished black wood, the heavy velvet curtains, the ridiculous size of the space.

“his family’s all vampires,” niki went on, voice lazy now, like this was obvious. “unlike most of us who got bitten and turned, jungwon-hyung was born one. at first, this building — seonghyeon jaega — was his father’s inheritance. basically just this building, sitting out here in the middle of nothing. but when jungwon met jay-hyung, they decided this would be the place they handled their… business.”

you didn’t even want to ask what that meant.

niki kept going, clearly enjoying this way too much. “back then it was all forests and quiet, perfect for staying off the radar. but a couple decades go by, hanseong becomes seoul, city grows up around us. jungwon and jay decided to move their business elsewhere, and this jaega? it turned into a city landmark. tourist point. fancy place people could rent — like your grandma.”

your mouth opened, but niki raised a brow like he was waiting for you to catch up.

“we started renting a few years ago, made it ours. added the gym, sauna, a couple other upgrades. then they met heeseung and jake. later sunghoon. then sunoo. that’s when they decided — this was it. this would be our coven.”

you blinked, trying to take it all in — the sheer size of the penthouse, the way the air itself seemed to hum with history you hadn’t noticed before. 

and suddenly, it made sense. of course it felt bigger. of course the layout was different — even sunghoon’s room, where you’d slept, hadn’t matched anything you remembered from your grandmother’s penthouse next door. 

this place had been built for them. reshaped around them. every inch of it claimed, adapted, theirs. no wonder it felt like you’d stepped into another world the second you crossed the lobby. because you had.

“this penthouse is way bigger because they built it that way. whole floor was supposed to be ours. honestly, the fact your grandma got a chunk of it? no idea how hyung let that happen. but she wasn’t around much, so no one cared.”

you sank deeper into the couch, brain buzzing. the room felt heavier now — not just grand, but lived in, like the weight of everything that had happened here clung to the walls. like the place itself remembered more than it let on.

your eyes flicked to the shelves lined with old books, the weapons mounted like trophies, the soft glow of silver fixtures catching on surfaces worn smooth by time. it wasn’t just luxury — it was history, layered and quiet, watching you take up space that didn’t quite feel like yours.

“cool, right?” niki had the audacity to ask, watching you as your eyes roamed the room, trying — and failing — to take in everything at once.

you let out a breath that felt like it carried what was left of your sanity with it. “i can’t believe this is happening to me,” you muttered, sagging back into the couch like maybe surrendering would help. “i’ve officially lost the plot.”

niki grinned, clearly unbothered. “this is where we watch movies. sunoo-hyung basically lives in here. it’s his domain. guy’s had a thing for mexican telenovelas for, like, the last forty years. this place? it’s his playground.”

you stared at him. at the weapons, at the books, at the theater-sized screen, at the absurd contrast of it all.

“you’re messing with me,” you said, though at this point, you weren’t even sure anymore.

niki just smirked, kicking his feet up on the table like he owned the universe, as if the sheer absurdity of the conversation wasn’t phasing him in the slightest.

“who is this sunoo guy again? have i met him before?” you asked, dragging a hand down your face, trying to piece together the blur of names and faces you’d been thrown into.

niki tilted his head, like he was debating how much to reveal. “sunoo-hyung? hmm. pretty, glowy skin, too nice until he’s not? smiles at you like he’s plotting something? you’ll know him when you see him. he’s impossible to miss.”

great. another one to add to the growing list of immortal mysteries you were apparently supposed to keep track of now.

“so they all live here? like, 24/7?” you asked, your voice catching a little on the absurdity of it, like maybe saying it out loud would help it make sense.

niki stretched, getting even more comfortable if that was possible. “pretty much. the hyungs all have their own places except sunghoon, who can’t leave that fucking penthouse behind for anything. but we crash here every night, basically. jake-hyung’s the only one who doesn’t sleep here anymore — he rented a place nearby with his girl and everything.”

his girl. there it was again. the word soulmate echoed in your head even though he hadn’t said it this time. your stomach twisted, sharp and unwelcome.

“we just try to be a little apart when our heat hits,” niki continued, oblivious to your spiraling, “but that’s, like, once every four years, so we’re good.”

you blinked. “your… heat?”

niki turned his head toward you, smirk pulling at his lips like he was enjoying this way too much. “ohhh, right. you don’t know about that yet. i don’t think i should be the one explaining that to you, so i’ll keep my mouth shut for now.”

you stared at him, heart thudding in your chest, torn between wanting to demand answers and deciding that maybe — maybe — ignorance was the safer bet for now.

niki watched you squirm for another beat before adding, tone far too innocent, “ask sunoo-hyung later. he’ll be better at this. trust me.”

you didn’t trust him. not even a little bit.

a pause stretched between you, the weight of it settling into the room, before you cleared your throat, trying to steer things back to a place where your brain wouldn’t combust.

“so… where is everyone right now?”

niki kicked his feet up, crossing his ankles like this was all just casual small talk. “oh, they went shopping. we haven’t had a human over in, uh… decades? so we needed real human food to keep you alive and everything. you know. so you don’t pass out on us again.”

you blinked at him. “shopping.”

niki grinned. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

“you don’t usually have human food?” you asked, brow furrowing as you tried to picture these ancient, terrifying creatures standing in line at a grocery store debating which brand of rice to buy.

“we do!” niki said brightly. “but it was way past due that we went grocery shopping either way. i was hanging on with neoguri and yuk gae jang for days now. it was getting tragic.”

you stared at him. neoguri. yuk gae jang. vampires arguing over instant noodles. your brain couldn’t keep up.

“so… you guys don’t just drink blood, then?”

niki’s grin widened instantly, eyes lighting up like you’d just made his night. “aw, you’re asking questions. that’s so cute!”

“shut up, niki.”

he laughed, making motions with his hands like an excited kid. “no, we don’t just drink blood. well, we have to, or we’ll die — obviously. but it’s not like that’s all we can do. it depends how old you are, really. i need to feed at least twice a week or i become insufferable. no jokes about that, by the way.”

you gave him a look that said you were definitely about to joke about that.

“but someone like sunghoon-hyung?” niki continued, completely unbothered. “he feeds once a month, maybe less, and he’s good. we can eat human food — it’s not gonna hurt us or anything. it just doesn’t do shit for our thirst. doesn’t stop the need. it’s like… drinking water when you’re starving.”

your stomach twisted a little at that, at how easily he said it, like it was just a fact of life. like needing blood was no bigger deal than needing coffee in the morning.

you sank a little deeper into the couch, the weight of everything settling heavier on your shoulders now. the room, the history carved into its bones, the casual way niki talked about centuries, hunger, blood—it all pressed down at once.

and niki, sprawled out like he didn’t have a care in the world, watched you with that same easy grin. like he’d seen this moment before. like he expected the human in the room to hit their limit eventually.

“you okay over there?” he asked, not unkindly, but still with that irritating edge of amusement that made you want to throw a pillow at him.

“define okay,” you muttered, scrubbing a hand down your face.

niki chuckled, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling like it had all the answers. “you’re doing better than most would. you didn’t run screaming yet. i mean, you thought about it. but you’re still here.”

you let out a slow breath, feeling the exhaustion creep up on you now that the adrenaline was fading. your brain felt like it had been turned inside out, wrung dry trying to keep up with everything you’d learned in the span of an hour.

“i don’t think i have the energy to freak out anymore,” you admitted, voice softer now, words pulled down by sheer fatigue. “what’s the point? this is my life now, isn’t it?”

niki glanced at you, smirk softening into something that almost looked like understanding. “for now, yeah. but don’t act like that’s a bad thing. we’re not so bad.”

you gave him a look. “you’re insufferable.”

“takes one to know one.”

the banter was easy, familiar already in a way that surprised you. it didn’t fix anything—didn’t make the bond feel any less terrifying, didn’t make the weight of what you’d stepped into any lighter—but it helped. just a little.

you tipped your head back, letting your gaze wander over the space again. the edge of a faded mural half-hidden behind a towering bookcase, shapes worn down so much you could barely tell if they’d been people, symbols, or something else entirely. a chandelier overhead that looked like it belonged in a cathedral, its crystals darkened with age, hanging low enough that it caught and fractured the light into sharp slivers on the floor.

you let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging as you gave in to it—gave in to the exhaustion, the acceptance, the quiet truth that you didn’t have the strength to fight this right now.

“fine,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment. “show me what vampires watch on movie night.”

niki grinned like he’d won something. “good choice. you’re gonna love this.”

and for once, you didn’t argue. you were too tired. too done. too ready to stop thinking and just let the night play out, one weird surprise at a time.

——

vampire movie nights were way different from the movie nights you used to have with your father back in boseong.

back there, movie night meant huddling in the draftiest part of your tiny living room because the outlet closest to the heater was the only one that didn’t spark when you plugged in the ancient tv your dad had owned since the nineties — a boxy thing with a screen that flickered whenever you changed the channel too fast.

you had one blanket between you, scratchy and too small, but it worked because your dad always insisted you take more of it. “old man bones,” he’d say, winking as he pulled the edge tight around his shoulders, though he always ended up hogging most of it anyway.

there’d be the smell of ginger tea floating in from the shop down the road — run by two nosy old ladies who acted like they weren’t trying to peek through your windows every time a new MBC drama aired. especially when it was something like east of eden or jumong, because god forbid they miss a single plot twist.

your dad always had commentary, chemo drip still hooked to his arm on the days he insisted he felt “fine enough to sit up, stop looking at me like that.” he’d point at the screen, face pale but his grin sharp as ever. “if that guy’s the villain, i’ll shave my head.”

“you’re already bald,” you’d remind him, deadpan, and he’d just laugh like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.

you’d sit there, watching some overacted melodrama with tragic violins playing over every scene, both of you shouting at the characters like you had stock in their decisions.

and now here you were. sitting in a room that looked like it belonged in a vampire godfather’s private theater, about to watch whatever immortal nonsense they thought passed for entertainment.

when sunghoon and the rest got back from their grocery shopping, you noticed it immediately. like the air in the penthouse shifted, heavier somehow, charged in a way that had nothing to do with the faint hum of the lights or the quiet luxury around you.

niki noticed. of course he noticed. his smirk twitched higher the second your expression changed — right when the soft ding of the elevator echoed on the other side of the apartment.

“wow,” he said, leaning closer, voice low, like he was letting you in on some secret. “didn’t know you had super hearing. should we test your reflexes next?”

you shot him a look, but it was already too late. the soft ding of the elevator echoed from the hall, and your heartbeat kicked like it was trying to keep up.

you heard voices — not just noise, but detail. footsteps over marble. sunghoon’s low warning tone. jay muttering something back. a quiet laugh that didn’t belong to either of them.

your senses had been off all day. sharper now, but in the wrong places. you hadn’t realized how much until this moment — until the world started pressing in with too much clarity.

your body felt different, too. lighter somehow. not quite normal, but not aching anymore.

you weren’t hungry. you weren’t exhausted.

you were… aware.

and that scared you more than anything.

you heard it, clear as day: the shuffle of bags, the low murmur of conversation, laughter that bounced off the marble like it belonged there. and then — louder — the unmistakable bickering of two voices at the far end of the hall, something about tteokbokki portions.

“i told you to get the large one!”

“and i told you we didn’t need enough to feed an army!”

you blinked, trying to picture centuries-old vampires arguing over spicy rice cakes.

niki caught the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes flicked toward the hallway like you were gearing up for something — or someone.

you tried, god you tried, to slow your breathing, to calm your racing heart, to look as unaffected as you wished you were. because you knew exactly what this was. or who this was.

sunghoon.

you hated that your body reacted before your brain could catch up. hated that stupid, warm pull low under your skin, hated that you felt the pulse behind your ear — the one that seemed to know when he was near, like some traitorous little alarm clock you hadn’t asked for.

you shifted on the couch, pretending to get comfortable, pretending everything was totally fine. casual. normal. definitely not on the verge of melting into the furniture because a certain vampire was in the building.

get it together, you told yourself, crossing your arms tighter, like that would help. you couldn’t keep doing this. you couldn’t act like a fangirl every time your body so much as thought sunghoon might be nearby.

niki, of course, didn’t miss a thing. he wiggled his brows, voice full of amusement. “you sure you don’t want to go help them unpack? maybe check the tteokbokki portion yourself?”

you groaned, leaning your head back against the couch, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “shut up, niki.”

he just grinned wider, clearly enjoying the show.

it wasn’t much later when you heard footsteps drawing closer to the movie theater room where you and niki were holed up. 

slow, deliberate steps that didn’t match the noisy, easy banter still echoing through the apartment — whoever this was, they weren’t caught up in arguing about takeout or unpacking groceries.

niki, lounging back like he hadn’t a care in the world, cut his eyes toward you just long enough to catch the way you tensed. his smirk was instant.

“uh oh,” he said under his breath, low enough that it was probably just for him — or maybe for you, just to make sure you knew he knew what was going on. “here comes trouble.”

you didn’t answer. your heart was thudding again, the pulse behind your ear picking up, warm and insistent like it was mocking you.

the footsteps stopped just beyond the doorway, and then he appeared — sunghoon.

your breath hitched before you could stop it, like your body hadn’t gotten the memo that you were supposed to be cool about this.

he stepped into the room, and for a second, all you could do was take him in. his clothes were different from earlier, when he’d been half-bickering, half-smirking at you about showering and your supposed stinkiness. now he looked… put together. effortlessly. black slacks that somehow made his legs look longer, a soft gray sweater under a dark coat that he was already shrugging off as he crossed the threshold.

his hair, damp at the ends like maybe he’d just showered himself, fell into place in a way that reminded you — unfairly — of a prince from one of those period dramas your dad used to roast while secretly getting too into them. the kind of prince who didn’t need a crown because the room shifted around him anyway.

park sunghoon looked like a prince.

your eyes burned a little, watering just faintly, and you blinked hard, confused by it. it wasn’t like you were about to cry — at least, you didn’t feel like you were. but your body had other ideas, as usual. you tried to brush it off, tried to will it away, hoping it was subtle, hoping no one noticed.

the pull of the bond — that warmth, that low hum curling in your chest — was stronger with him this close, like it always was. like your entire system tuned itself to his presence whether you wanted it to or not. 

sunghoon’s gaze found yours immediately, his brow pulling together just slightly in that way that always made him look a little too sincere.

“you okay?” he asked, tone soft but direct, like he really wanted the answer. like he’d mean it if you said no.

he slipped off his coat with practiced ease, draping it over the back of one of the armrests without looking, his attention still on you.

that authenticity in his voice — the real worry behind it — made something inside you tangle up. you felt weirdly grateful for it, like you hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to ask, even if it was him. but it didn’t stop the discomfort, didn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck, didn’t stop the part of you that wished he’d look away so you could breathe properly.

“i’m okay,” you said, though it came out too quick, too flat, like you were trying to convince yourself.

sunghoon looked at you for a beat longer, like he was weighing whether to call you out on it, and then his gaze shifted to niki — who was still stretched across the couch like he owned the place, all long limbs and shameless smirk, the king of chaos holding court in a vampire lair.

“he didn’t bother you, did he?” sunghoon asked, voice dipping low with that same calm seriousness that somehow made it worse.

you opened your mouth, maybe to defend niki, maybe to deflect — but sunghoon was already moving.

he circled behind the couch with that quiet, precise way of his, like he’d done this a hundred times before and knew exactly how it was going to play out.

niki barely had time to react before sunghoon’s hand caught him by the ear, hauling him up like he weighed nothing at all.

“what did i do?!” niki yelped, half-laughing, going boneless on purpose, arms flopping around like a kid being dragged out of a toy store. “i didn’t do anything! i just talked to her!”

sunghoon’s expression didn’t change — neutral, steady — though you saw it, that tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes that made your stomach do something you weren’t ready to admit to.

“she asked me to stay two feet away from her,” sunghoon said, tone so reasonable it almost sounded absurd. “if i can’t be close to her, that applies to all of you too.”

he only let go when niki was deposited at the far end of the couch, rubbing his ear like his life depended on it, glaring up at sunghoon like he’d just been gravely wronged.

“god, you haven’t even been imprinted yet and you’re already like this,” niki muttered, sulking as dramatically as humanly — or vampirely — possible.

you snorted before you could stop yourself, pressing your hand to your mouth too late.

niki and sunghoon both turned to look at you at the same time, and that was it — your cheeks betrayed you, burning hot under their combined stares. you tried to act normal, tried to sit like a functioning person and not someone who was about to combust from pure secondhand embarrassment.

niki, still rubbing at his ear, shot sunghoon a look of pure betrayal. without missing a beat, he lifted one leg and gave sunghoon’s shin a playful kick — not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to make a point.

“asshole,” niki muttered under his breath, adding in a string of grumbled profanities that you didn’t quite catch, though you were sure they were creative.

you cleared your throat, feeling like the only adult in the room somehow, despite being the least qualified. “niki didn’t do anything. i promise,” you said, trying to sound convincing, trying to defend him because, well… he hadn’t. at least, not anything that deserved getting dragged across the couch by his ear.

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and niki like he was debating whether to believe you. but there was the faintest flicker of something softer in his eyes — a silent okay that he didn’t bother saying out loud.

niki, of course, immediately capitalized on your defense, sitting up straighter and flashing you the smuggest grin imaginable. “see? told you i’m innocent. i was just showing her the place.”

the atmosphere shifted again once the ear-grabbing ordeal settled, tension bleeding out of the room with a few muttered insults and niki’s exaggerated scowl.

——

the movie still hadn’t started. apparently, “movie night” didn’t come with a start time — just a vague promise of eventual entertainment sandwiched between chaotic vampire antics and people arguing about snack organization.

sunghoon, after a few more sideways glances in your direction and a quiet but pointed “niki, now,” excused himself. 

niki groaned like he’d just been asked to lift a mountain, muttering something about “movie-night sabotage” as he dragged himself off the couch. you watched them disappear down the hallway, their voices fading into the shadows, swallowed by the sheer scale of the penthouse.

you were alone again.

you leaned forward, elbows on your knees, eyes roaming the space.

there was something oddly hypnotic about it — the silence, the dark sheen of the floors, the faint flicker of light bouncing off deep-colored walls and strange, old paintings that hadn’t caught your attention before.

one of them, near the far wall, looked like a renaissance piece — a woman in a red hanbok, her face blurred by time, but her eyes hauntingly sharp. beneath it, a small plaque you couldn’t read from here. you wondered, absently, if that was someone they knew.

or someone they still knew.

you shook the thought off and sat back, hand slipping into the front pocket of your joggers.

your fingers brushed cool glass.

you blinked.

your phone.

you hadn’t remembered grabbing it — hadn’t even thought about it since the hospital — but here it was, like it had just been waiting quietly in your pocket the whole time.

sunghoon had mentioned it earlier, now that you thought about it.

“we found it in your pocket,” he’d said simply when you asked, voice calm, like it wasn’t a strange thing to mention. “jungwon charged it while you were asleep.”

you hadn’t known what to say then. hadn’t known how to respond to the fact that one of the oldest vampires in the building had looked at your unconscious body and thought, “yeah, let me just plug this in.”

but now, holding it in your hands, the detail hit differently.

you pressed the side button. screen on. full battery. no missed calls. a few unread messages.

and a sudden, low ache in your chest.

because it reminded you there was still a world outside this velvet-lined, bloodthirsty fever dream. one where your dad was still sending you memes. one where your mother was still pretending to care.

you turned the screen off again without opening anything.

then back on.

then off.

then sighed, sinking further into the couch like the cushions might smother the weight settling across your shoulders.

the room remained quiet around you. too grand. too old. too unfamiliar.

for all the bickering and teasing earlier, the space suddenly felt too still.

the lighting was low and warm, flickering gently across the surfaces. the velvet couches were plush and deep, swallowing you in a way that should’ve been comforting, but instead made you feel like a single throw pillow lost on a california king bed.

you heard the others — somewhere deeper in the apartment, voices rising and falling. laughter. another distant squabble, maybe about the proper way to store ramyeon. it all sounded strangely… domestic.

you looked down at your phone again, thumb absently tracing the edge of your pink case — the same one you’d had since last spring, now scuffed at the corners and peeling around the camera. it was worn soft in some places, the tiny white flowers on the back almost faded from where your fingers always curled.

a stupid little detail, but it made your chest ache.

you pressed the side button again. the screen lit up. same wallpap— god, no, it was that blurry photo of your dad holding a mug labeled “i am baby” while giving the camera a double thumbs-up.

classic.

you stared at it for a beat, then let your thumb hover over the newest notification. a few app pings. a weather warning. some random youtube subscriptions you hadn’t looked at in weeks.

and one message — the top of the stack — from your dad.

you tapped it.

it opened to a blurry, off-center image.

the dorm gate at hanil women’s university — the exact spot you’d told him once looked cinematic, back when you were applying. the caption, scrawled over the top in bold yellow font with way too many sparkles, read:

“i legally demand you walk through here like a k-drama lead.”

you snorted before you could stop yourself. your shoulders relaxed by a hair.

beneath the image, his follow-up message was shorter:

cold front’s coming. don’t forget to check the weather and dress warm. double socks if needed. scarf. hat. i know you hate the scarf. wear it anyway.

the smile faded slowly as you read it, replaced with something softer. heavier.

your thumb paused over the keyboard.

if he knew where you were right now…

if he knew that you didn’t need to worry about layering anymore. didn’t need to brace for the icy wind or curse your breath fogging on your glasses. didn’t need to dig through your closet for thermal leggings or complain about the living room heater making strange noises at 2 a.m.

because now, apparently, your internal body temperature ran on vampire soulmate central heating.

if he knew.

he’d probably love it.

or lose his mind.

hard to say.

you stared at the message again. reread it. felt the familiar pinch behind your eyes and told it to go away.

because even now — even after everything — he was thinking about your socks.

you finally typed back:

on march 1st i will walk through this gates like a chaebol heiress. no scarf necessary. how’s the drama lady from the tea shop? she still making you cry with the plot twists?

then hit send.

right after that, you stared at the blank space again, thumb hovering over the keyboard like it had something profound to say. maybe this was the moment, maybe right now you could tell him everything that happened since he called you yesterday. the big reveal. the line where you finally typed:

you were right about the vampire mark. i have one now. also i’m soul bonded to one. not sure how. long story.

…yeah.

you didn’t send it.

instead, you just stared at the screen, brain chewing on itself.

would it be… safe to tell him?

like, safe safe?

because sure, your dad loved vampires. had always been weirdly into lore and obscure vampire forums and that one documentary on NHK he used to rewatch every six months. and maybe, maybe, he’d be thrilled. maybe he’d throw you a party and send you a congratulatory “so you’re the chosen mate of an immortal being” fruit basket.

but also.

what if there were rules?

what if there was, like, a vampire code? an ancient pact of silence? what if they all signed NDAs sealed with blood and you were here about to casually drop their entire centuries-long secret into an SMS chain that also had that one cursed dog sticker your dad always used?

you paused.

would they vampire-sue you?

was that a thing?

like — oh no, she violated the clause in paragraph seven of the nocturnal confidentiality compact, time to erase her memories and revoke her garlic privileges.

you blinked hard, shaking your head, the image of a vampire legal department with blood-stained fountain pens and crimson-stamped cease and desists forming way too clearly in your mind.

maybe that sunoo guy would be in charge of legal. he had that vibe. the kind who’d hand you a binder the size of a microwave and say, “you agreed to this when you breathed the same air as sunghoon.”

you rubbed your hand over your face. 

were you losing your mind already? 

possibly. borderline. but not quite there yet.

no — maybe it really wasn’t the time to reveal all of this. you weren’t going to text your father and casually say “i’m good, they bought me food. hehe, i chose to stay with a house full of bloodthirsty immortals. also, sunghoon’s hot. that’s a separate issue.”

not now.

not because you didn’t want to. but because you were still figuring it out. still trying to get a handle on what this was — the bond, the coven, the chaos, the sudden emotional whiplash of being pulled into something bigger and older and weirder than anything you were prepared for.

still trying to understand the ridiculous strength of your own reaction every time a certain six-hundred-year-old looked at you like he’d seen the end of the world and memorized your face as the last thing worth saving. 

that part? yeah. you weren’t ready to unpack it.

you lowered your phone, the screen still glowing dimly in your lap. your dad’s meme stared back at you with the intensity of someone who definitely knew more than he should.

you let the screen dim on its own this time. no dramatic lock, no sigh for effect. just quiet. the kind that settles in your bones, that makes everything feel a little too still.

your fingers drummed softly against the phone’s edge, mind drifting in that strange, numb middle-space between what now? and what the hell should i do?

and then — as if summoned by your worst instincts — the screen lit up again.

[1 new message — mom]

you didn’t even open it at first. you just stared at the name, flat and unfamiliar and annoyingly delicate against the notification bar.

since her first message a few days ago — the one where she’d sent a painfully generic “save my number. how’s city life?” — she’d been trickling in tiny offerings of small talk. 

little breadcrumbs of pretend i was always this maternal, like she was trying to ease her way back into relevance through emoji warfare and vague updates about stocks or seasonal fruit.

sometimes she asked about your wellbeing. sometimes she sent articles with weirdly passive-aggressive subject lines like “10 habits of emotionally stable college girls”.

you either left her on read or replied with polite, one-line answers that carried the emotional warmth of a tax receipt.

this time, the message just said:

how’s everything going, sweetie? 🍊

you blinked. the orange emoji. again. 

you had no idea why she used it. was it a code? was she trying to be quirky? was it… a branding choice?

you didn’t know. you didn’t want to know.

you stared at the message, thumb hovering over the reply bar, and for a long second, you considered writing back something honest. something real. something like “actually, i’m currently living in a vampire coven. it’s going great, thanks for asking.”

but instead, you just typed:

i’m good.

no punctuation. no emoji. just the same safe nothingness she’d offered you.

then you turned off your phone.

this time for real.

you sank deeper into the cushions, letting your weight spill into the plush fabric like it might hold you together better than your own spine could. 

the room around you buzzed gently — voices muffled down the hall, the faint metallic clink of groceries being stocked, the soft rustle of packaging and footsteps padded against expensive floors. 

you weren’t alone, not even close, and yet something about the atmosphere settled around your ribs like silence. not the absence of sound, but the kind that left room for the things you hadn’t said out loud.

your phone rested in your lap, screen gone dark again. but you could still feel her name behind it, just sitting there, waiting. your mother. always your mother.

the thing was — it wasn’t the message itself that bothered you. how’s everything going, sweetie? harmless. soft. if you read it with the right tone in your head, it almost sounded sincere. but you knew better. the problem was never the wording. it was when. it was why.

she never messaged you during the hard parts. never when you were sick for those two weeks in high school and your father called her, asking if she could maybe visit — just for a day. never when the hospital bills piled up and you had to choose between taking an exam or making sure your dad got to chemo on time. never when your life cracked open, not once, not ever.

but then came your acceptance letter. then the move. then the inheritance. then seoul. suddenly, she had a reason to remember you existed.

you stared at the phone like it might confess something to you if you looked long enough. she was always like this — always floating just out of reach, always strategic in the way she re-entered your orbit. never too much. never too involved. just enough to make you question your own judgment. just enough to wonder if this time, maybe she meant it.

and maybe that was what hurt the most — that some part of you still wanted her to.

but the pattern was there. you could see it now. her messages never came randomly. they followed you like footsteps you weren’t supposed to hear — showing up after news, after change, after movement. and that thought lodged itself somewhere sharp in your chest: what did she know? what was she watching for? had she waited for you to leave boseong on purpose?

you remembered the first message she sent after your move — one line, no punctuation, no context. “hope you’re settling in well 💕” — like she hadn’t been a ghost for half your life. and now this orange emoji nonsense, like some curated digital quirk she thought passed for charm.

you wanted to scream. or laugh. or both.

the worst part was that you couldn’t tell if it was genuine. maybe she really was trying. maybe she’d finally decided to look at you like a daughter again. or maybe — and this was the part you couldn’t stop circling — maybe this was just about control. timing. her usual games wrapped in lowercase sweetness and just-in-case affection.

and god, wasn’t that the real kicker? that she might still be playing some game and you still wanted her to mean it.

your throat felt tight. your eyes burned again, not from the bond this time — from everything else.

you tilted your head back against the couch, closed your eyes, and tried to breathe.

somewhere down the hall, someone laughed. the apartment was still alive, still warm, still full of people who didn’t know you. and yet you were here.

and that text? the orange emoji?

you weren’t sure if it was a wave hello or a warning shot. and that uncertainty — that little knot of what if sitting in your chest — was something you weren’t ready to untangle just yet.

—

it shouldn’t be legal to have this many hot men in one apartment.

like—there you were, quietly brooding your mommy issues, spiraling about centuries-old soulmates and fruit emojis, trying not to cry over your dad’s “i am baby” mug — and then the hallway lit up with the kind of collective male beauty that would make a webtoon artist sob.

seven of them. seven.

all dressed like the cast of a noir movie reboot. all with faces that could probably turn traffic accidents into fashion statements. all standing in the threshold like they’d just materialized from mist and ancestral trauma.

and at the center of it: sunghoon.

you didn’t even have time to process the others properly because he pulled every scrap of attention toward him without even trying. not just because he looked stupidly good — though, god, he did — but because something about him had shifted again. 

he stood like he owned the room, like the rest of them were just background noise. tall, steady, sharp-eyed. the kind of presence that made you sit up straighter even when he didn’t say a word.

protective, too — painfully so. his eyes flicked toward you like a tether, like he was scanning the space before he let any of them near. like his body had defaulted to guard dog mode and didn’t quite know how to switch back.

you sat frozen on the couch, hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands, heart thudding at that damn spot behind your ear again. it pulsed. warm. traitorous.

sunghoon gave them a silent nod — and only then did they enter.

and wow, great, now you had to meet the rest of them while wearing stolen joggers and damp hair.

“hi,” one of them said, smiling easy. you blinked. you’d never seen him — tall, softly handsome, eyes bright like sunlit windows. “my name is jake.”

oh. jake. that jake. the one who supposedly had a human soulmate. you tried to smile at him.

he was wearing a dark knit sweater and jeans that looked like they’d never seen a wrinkle in their life, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that said i do pull-ups for fun and also possibly carry the weight of fate.

he didn’t sit too close. just nodded again, polite, like he’d already decided it was safer to keep a step back — or like he knew exactly what it felt like to be new here and didn’t want to crowd the fallout.

you couldn’t tell if it made you like him more or less.

the next one nearly made you sit up straight — not because he was intimidating, but because he was radiating sweetness like it was a lifestyle.

“you must be y/n,” he said, voice bright, steps light as he approached with hands tucked behind his back like he was entering a tea party.

you didn’t know him — not yet. but you felt him, somehow. like sunlight through tinted windows. glowing skin, soft expression, smile so polite it made you feel underdressed for just sitting there.

“i’m sunoo,” he added gently. “do you need anything? blanket? tea? a fire-forged blade to defend your honor?”

you blinked. “i—no. thank you though.”

he beamed like you’d said something clever. “adorable,” he whispered, to no one in particular, and walked off.

right behind him came jungwon — and you recognized him immediately. black suit, sharp jaw, full-body tattoos like calligraphy designed by a god having a bad day.

this was one of the guys you’d seen on your first day here through the peephole — the one who looked like he came straight from laundering empire money in the 1960s and had never once paid taxes.

he nodded once in your direction, slow and deliberate. no smile. just that unreadable, mafia-head-of-household energy that made you feel like maybe you should be offering him tribute or something.

next to him was jay — and his vibe was different. less formal, more… quietly hostile? not outright rude, not yet, but he looked at you like you were a piece of furniture that didn’t match the decor.

you didn’t blame him. if someone plopped a sweaty, overwhelmed human girl into your private vampire palace mid-bond crisis, you’d probably be petty about it too.

“hi,” you tried anyway.

he didn’t respond.

instead, he flicked a glance at sunghoon, then at you, then back again. and that was all. no words. no expression. just subtle judgment in high definition.

great start.

the last one stepped in, red hair catching the low hallway light — not bright, just muted, like it had grown in that way on purpose. 

not too confident, not too cold. just… kind of like he didn’t want to startle you.

“hey,” he said, soft enough you barely caught it. “i’m heeseung.”

your brain stuttered.

you had seen him before — briefly, in the elevator. this morning when everything went sideways. when you almost passed out trying to get to the hospital. 

you remembered the red hair now, the way he’d looked at you then — not confused, not curious, but worried. like he already knew.

“hi,” you managed. your voice cracked a little.

heeseung gave the faintest smile. small. real. then ducked his head in a quick nod, almost like a bow, and stepped back to let the next person in.

no theatrics. no commentary. no jokes. just that soft hello — like it was enough.

the last two were background noise at that point — not because they weren’t stunning (they were), but because sunghoon hadn’t moved. hadn’t looked away from you.

he crossed the room without a word, and with one subtle lift of his fingers, gestured toward the velvet couches around you.

“not too close,” he said to the others. soft, but final.

you blinked at him confused.

“sit wherever,” he said, voice smoother this time, like he hadn’t just dropped a subtle line in the sand. “just give her space.”

sunoo pouted for a second, visibly disappointed he couldn’t sit beside you and feed you grapes like a princess in a joseon-period drama, but obeyed.

jake raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. jungwon didn’t even blink. jay looked pleased. of course he did.

they all found their seats. politely distanced. neatly arranged like pieces on a very stupidly attractive chessboard.

and you?

you sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by six-hundred-year-old secrets and terrifyingly hot immortals, hoodie strings pulled tight, heartbeat loud in your ears.

you had no idea what was playing on the screen.

you weren’t even sure it mattered anymore.

——

the movie was exactly what you’d expect from sunoo’s pick — glittery vampires, melodramatic kisses, and a soundtrack that sounded like it had been pulled straight from someone’s 2012 heartbreak playlist.

you’d sat through most of it pretending not to notice the space sunghoon had silently carved around you. he’d chosen the seat farthest from yours — not dramatically so, not rude, just… deliberate. respectful. 

frustratingly respectful.

you told yourself it was good. mature. what you wanted.

but somewhere around the second fake bite scene — the one where the vampire boyfriend rescued his mortal girlfriend from a rogue werewolf with a single flying kick and the cheesiest line ever delivered in cinema — you caught yourself looking at him again.

he didn’t even seem to be watching the movie. he just sat there, long legs folded, face slack with boredom. one hand resting on his thigh, the other against his jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his lip like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

you hated how attractive that was.

how, in that moment, he reminded you of a boy you used to crush on as a kid — some tv drama second lead who never got the girl but always carried the heavier lines. 

the kind who looked devastating just by leaning against a wall. the kind who made silence feel louder than a speech.

you remembered being eleven and swearing that one day you’d marry someone like that.

great. well. you had definitely not expected the universe to take you literally.

still, the longer the movie dragged, the more it gnawed at you — the way sunghoon kept his distance. not cold. not withdrawn. just… intentional.

you’d told him to follow your lead. to give you space. and he had.

and now, annoyingly, you kind of wanted him closer.

not for anything dramatic. not even to talk. just close enough that his knee brushed yours. close enough that maybe your hands would accidentally bump when reaching for the popcorn. close enough that you wouldn’t feel like the bond was a wall instead of a bridge.

but he never moved.

and you hated how much you noticed that too.

you weren’t even sure when it started — the wanting. maybe it was that night in the greenhouse, when he stood in the dark and didn’t flinch. maybe it was the mail delivery, when he handed you your future like a scene out of a k-drama. or maybe it was just the way he always looked like he regretted being near you — but stayed anyway.

or maybe it was simpler than that. maybe it was just that he listened.

he hadn’t touched you without permission. hadn’t hovered. hadn’t done that thing most people did — push when they didn’t know what else to do.

sunghoon gave you space when you asked for it. and god, what a twisted little turn-on that was.

because apparently, all it took to short-circuit your brain was basic respect and a brooding face.

great. love that for you.

you shifted in your seat, trying to focus on the movie again — not on the warmth curling in your chest like it had teeth. not on the fact that the person making you feel safest in this insane blood-scented fever dream was also the person you least trusted to stay that way.

but then he adjusted his jaw again, thumb pressing just slightly into the corner of his mouth, and you were right back where you started.

ridiculous.

you were ridiculous.

the movie dragged on. so did the terrible script. the vampire boyfriend had just started monologuing about eternal love in front of a crumbling lighthouse, shirt unbuttoned for absolutely no reason except drama — when you risked another glance at sunghoon.

and that’s when he looked back.

it wasn’t a fleeting glance. it wasn’t an accidental blink of eye contact you could pretend didn’t happen.

no — he met your gaze like he knew.

his expression didn’t shift. not much. just a slight lift at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, not quite smug, but enough to make your breath stutter. like he was letting you sit with the fact that he’d caught you. like he was giving you space to deny it… and watching to see if you would.

you didn’t. you looked away first. obviously.

you blamed the lighting. and the plot. and the bond.

the living room was dim, lit mostly by the bluish wash of the screen and the soft under-glow woven through the edges of the ceiling. velvet curtains drawn. a bowl of popcorn balanced on the coffee table between two antique swords used as legs. because of course.

the rest of them had arranged themselves in a perfectly chaotic sprawl across the penthouse’s absurdly oversized sectional — all dressed like they’d just walked off the set of three completely different fashion campaigns.

jake curled into one corner like a man at peace with his soulmate and the snacks. jay, naturally, wore a black turtleneck and slacks, arms crossed like he was silently reviewing the film for a vampire-approved critics’ journal.

jungwon — all tattoos and quiet focus — sat beside him, sipping what you hoped was just tea, looking like he could kill you with a hairpin and not stain the couch. 

sunoo had a face mask on. glossy. pink. glowing. he was sitting crisscrossed with a notebook in hand, making comments like “these fangs aren’t even symmetrical, 3/10” and “that’s not how eternal blood vows work, idiots.” 

niki had claimed the floor, legs kicked out, socks mismatched (pineapples and ghosts). he’d nearly spilled a soda during the opening scene and was now banned from holding any liquids. heeseung peacefully slept beside him.

and sunghoon…

sunghoon sat at the far end of the couch, posture too perfect to be relaxed. dark sweater, silver chain glinting against his collarbone. one ankle crossed over the other, like he was trying too hard not to look like he was trying at all.

the movie was deep into its third act now — a dramatic betrayal scene where the vampire boyfriend got temporarily murdered with a cursed locket. or something. you’d lost the thread somewhere between the kiss in the rain and the spontaneous carriage chase.

but your eyes kept drifting.

to the wall clock. to the soft glow of the room. to the way your body felt.

you weren’t tired.

you should be — after the day you’d had, after the fever, the hospital, the bonding, the emotional collapse. but somehow, your limbs didn’t ache, your eyelids didn’t droop.

you felt awake. too awake.

a glance at the clock made your stomach twist. 11:03 p.m.

back in boseong, you’d be passed out by now. blanket pulled over your head. old kettle on the counter, humming your dad’s favorite night tune.

but here?

your pulse was steady. eyes clear. skin buzzing just a little under the weight of borrowed fabric and whatever this bond was doing to you from the inside out.

you weren’t sure if it was adrenaline. or something worse. something… permanent.

your chest tightened at the thought.

that creeping sense of something — not quite danger, not quite dread — was curling at the edge of your ribs again.

it wasn’t sharp like it had been before, not like in the hospital or that morning or every other moment since you woke up and realized your life had rerouted itself without warning.

but it was still there.

a low hum under your skin. a subtle discomfort that made you hyper-aware of your own body — the weight of your hands in your lap, the soft pressure of the hoodie around your shoulders, the way your breath caught in your throat every time the room went quiet for too long.

your mind began to reach for the usual patterns — questions, worst-case scenarios, the impossible task of calculating your odds of surviving whatever came next.

but then your gaze drifted to the boys again.

and something… shifted.

they hadn’t noticed you watching at first.

niki had long since surrendered to sleep, draped over one half of the couch like he’d always lived there, mouth parted slightly, expression soft in a way that made him look far younger than he probably was.

jay sat beside him, still awake, still composed, with a blanket tossed over his legs and a scowl that might’ve just been his neutral face. his eyes flicked over the screen like he was scanning it for crimes against cinema, the remote resting on the cushion beside him like he didn’t trust anyone else to wield it.

jungwon had slouched further down into the corner of the couch, one leg bent under him, arms folded loosely. there was something precise in the way he watched the screen, like he was listening for the script to do something smart, but already knew it wouldn’t.

sunoo hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes — face mask still glossy, thumb scrolling his phone with lazy flicks while his other hand toyed absently with the hem of his sweater. every now and then, he’d let out a disbelieving laugh or a muttered, “oh wow, that’s a choice.”

jake and heeseung had settled on the floor somewhere during the second act — jake leaning back on his palms, legs stretched out, heeseung sitting cross-legged beside him, both sipping from mugs like this was the only place in the world they needed to be.

they weren’t stiff. they weren’t posing.

they were just… here.

not gods. not monsters. not ancient, blood-bound creatures of myth.

just boys.

not ordinary. not harmless. but real.

they passed pillows without looking, shifted to make room without needing to ask, adjusted blankets and angles and body weight like they’d done this a hundred times before.

and maybe they had.

the rhythm between them was subtle, but it was there — in the way they talked over each other without irritation, in the shared glances, in the unspoken language of longtime closeness.

they looked like a family.

you weren’t used to this — to this kind of ease, this unspoken rhythm between people who knew each other inside out.

back in boseong, there hadn’t been enough kids your age to build anything like this. your classmates came and went — half of them already counting the days until they left for seoul or busan or anywhere that wasn’t a one-karaoke-bar town with more gossip than cell service.

your best friends had been your father — who could barely leave the house most days — and the two old ladies from the park’s chess club, who taught you how to bluff with a bishop and always gave you extra orange slices after a win.

they were sweet. they were home. but it wasn’t this.

you never had movie nights — proper ones, at least. never fell asleep on a couch tangled between other people. never learned how to live beside someone without trying to earn it.

your mom — well. she didn’t build homes. she built distance.

it had always felt like she was one breath away from leaving. 

and eventually, she did.

so sitting here now, in a room full of supernatural strangers, watching them toss popcorn and argue about fictional bloodline hierarchies, something started to uncoil in your chest.

not comfort. not yet.

but possibility.

maybe this didn’t have to be about survival. maybe you didn’t have to keep waiting for the crash.

maybe you could enjoy this.

enjoy them.

your terrifying, absurd, beautiful neighbors.

maybe you could pretend — just a little — that they weren’t vampires, that you weren’t bonded, that this was just some weird dorm and you were the new girl still figuring out where the mugs lived.

and maybe — if you were very, very careful — you could let yourself believe that this didn’t have to be the worst thing that ever happened to you.

as long as it didn’t kill you, maybe it could work.

your eyes drifted back to sunghoon.

he hadn’t moved. hadn’t spoken in a while. just sat there, watching the screen with that expression that gave away nothing and everything.

he’d been respectful. solid. frustrating. a little tragic.

maybe… maybe he could be a decent soulmate.

the movie went on for another half hour after the credits started rolling, and the space around you started to feel too big again — the kind of big that made you notice your own breath, your own body, the silence waiting behind every shared glance.

“okay,” niki mumbled suddenly, half-asleep, “but if she dies in the sequel, i want a refund.”

you weren’t expecting to laugh — but you did. it slipped out like a glitch, quick and unguarded, cutting through the fog in your chest before you could stop it.

sunoo burst out secondly, clapping his hands like the ending had just scored a standing ovation. jake chuckled low, tipping his head back against the couch with a tired smile. even jay cracked the faintest grin — or maybe he was just stretching. hard to tell.

niki blinked at the noise around him like he hadn’t expected his own joke to land. “what? i’m just saying. vampire-girlfriend redemption arc or i riot.”

more laughter followed — loose, warm, overlapping. it swelled through the room like something older than sound. and you laughed with them this time, fully, without thinking.

the tension cracked just enough to let something lighter in. not trust. not safety. not yet. but belonging.

and when you glanced across the couch — across the clutter of limbs and half-empty mugs and a plastic bowl of popcorn someone had upturned without noticing — your eyes found his.

sunghoon was already looking.

he didn’t smile. not really. but something flickered behind his gaze — that familiar, unreadable weight he always carried like it was stitched into his bones.

this time, though, it didn’t feel distant.

it felt like acknowledgment. like he saw all of it — your laugh, your softening, your maybe — and didn’t plan to look away.

the spell broke when the credits stopped rolling and someone groaned.

“that’s it?” jungwon said, sounding genuinely offended. “no post-credits scene? lame.”

“they only do that in the ones with budgets,” sunoo replied, dragging himself upright and smoothing his face mask with one hand. “i give it a 6.5. good costumes, terrible lore. zero understanding of vampire governance.”

“you say that like that’s a real thing,” jake said, raising a brow.

sunoo just blinked. “it’s not?”

while they launched into a side debate about whether vampire taxes were a myth or a metaphor, you moved to stand — or, at least, tried to.

your blanket caught on something — the corner of the low table or maybe sunoo’s knee — and you nearly tripped over it before managing to tug it free with a quiet huff. you glanced down and noticed the hoodie you were wearing had bunched up slightly at your waist, twisting from where you’d been curled up so long.

you smoothed it down absently, fingers brushing the fabric like maybe the texture could ground you. it didn’t belong to you, not really — it smelled faintly of laundry soap and something colder underneath, like winter air and stone. but somehow, it didn’t feel like you were borrowing it anymore. not quite.

you straightened slowly, eyes flicking across the room again — and, once again, your eyes landed on him. 

sunghoon, still leaning back against the far end of the couch, eyes already on you too.

his expression wasn’t sharp like before, wasn’t unreadable or distant. it was warm, almost amused. a small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth — something fond, like he’d been watching you longer than you realized.

you blinked. heat crept up the back of your neck.

he didn’t look away.

you did.

and of course, that was the exact moment niki chose to strike.

“okay,” he said, stretching dramatically, “i think it’s only fair that i don’t help clean up. i was on emotional support duty all night. and she”—he gestured at you like you were the princess in a fantasy novel—“has been through enough. clearly exhausted. she should rest. for her wellbeing.”

you raised a brow. “i’m literally fine.”

niki put a hand to his heart. “emotionally, though?”

“you just don’t want to clean,” sunoo chimed in, walking past with a stack of mugs in both hands, face mask still glowing faintly under the dim lights. “every time it’s your turn, someone’s conveniently ‘emotionally unstable.’”

“not true,” niki argued, sitting up straighter now that he’d been accused. “i cleaned last week.”

“you mean the one time you wiped down the counter with a paper towel and called it spiritual cleansing?”

“it was cleansing,” niki muttered. “for my soul.”

“your soul’s dusty,” jake added from the hallway, carrying a bowl of popcorn crumbs and a lopsided grin. “just admit you’re dodging dishes again.”

“i was prioritizing her wellbeing!” niki insisted, pointing dramatically in your direction. “look at her! she needs rest. warmth. love. minimal exposure to dish soap fumes.”

“don’t drag her into your mess,” jungwon said, emerging from the hallway with his sleeves rolled up and a dish towel already draped over one shoulder, clearly ready to clean. “this is between you and your unresolved guilt.”

“guilt is a social construct,” niki replied, voice pitched louder now, like he was preparing to defend himself in vampire court. “you’re all just jealous i have empathy.”

you were barely holding back a grin now. the room had dissolved into overlapping complaints and mockery — popcorn being thrown, towels snapped, an entire fake debate about chore schedules and divine forgiveness — when sunghoon’s voice cut through it like silk on glass.

“niki.”

the name alone quieted half the room.

sunghoon hadn’t moved much — just stood at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed over his chest, posture relaxed in that effortless way that only made him look more in control.

but his eyes were already on you again.

not on niki. not on the mess. not on anyone else in the room.

just you.

“she said she’s fine,” he said, calm and even.

but it hit harder than anything loud could’ve.

the room quieted. not completely — there was still the clatter of sunoo muttering something under his breath, the shuffling of someone collecting mugs — but the energy shifted. it dipped, slowed, like even the air had caught onto the tone in his voice.

you felt it immediately — the weight of being looked at like that.

his voice had been directed at the others, but everything about it — his stance, his focus, the quiet certainty threading through each word — was meant for you.

like he was anchoring you to the room. to him.

your pulse jumped.

the warmth from earlier — the soft flicker of something you couldn’t name, couldn’t shove down — rushed back, flooding low in your stomach, hot and sudden.

you looked away before he could catch the full flush rising to your cheeks.

niki raised both hands. “noted. standing down.”

sunghoon’s gaze didn’t shift.

“i’ll help,” he added, voice softer now, almost an afterthought. “and… if it’s alright, i’d like to talk with you.”

and just like that, the noise faded.

no one teased. no one interrupted.

maybe it was the tone of his voice. maybe it was the way he was still looking at you like the conversation had already started, and you just hadn’t joined in yet.

but either way — the room cleared fast.

“fine,” sunoo said, sweeping his towel over one arm like a dramatic stage exit. “but if you confess your undying love, i’m coming back for the sequel.”

you didn’t answer.

you just looked at sunghoon.

confused, mostly — trying to guess what exactly he wanted to talk about.

but you didn’t ask. didn’t press.

because for the first time since you’d woken up in his room that morning, you didn’t feel the sudden urge to run.

and maybe that was enough for now.

author's note: not reader finding her sense of belonging in a centuries old hot vampires group lol. THE PART TWO OF THIS CHAPTER IS ALREADY OUT. reblogs and comments are appreciated :) pls let's not comment on the weird pacing, i'm still grieving my lost ability to write funny chapters :( send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @ikeugirly @vixialuvs @hoonprksung @kyunlov @verialuv @sagegreenhairclip @gal821 @hoonstrology @httpenhoon @questionsdearreader @mynameis-rosie1 @ninistranaut @staygenesblog @stercul1a @nshmrarki @imeowni @harusoraa @niki788 @sosaphiee @seokjinthescientist @gloomyasphodel @ferjinyoungiee @temuao @p1ecetinyzen @theothernads @jellymiki

[acidsoju]

WE FOUND LOVE ON... HINGE? ⋆˚࿔ ♡ 🤳 ˎˊ˗ [s. jaeyun]

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pairings ⟢ down bad! jake x fem! reader contains ⟢ profanity, crack/humour, fluff, kind of suggestive, use of dating apps, one shot! ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ this is a behind of like a tattoo! jake (my ongoing heeseung smau) and also part of my lat! behind series, you can read sunghoon's here! <3

⟢ IN WHICH you come across a cute guy's odd hinge prompt, who seemingly has no clue what it actually means.

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author's note: so before working on tattoodaddyhoon69 and frankoceanfan123’s love story again, i wanted to put this out first LOL! if u wanna see more of this jake, click here! to read my ongoing smau series that he’s featured in! (i just can’t seem to let these characters go) 😇

perm taglist ⟢ @osakinanadesu @luhvletters @jellyrushzz @hee-isyumaf

copyright © bambiens 2025.

[acidsoju]

FARMER’S DAUGHTER

pairing: sunghoon x fIreader

summary: sunghoon's down bad for the farmer's daughter

warnings: hidden relationship, kissing, making out, suggestive, slight exhibitionism if you squint?

wc: 2.8k

it was hot.

the summer sun was beating down on sunghoon who had been moving hay bales for the past twenty minutes. his shirt was clinging to his skin, sweat soaking through his tank top to the point there were visible damp spots.

he stopped for a second, standing up as he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, shutting his eyes as he breathed out a heavy sigh, trying to think of anything besides how much more work he had to do in this sweltering heat today.

a firm hand landed on the back of his shoulder, causing him to let out a quiet curse as he opened his eyes, turning to see the farmer standing next to him.

“getting soft on me, boy?” he asked, tilting his chin at sunghoon as he took in the boys exhausted state.

“it’s hot out here,” sunghoon replied, shrugging as he watched the man’s lips curve into a small smile, “the work isn’t gonna do itself though.”

the man let out a rough chuckle, patting sunghoon’s shoulder lightly before letting his hand fall, looking back to the hay bales. “damn right. not bad, kid.”

“anything you need me to do after the hay bales?” sunghoon asked, raking his fingers through his hair as he pushed the sweat-soaked strands out of his face.

“the cows need feeding,” the man replied, gesturing off to another part of the farm absentmindedly, “after that, check on the pigs, will you?”

sunghoon opened his mouth to reply, before a voice he knew all too well cut through the air, chirpy and energized.

“hey!” you call out, strutting towards the two with two glasses of ice cold lemonade in your hands. “i brought you guys some lemonade.”

sunghoon turned around, his throat instantly tightening at the sight of you. tight denim shorts that hugged you just right, paired with a tiny white tank top that you had tied up, dirt-covered boots on your legs as you walked towards them.

you smiled, tilting your head just slightly as you got closer, trying to hold back as a laugh as you watched sunghoon try to keep his composure.

he was fighting everything inside him to not let his eyes rake over your body, to not grab your waist and pull you into him, to not press a soft kiss to your lips for walking up to him looking this good while your dad was right next to him.

“hey, pumpkin,” your dad smiled, taking the cold glass from your hands before taking a big sip, shaking his head at the taste. “about time someone brought us something.”

“of course, daddy,” you beam, handing the second glass to sunghoon before turning to him, a glint in your eyes he knew all too well, “can’t have my favorite farm hand overheating now, can we?”

you watched the way sunghoon nearly malfunctioned, clearing his throat as he turned away, hastily grabbing the lemonade from your hands.

“thank you”, he muttered, his voice tight, and you couldn’t stop yourself from watching the way his adam’s apple moved as he took a sip, your eyes following the movement.

“you’re welcome,” you replied sweetly, keeping your eyes on him a second longer than necessary. you knew you shouldn’t be this obvious when your dad was near but, my god, he looked good.

your dad took another sip beside him, his eyes flickering between the two of you before lowering the cup. “guess you better get back to the hay, sunghoon.” he glanced at the boy, turning his head just slightly towards the hay bales.

“and pumpkin, do you mind going inside and making some iced tea?” he continued, turning to you, his expression leaving no room for argument. not that there was any use, anyway, especially when you caught the way he was glancing between you and sunghoon- you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

you only nodded, keeping that sweet smile on your lips, careful to not give away anything to your father. “sure thing, daddy,” you reply, already turning on your heels to head back to the house, sending a small wave towards sunghoon, who only nodded at you in response.

you glanced down at your boots, kicking a small patch of dirt, watching the small cloud it formed dissipate into the air. being the only daughter- well, the only child- had its perks, but it also came with a lot of hovering, especially from your dad. also loneliness, considering you grew up on a farm, but you had grown used to that. your dad acted as if the world would end if something that was bad even in the slightest happened to you.

you understood it, really. you knew how cowboys acted, especially the way father’s viewed their daughters as their little girls to the end of time. but sometimes parts of you wondered what he’d do if he knew you weren’t the sweet, innocent farm girl he still painted you as in his mind- not while sunghoon was around.

you glanced back just once, just long enough to catch sunghoon’s eyes, the way he was watching you walk away, his grip still tight around the glass you had handed him. you spared a glance at your dad, making sure he wasn’t looking before blowing a tiny kiss at sunghoon, a quiet laugh leaving your lips as you turned back around, making quick steps back towards your house.

it’s a good thing iced tea didn’t take long to make.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

the sun had started to disappear at this point, casting a beautiful orange glow in the sky as the heat of the day began to disappear slowly. but the barn remained hot, sunghoon continuously wiping sweat off his furrowed brows as he crouched by the latch of one of the stalls. it had been sticking all week, and had chosen the perfect moment to completely snap off, leaving sunghoon to fix it unless he wanted to get extra work from your dad for breaking something.

he muttered a curse under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he shook his head lightly, already fed up with the workload from today. his tank top had only gotten damper, still sticking uncomfortably to his skin, mixed with the smell of hay and animals as he rolled his shoulders, wincing at the ache that ran through him.

then the barn door creaked open, quiet and creaky. he didn’t look up at first, figuring it was your dad coming to ask for help with something else.

“thought i’d find you in here,” you said softly, a small smile on your lips as you leaned against the neighboring stall’s door, your eyes flickering to his back muscles through his tank top, the way his biceps flexed every time he twisted the wrench on the latch.

he straightened slowly, his eyes raking up your figure before meeting your eyes, his usual lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. then he was standing up, his eyes tracing your figure once again, and you caught the way his eyes darkened, his tongue poking out to run over his lips.

“you tryna’ kill me, baby?” he muttered, his eyes flickering up to yours again, the intensity of his gaze making something swirl deep inside you.

you bit back a smile, a teasing glint in your eyes as you answered, “maybe.”

he didn’t say anything, instead reaching out, curling his fingers in through the belt loops of your tiny shorts, tugging you closer to him. your hands instinctively lifted, resting on his chest to stabilize yourself, a small hum leaving you when you felt his muscles through his tank top, too many thoughts running through your mind.

“why’d you act like nothing earlier?” you asked, jutting your bottom lip out into a pout, but the teasing tone in your voice was evident. “like you didn’t know me at all?”

sunghoon’s jaw clenched. his hand stayed where they were, low on your waist, but his fingers tapped small patterns against your skin.

“if i acted how i wanted to,” he leaned in, close enough for your noses to touch, your lips a hairsbreadth apart as he continued, his voice lower than before, “your daddy’d bury me under the cornfield.”

you blinked, your lips parting slightly as your heart skipped a beat- but your smile never faltered. your hands slid up his chest slowly, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as you tilted your head just slightly, a quiet hum leaving you.

“well,” you whispered, tugging him just slightly closer, your lips brushing against his, “he’s not here right now, is he?”

sunghoon let out a quiet, rough laugh, his hands sliding lower on your his as he leaned down. and then he was lifting you onto a nearby hay bale, stepping between your legs before you could fully process what had just happened.

his eyes scanned your face slowly, his fingers digging just slightly into your hips, his voice coming out quiet. “i’ve been thinking about this all day.”

you swallowed, your gaze dropping to his lips. “yeah?”

he nodded once, his voice a bit louder, one hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. “yeah.”

and then he kissed you. you couldn’t help the way your body instantly melted into his, your arms immediately sliding around his neck as you kissed him back, a quiet sigh slipping past your lips. and it was like that was all he needed.

his mouth moved more urgently, his fingers tightening on you as he pulled you closer to the edge of the hay bale, one hand sliding around to splay across the small of your back as he stepped closer, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed to be closer.

your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as his lips parted against yours, and he let out the quietest, most sinful groan against your lips- the noise making your head spin with need.

he pulled away first, heavy breaths leaving both of you as he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes dark and dazed as he stared into yours.

“you drive me crazy,” he muttered, his voice low, the corner of his lips quirking up. “you know that?”

you just smiled, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving you as you tugged him closer, connecting your lips once again, already aching for more of him.

it was hotter this time. more desperate. his hands were roaming everywhere now, sliding up your back, fingers slipping under your shirt like he needed someway to ground himself from losing his whole mind right now.

you could feel every part of him pressed against you now, strong and solid. your mind was spinning at his touch, heat pooling deep in your belly.

“sunghoon,” you murmured against his lips, your voice barely audible as your fingers tightened in his hair, your body aching for more of him.

he only hummed against your lips, his hands tightening their hold on your body. his tongue swept along your bottom lip, your mouth instantly opening as his tongue slipped into your mouth, and you whimpered, unable to control the way your hips twitched in his hold.

but he felt it. and it only made a rough groan slip past his lips, both hands sliding up under your shirt, his fingers tracing your spine slowly and making shivers erupt across your body as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss as your legs tightened around him, locking his body against yours.

the hay behind you shifted as he leaned in more, pushing you back just slightly, until one arm braced beside your head, caging you in. pieces of hay dug into your back, scratching your skin, but you couldn’t focus on anything besides sunghoon’s touch, his lips against yours. he broke the kiss, just to instantly latch onto your neck, his lips forming a trail as his lips pressed against your throat.

you whimpered out his name, your fingers moving from his hair to his shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself as need swirled inside you.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw. “i swear to god, baby, if i don’t stop-“

“don’t,” you gasp out, all critical thinking leaving your mind as your hands slipped down his sides, gripping the hem of his tank top, desperate for something, anything, your body aching to close the gap that somehow still existed between your bodies.

you heard the way his breath hitched, and then his mouth was back on yours instantly, his kisses rougher now. more desperate. every press of his lips, every time his tongue slid against yours, every sigh that slipped past his lips had your head spinning, your hands tugging at his shirt, whining something against his lips.

everything felt too hot. your legs wrapped tighter around his hips, feeling the way his body pressed against yours. his hands were sliding down your body, his touch rough and desperate, and your back arched into his touch instantly, a desperate whimper leaving you. then his hands were on the edge of your shorts, tugging at the waistband just slightly, before his hands moved to the button, his fingers beginning to undo it, your hips pushing up against his hold-

“sunghoon?”

you both froze. your eyes flew open, his hands stilling on your body as heaving breaths left both of you, panic settling in your chest as your eyes flickered towards the barn door, praying to every god that your dad would just walk away.

but then you heard his footsteps approaching, your eyes widening as your stomach dropped, sunghoon’s hands immediately leaving your body as he swallowed. hard.

“get off,” you whispered, panic lacing your voice as you pushed at sunghoon’s chest, sliding off the hay bale, “he’s coming inside- move.”

but he was already moving. he backed away from you so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste, as he pulled his shirt down, trying to make himself look somewhat normal. he ran his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it down, before he wiped at his lips.

you were doing the same, wiping hay off your body, straightening out your shirt, fixing your hair to the best of your ability, wiping at your lips and neck- trying to calm down your uneven breaths. and then the barn door pushed open.

sunghoon had barely knelt down by the latch on time, trying his damndest to look at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world, his fingers fiddling with it like he hadn’t been pulling whimpers past your lips one minute ago.

“there you are,” your dad’s voice came, stepping fully inside the barn, “i was calling you- that damn latch still giving you trouble?”

sunghoon cleared his throat, turning his head towards him. “yeah. i’m just about done with it. think it would just be best if you bought a new one, though,” he responded, his voice lower than usual.

your dad simply nodded, his eyes flickering around the barn before finally landing on you, your legs crossed over one another as you leaned against the hay bale.

“pumpkin,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing just slightly, your stomach dropping as anxiety ran through you. “what’re you doing in here?”

“i was just checking if he needed help,” you replied, biting your tongue as you realized how obvious that sounded. “i finished the iced tea a while ago.”

“next time, let the boy work,” he nodded, before heading to the opposite end of the barn, “you’ll distract him.”

“of course, daddy,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was pounding so hard you were sure it was going to beat out of your chest. “sorry.”

he didn’t respond, instead rummaging through some box full of tools, presumably looking for something to help sunghoon out. you took that as your cue to leave. but before you could reach the door, sunghoon’s hand caught your wrist, not hard, but just enough to stop you in your tracks.

your eyebrows shot up, instantly looking to make sure your dad wasn’t looking. he wasn’t. his back was turned to you two, still digging in the box.

you looked down at sunghoon, his thumb rushing over your wrist in the lightest of touches as he spoke, just quiet enough for you to hear. “we’re not finished.”

the shock on your body melted away, and your lips curled into the smallest smile, leaning down just slightly as you kept your gaze on his.

“you’re getting bold, cowboy. my dad’s right behind us,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly before straightening up.

his breath caught for just a second, a mixture of something smug and something disbelieving taking over his features. but before he could respond, you were already pulling your wrist from his grip, sauntering away.

and right before you fully stepped out of the barn, you tossed him a glance over your shoulder, that signature smile playing on your lips as you shot him a wink, finally shutting the large door behind you.

you couldn’t wait to get him alone again.

[acidsoju]

bum across the street

opp neighbour!yjw x reader

a/n: wonnie phase hit like a TRUCK. i luv him n i had this silly lil idea :3 i promise i'll write smth real soon i just have no time rn :( but enjoyyyy!

[acidsoju]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 †

You’ve always known how to make men kneel, but not like this. He was meant to save souls, not fall for one like yours. One stormy night, he lets you in. Now the fire’s lit.

✴︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: priest!sunghoon x brothel worker!reader

𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗅 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗅, 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁, 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

✴︎ 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: religious guilt, explicit smut, priest kink, descriptions of sex work, themes of sin/redemption, etc. you know the drill

6,1k words

You weren’t looking for God when you stepped into the church.

You didn’t come to kneel. Or repent. Or be reborn.

You came because the world outside was too loud and you wanted silence. You came to hide.

You didn’t expect the silence here to feel like it was watching you back. As if every prayer ever whispered in this place was still clinging to the walls, waiting to be answered.

You dragged your fingers across the edge of a pew, letting the dust kiss your skin. The stained-glass saints stared down at you in fractured color, their eyes frozen in judgment.

You almost turned to leave. Almost.

And then he appeared.

From a side hallway, quiet as a shadow, a man stepped into the candlelight. You didn’t know who he was, not yet, but you knew what he was.

The white collar gave him away. The black attire, the quiet way he carried himself, like every movement might offend heaven. The Holy Book in his soft hands. And the face, too beautiful, too sharp, too real to belong in a place like this.

Father Sunghoon.

Though you didn’t know his name yet, something in you whispered it anyway. A name that sounded too soft for someone who looked so conflicted. As if grace had kissed him once, then vanished.

He didn’t see you at first. Or if he did, he pretended not to. His fingers trailed along the altar cloth as he walked, slow, reverent. His lips were moving. A prayer, maybe. Or a memory.

And when he finally turned, his eyes met yours.

Only for a second.

But in that second, something passed between you. Something quiet. Something wrong.

Not lust. Not yet. Just… recognition.

As if he’d seen you before in a dream he never told anyone about, as if you were the answer to a question he never meant to ask.

He blinked. And it was gone.

His expression folded back into calm, clerical composure. He offered a polite nod, and you simply nodded back.

As you turned away from him, letting your footsteps echo down the center aisle, carrying that silence with you like a stolen relic, you didn’t look back. But you felt it.

His gaze. Still on you.

He didn’t expect to see you here. Father Sunghoon had heard about you; everyone in the village had. The “sinful whore” who stirred whispers and scandal wherever she went. But he’d never laid eyes on you before tonight.

And now here you were, stepping into the church like you owned the place.

He watched you from the altar, silent, trying to keep the judgments he’d been taught locked behind his calm mask. You caught his gaze and smiled a little too knowingly, a little too boldly.

“Father,” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “I hear you’re the one who prays for sinners around here.”

He stiffened, tightening his grip on the book in his hands.

“And you must be the infamous one,” he said quietly, eyes sharp. “The one the village warns us about.”

“Infamous?” You laughed, low and rough. “Sounds like you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not scared,” he replied, voice steady. “I’m cautious. And duty-bound.”

You stepped closer. “Doesn’t duty include mercy? Or are sinners just meant to be cast out?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “Mercy requires repentance. You’ve yet to show any.”

“Maybe I’m not the one who needs to repent,” you said, voice lowering, eyes locking on his. 

“Maybe it’s you.”

His eyes flicked away, then back. For a moment, the strict priest was gone, replaced by a man trying not to lose himself.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said. “But this isn’t your playground.”

“Maybe it’s yours,” you shot back. “Maybe you just haven’t admitted it yet.”

He shook his head, stepping back. “You are a sinner, you work at a brothel and sell your purity for money. I am a servant of God. We walk different paths.”

“But we’re standing in the same place.” You smiled, sharp and dangerous. “For now.”

He watched you go, a storm raging behind his eyes.

And somewhere deep down, you knew he wanted to follow.

The door slammed behind you, the quiet church left miles away in the silence you craved but never truly found.

Your home was small, cramped — a single room where shadows lingered longer than they should, and the air smelled of sweat and smoke. You kicked off your boots and lit a candle, watching the flicker paint wild shapes on the walls.

You sit by the cracked window, the fading light casting long shadows across your room. Your fingers trace the rim of a wine glass, but your mind is already elsewhere — at the church, at Father Sunghoon’s stiff, pious face. The way he held that mask of calm, so fragile it threatened to shatter the moment sin stepped too close.

You smile, sharp and slow.

Tomorrow, you’ll walk back through those heavy wooden doors, not as a sinner hiding in the silence, but as a storm ready to break his carefully built world. You’ll drag him out of his prayers and into the chaos he tries to forget. The dirt, the laughter, the reckless nights that burn hotter than holy fire.

You know it will rattle him. You want it to.

Maybe it will crack the saint wide open. Maybe it will make him question everything he thinks he knows. And maybe, just maybe, it will make him see you, not as a sinner, but as a human soul.

The wind outside howled like it mourned. Rain battered the stained-glass windows of the chapel, streaking the saints’ faces with tears. The incense had long burned out.

Father Sunghoon had not moved from the pew.

His fingers curled around the rosary like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. He prayed not out of peace, but to suffocate the thing writhing in his chest — that dark, pulsing thing that stirred whenever his mind wandered where it shouldn't.

And it had been wandering more often lately.

Especially since he met you.

The door creaked open, not gently, like you wanted to be heard. Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t lift, but he felt it. That unmistakable shift in the air when you entered a room. Like if temptation had a heartbeat. Like if sin wore perfume and smiled with teeth.

“Forgive me, Father,” your voice rang out, too calm, too sweet, “for I have sinned.”

Sunghoon rose and stepped into the confessional booth, pulling the worn curtain closed behind him. He didn’t need to see your face to know who it was. The way your voice dipped on Father- was that mockery? Or reverence? He couldn’t tell anymore.

He sat. The silence stretched.

“You’ve come back,” he said softly.

“Did you miss me?” your voice lilted. “Or were you praying I’d stay away?”

Sunghoon exhaled slowly. He could smell the rain on you. “What sin brings you here tonight?” he asked, steady, professional.

A soft rustle. He imagined you tilting your head, playing with your bottom lip. “I touched myself last night,” you said, as easily as someone naming their favorite color. 

“And I thought of you.”

Silence. Not even the storm dared intrude now.

Sunghoon’s pulse roared in his ears like a second storm, louder than thunder. “You should go,” he whispered. “Before you say something you can’t take back.”

“Oh, but Father,” you purred. “Isn’t that the whole point of confession?”

The silence in the confessional wasn’t holy anymore. It was thick, humid, and heavy with breath, trembling on the edge of something neither of you dared name.

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened around the rosary until the beads dug into his skin. This wasn’t temptation. This was a test.

“Confession,” he said at last, voice low, tight, “requires sincerity. Not… provocation.”

“But I am sincere,” you murmured through the thin screen, your voice like velvet laced with smoke. “I thought of your hands, Father. The way they held that book so gently. I wondered how gently they’d hold me.”

His breath caught. You heard it.

You pressed closer to the divider, close enough to feel the heat between you radiating through old wood and worn cloth.

“I’m not ashamed,” you whispered. “Is that the sin? Wanting something you shouldn’t? Or is the sin pretending you don’t want it, too?”

A pause.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m saying.”

He stood. Too quickly. The curtain swayed from the sudden movement. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, suspended between obedience and desire, faith and flesh.

And then he stepped out.

You followed slowly, letting the curtain fall behind you like the last breath of restraint.

The church was nearly dark now, only the candles were left flickering like wounded hearts. Thunder rolled low outside. The air buzzed with the kind of tension that made even the saints turn their heads.

He stood at the altar again, one hand braced against it, knuckles white, jaw clenched.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, not turning to look at you.

“I’ve always liked the warmth.”

Silence again. But this time it crackled.

He turned, finally, and faced you. And God, the way he looked at you now. Not with the quiet dismissal of yesterday. Not with pious detachment. But like you were a scripture he’d never read before, one he wasn’t sure he was allowed to open, let alone understand.

“Do you want to be saved?” he asked, a ghost of his role still clinging to his voice.

You stepped closer. “Maybe I want to be ruined.”

He closed his eyes. A breath. A prayer. Or maybe surrender.

“Go home,” he said, hoarse. “Please.”

But you didn’t move. Not yet.

You looked past him, at the crucifix mounted above the altar, the limp, dying savior nailed to his sacrifice.

He couldn’t help it. He saw you.

The candlelight licking your cheekbones, casting you in gold. The rain had soaked through your dress, clinging to you in places it shouldn’t, revealing far too much. You were barefoot, or close to it, toes peeking out from under your hem, your hair half-wild from the storm. And yet you stood there with the poise of something holy. Or dangerous. Or both.

You were beautiful. Too beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

He hadn’t known temptation would wear your face, your mouth, your curves. That wanting could be this visual. Every movement you made felt rehearsed by the devil himself, the way your lips parted just slightly when you breathed, the way your gaze held him like a prayer written in fire.

It wasn’t just an attraction. It was agony.

His eyes dragged down your figure before he could stop them 

Don’t look, Sunghoon, don’t look,...but Christ, you were a storm wrapped in silk and shadows. He could practically feel your skin on his palms without ever touching it.

Sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would erase the image burned behind them. But it didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

“I gave my life to God,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his cheek. “Then why does it feel like you’re about to give it to me?”

His breath caught. You were standing too close now.

He could smell you, that warm, earthy scent, tinged with rain and something sweet beneath it. Something purely you. And God help him, all he could think about was what you’d said in the confessional. 

Your voice moaning his name. Your hand between your thighs. 

His hand between your thighs.

You stepped even closer. The way your body moved, effortless, feminine, intentional, made his stomach twist. Your fingers brushed the altar beside his, the touch featherlight, electric.

“You don’t have to be afraid of wanting,” you said, voice quieter now. 

He shook his head, but it was hollow. He couldn’t stop looking at your mouth. At the way your breath ghosted across his skin. At the curve of your collarbone and the water beading down your neck like a trail for his mouth to follow.

“I can’t,” he said, barely audible.

You smiled and leaned in, so close he could feel the heat of your mouth at his jaw. Your lips didn’t touch him, but your breath did. And it branded him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Father,” you whispered.

Then you stepped back, turned around, and walked away. Hips swaying, head held high, your silhouette swallowed by the dark as the church door closed behind you.

He watched you disappear into the storm. And for the first time in years, he didn’t pray. He just stood there. Drenched in desire. Stripped of answers.

And painfully, painfully hard.

The storm hadn't stopped, but the real violence was happening inside him.

Father Sunghoon remained at the altar long after you left, motionless. Not praying. Not thinking. Just… burning.

Your scent still lingered. So did your voice.

“I touched myself last night. And I thought of you.”

God, forgive me.

But forgiveness felt unreachable now, some distant star he’d renounced the moment his eyes fell below your neckline.

He tried to remember his vows. The sermons. The saints. But they all blurred into one long, hollow chant beneath the sound of your breath at his ear. He'd never been tested like this.

Temptation, he understood. But this, this was temptation made flesh. You weren’t just a woman. You were a question. One he wasn’t supposed to answer. One that still echoed in his chest, over and over.

“Why does it feel like you’re about to give it to me?”

He had no answer. Only fire in his blood and guilt in his bones.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, you were there. The storm in your eyes, the heat of your breath, the sinful curve of your smile.

He woke at dawn, hard and aching, his hands gripping the sheets like a lifeline. And still, you whispered in the back of his skull.

He didn’t expect to see you again so soon. But there you were. Perched on the back pew like you owned the place, legs crossed, dress softer today but no less dangerous. You smiled at him like you’d been waiting all night.

“Good morning, Father,” you purred. “Sleep well?”

He swallowed. “Not particularly.”

You uncrossed your legs, slow and deliberate. “I did. Thought of you again. I think it helped.”

Sunghoon forced his eyes to the ceiling. “Please,” he murmured. “Can we… talk. Just talk.”

Something shifted in your expression. A pause. A blink. And then you nodded, surprising even yourself. “Sure,” you said.

He gestured toward one of the side rooms. Not his office, but private nonetheless. You followed unhurried. Once inside, the door clicked shut. The storm had passed, but the air was still thick, like it hadn’t learned how to breathe again.

“I want to understand,” he said. “You. All of it.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That’s a dangerous request, Father.”

“Try me.”

You looked at your hands, then back at him.

“I didn’t grow up dreaming of selling my body,” you said plainly. “No little girl does. But when there’s no one left to feed you, no coin in your pocket, and men start looking at you like a solution…” A shrug. Casual. Too casual.

“You learn fast that purity doesn’t keep you warm.”

Sunghoon was silent. His eyes darkened, not in judgment, but in pain. For you. For what he never knew. “And now?” he asked. “You could leave, couldn’t you?”

A laugh. Low and bitter.

“Leave and go where? With what?” You stepped toward him, close enough that your presence overwhelmed the room. “I’m good at what I do. I know what men want. I know how to make them feel like gods with just a look. And it pays.”

“But it hurts you,” he said, gently. “I can see it.”

Your smile lingered, but it wasn’t smug anymore, it was laced with something softer. A flicker of sadness in the curve of your lips, like even your charm had limits.

“Sure,” you said lightly, “it hurts. But not in the way you think.” You tilted your head. “It’s not the touch that wounds. It’s the forgetting. When they zip up, walk out, and pretend I never had a name.”

He swallowed hard, his knuckles white against his folded hands.

You stepped closer, the room shrinking around you both. Your fingers grazed the fabric of his sleeve. “But you,” you murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his.  “You look at me like I’m the temptation that could cost you your soul.”

His breath hitched, sharp and shallow.

“You think I deserve better?” you asked, voice silken and low. “I used to think so, too. But the world doesn’t hand out ‘better’ to girls like me.”

You leaned in, inches from him now, your voice a sinful whisper. 

“I take what I can. And right now, Father…” Your fingers slipped higher, brushing the side of his throat. “I want to take you. Just a taste. Just enough to feel holy.”

He should have backed away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he rasped, “And if I gave it to you?”

Something shifted in your eyes. You smiled, quieter this time.

“Then maybe,” you whispered, “just for a moment… I’d feel like more than a sinner.”

The silence that followed cracked at the edges. You could hear his breath, shallow and tight, like he was trying to hold something in that had already slipped through his fingers. And when you touched him again, just your palm against the center of his chest, you felt it. His heart. Wrecked. Raging. Beating like a war drum against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, his hands rose slowly, hesitantly, trembling like he was reaching for a flame he had no business craving. His fingers hovered just over your waist, shaking as they finally, finally settled there. Light. Barely there.

But it was enough. He exhaled like he'd been drowning.

You leaned in, breath brushing his jaw. “Kiss me.”

And then it broke. He pulled you in.

Mouth crashing to yours like prayer turned desperate, sacred turned starved. One hand slid to the small of your back, the other gripping your waist tighter, grounding himself in the very thing he’d sworn to resist. Your lips parted against his, and he groaned into the kiss, low and guttural, like it hurt just to want this much.

He was desperate. Starved. Every movement was an unfiltered need.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, skimming his sides, and he hissed at the contact.

“God” he gasped.

You smiled against his mouth. “He’s not listening right now.”

He pushed you gently, blindly, until your back met the wall. Your dress hiked just slightly as he pinned your hips with his, and the hard press of him against you made your breath catch.

His hands slid up, fingertips brushing your thighs, your hips. Not quite touching where you burned for him. Not yet.

“Say it again,” he breathed against your neck.

“What?” you whispered, dazed.

“That you touched yourself. Thinking of me.”

You smiled, wicked and slow. “I came,” you whispered, “chanting your name like it was sacred.”

He groaned again, lips trailing along your jaw, your throat. You rocked your hips forward, needing more, and he cursed under his breath, grabbing your thigh and wrapping it around his waist.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours.

“But you are,” you purred, dragging your nails down his chest. “And doesn’t it feel divine?”

And then – a knock. 

Just one. From outside the room.

It didn’t open. But it didn’t have to. The spell shattered. Sunghoon froze. Then stepped back like he’d been burned. You were breathless, flushed, lips swollen, and dress half-ruined. He looked just as undone — shirt wrinkled, collar crooked, pupils blown wide.

“I…” He staggered away, hands in his hair. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” you asked softly.

He looked at you like you were fire and salvation all at once. Then turned toward the door.

“I need… I need air.” And he was gone.

You stayed leaning against the wall, lips still tingling from his kiss, body still singing. But behind the smug curve of your mouth, your heart beat fast, not from victory but from fear. 

Because you’d tasted him now. And you weren’t sure you could stop either.

You didn’t expect him to show up at your workplace, at the brothel.

Priests weren’t known to visit places like this, not unless they were desperate, or liars.

But then there he was. Standing in the threshold of the brothel like it might swallow him whole. He wasn’t dressed in his full collar, but you’d recognize that sharp jaw, those stormy eyes, anywhere.

He didn’t look at the other girls. Didn’t flinch at the red lighting, the low music, or the silk-slick laughter from behind curtains. His gaze was locked on one thing.

You.

You leaned against the velvet lounge, legs crossed, a glass in hand, smile slow and cutting.

“Well, well,” you purred. “Fancy seeing you here, Father Sunghoon.”

He stepped closer, tense like he was holding himself together with prayer and sheer will.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You cocked a brow, amused. “You walked past three girls with better tits and lower rates and did not even bat an eye.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m not… I’m not here for them.”

You stood, drink still in hand, and crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until you were standing just in front of him. Not touching. But close enough that he could smell your perfume.

“Mmm. Why are you here then?” 

His hands were clenched at his sides like he wanted to shove them in his pockets or wrap them around your waist and didn’t trust himself to choose right.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said.

You tilted your head. “And now that you have?”

He looked wrecked. Holy and wrecked.

“I still want to.”

You smiled.

You turned and walked toward one of the more private rooms, pausing at the curtain. Then, glancing back over your shoulder: “Well? You gonna stand there fighting temptation, or follow it?”

He followed. Of course he did.

The room was smaller, darker, the kind of place where secrets curled like smoke and every shadow whispered promises you didn’t want to keep.

You closed the curtain behind him with a soft snap.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to read a prayer into your skin. You let the silence stretch, thick and heavy, before breaking it with a slow smile.

“Look at you,” you said, voice low, almost teasing. “Holy and haunted all at once.”

He swallowed, stepping closer, every step deliberate but unsteady. “I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head in curiousity.

“This.” His voice cracked. “Fight what you do to me.”

You let your fingertips trail along his collarbone, light as a ghost, then down to the edge of his shirt where it slipped beneath his jacket. Without hesitation, you slipped your hand inside, tracing the warm skin beneath the fabric. His breath hitched, sharp and quick.

Your other hand moved to his jaw, tilting his face so your lips hovered just above his.

“Don’t fight me, let me make you feel good.” you whispered, voice thick. 

His eyes searched yours, dark and desperate. Slowly, trembling, he lowered his mouth to yours. The kiss started soft, tentative, like testing the waters of a forbidden river. But it quickly deepened, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, hands clutching.

You pressed your body against him, fingers threading through his hair as his hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly close. The heat between you was suffocating.

His hands slid under your shirt, tracing the curve of your ribs, the softness of your skin.

You shivered, grinding your hips forward, craving more of his touch. He groaned low in his throat, lips trailing down your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Your breath hitched, fingers digging into his shoulders. The world outside the room ceased to exist. Just you, him, and the heat that swallowed you whole.

His hands moved lower, exploring, claiming, and you let out a soft, shuddering sigh.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered against his skin, voice husky. “Let go.”

He hesitated, the last thread of restraint, before breaking completely.

His lips found yours again, harder this time, more urgent. You melted against him, hands roaming, lips hungry, bodies pressed together in a fierce, aching need.

His hands were rough but tender, sliding beneath your shirt with a reverence that made your skin crawl in all the right ways. The heat in his eyes burned hotter than any prayer, like a damnation he couldn’t escape.

His breath hitched, caught between a prayer and a curse. “I’m not… supposed to want this,” he said, voice rough, cracking under the weight of temptation.

You smirked, teeth brushing the sensitive skin just below his ear. “No, you’re not. But here you are, trembling like a sinner caught red-handed.”

Your hands slipped lower, exploring the hard planes of his chest, the tension rolling through his muscles. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you closer, desperate for every inch. Your body arched against his, hungry and wild. You could feel his hard cock through his pants, thick and aching, begging for release.

“Take off your shirt,” you whispered, voice a command soaked in need.

He hesitated, the last shreds of his restraint unraveling. Slowly, painfully, he peeled it away, revealing skin flushed with heat and nerves. Your hands didn’t waste a second, sliding over his bare chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. His lips found your neck again, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark, a promise, a reminder of the battle raging inside him.

You moaned, hands slipping beneath your own shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The scent of him, something holy twisted with sin, filled your senses. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, then dropped to the button of his trousers.

“Let me,” you whispered, breath hot against his skin.

He shivered, hips pressing forward as you worked quickly, undoing the button and zipper, freeing him. His hardness sprang free and you wrapped your hand around it, slow and deliberate, watching the flicker of shock and want in his eyes.

“Does it feel good?” you teased, sliding your hand up and down, feeling him swell in your palm. He groaned, head falling back, mouth parted, as his hands gripped your hair, holding you tight.

“Say it,” you demanded, voice low and commanding. “Say you want this.”

His voice broke, ragged and raw. “I want you.”

“Good,” you said, a wicked smile curving your lips. “Because I’m going to make you forget every prayer you ever whispered.”

You sank lower, eyes locked on his trembling face as your hand held him steady, the heat pulsing through your palm. Your tongue flicked out, slow and teasing, tracing the sensitive tip. His breath hitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“God, forgive me,” he whispered, voice ragged, but the desperate plea didn’t stop his hips from pushing forward. You swirled your tongue around him, tasting the salt and want, the raw need that shook his body.

His hands tangled even more in your hair, gripping tight like he was trying to hold onto something holy, but the devil was winning. You took him in slow at first, then faster, deeper, your mouth a warm, slick cage.

“This… this is wrong,” he gasped between choked breaths. “I’m… I’m asking for mercy.”

“Mercy’s for saints. You’re not one of those tonight.” You hummed against him, swallowing the tremble of his length as you took him further, your throat flexing gently. 

His eyes squeezed shut, tears of frustration and want slipping free. Your hands cupped his thighs, steadying him as his hips jerked uncontrollably and deepened your mouth again, lips tightening around the crown, your tongue flicking just right to send him spiraling. His breath hitched, the sound raw and needy, mixing with the low curses and pleas spilling from his lips.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice breaking. “God… forgive me…”

You paused just long enough to kiss the tip, then took him all the way, throat stretching, your gag reflex fighting the pleasure. He groaned, gripping your hair harder, hips pushing against your mouth like he needed to feel every inch of you.

His body tensed, every muscle coiled as he neared the edge, voice breaking with a strangled, “Feels…so good”

You swallowed him down, slow and steady, coaxing his release with your mouth and hand working in perfect rhythm. When he finally shuddered, his cry was desperate, raw, a mixture of guilt and surrender. You felt it spill warm and hot against your tongue, and you swallowed every drop, the power of the moment intoxicating.

He collapsed back against the wall, breath ragged, eyes wild with torment and relief.

But there was no forgiveness coming. Only the sound of his ragged breathing and the silence of a God who wouldn’t answer.

You stood, wiping your mouth with a wicked smile.

“Ready for the rest?” you whispered, sliding your hands along his chest.

His fingers trembled as he grabbed yours, pulling you close.

You laughed, low and sultry, and pushed him gently to the floor, your body covering his as you kissed him deeply, hands exploring every inch. His hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin.

You rolled him beneath you, straddling his hips, grinding slow and teasing as he groaned into your mouth.

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hands clutching your waist, pulling you tighter.

You leaned down, biting gently at his neck, nipping and sucking, marking him as yours. His breath hitched, fingers digging into your hips as you moved faster, the wet heat between you growing impossible to ignore.

“I want to forget,” he gasped, eyes wild with need. “Forget everything but you.”

You smiled, grinding harder, feeling him harden beneath you as he lifted his hips to meet you.The first push was slow, almost tentative, but his hands guided you deeper and you fully lowered yourself onto him, feeling every inch fill you. The heat of him inside you was immediate, consuming. You let out a low, satisfied hum as you settled, riding him like you owned every inch of the space between you. The heat and tightness pulling you both into a rhythm ancient and raw.

Moans filled the room, mingling with whispered prayers and curses, the line between sacred and profane blurring with every thrust. His grip on your hips tightened, his body trembling beneath yours as the storm inside him broke free.

He cried out, the sound part agony, part ecstasy, as you both gave in to the fire burning between you, no longer fighting, no longer afraid. The room pulsed with your ragged breaths and the heavy rhythm of bodies lost in sin, and for one stolen moment, you were both free.

His hands found your hips, steadying you, but you took the lead setting the pace, rocking your hips with a fierce, intoxicating rhythm. Each movement sent fire through your veins, every drag of skin on skin an electric pulse.

You leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “You like that, don’t you?”

His breath hitched, voice rough, “Fuck… yeah.”

You smiled, grinding harder, riding him with growing confidence, slow and teasing, then faster, hips rolling and bouncing to the rhythm that built between you.

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into your waist, nails grazing your skin through the fabric as he urged you on. You felt the tension coil tighter, every gasp and moan fueling the fire between you.

With a sharp breath, you leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, teeth and tongue claiming, tasting. Your body moved with fierce urgency, hips snapping harder, faster, the wet slick sounds filling the room. His groans grew louder, ragged, desperate. Begging without words as you drove yourself on him.

“Fuck, you’re so damn good,” he gasped, voice breaking.

You smirked against his lips, grinding down harder, your muscles clenching around him, driving both of you closer and closer to the edge. When the waves finally crashed over you, you threw your head back, letting out a low, guttural moan as your body shuddered on his.

He followed seconds later, voice raw and broken, gripping you tight as he spilled deep inside. You both trembled together, sweat-slick and breathless, wrapped in the heat and hunger only you could awaken.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing harder as he ground up into you with purpose. His voice dropped low and rough, every word a demand and a promise.

“You’re mine,” he growled, eyes dark and burning. “Don’t slow down. Don’t stop.“

His hips snapped upward harder, claiming you with fierce possessiveness. “You think you’re the temptation? No. You’re my addiction. And I’m taking you again, harder and faster.” He leaned down, voice a harsh whisper against your skin. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

His breath hitched, chest heaving as he drove into you relentlessly, every thrust an assertion of control. He flipped you around, no longer beneath you but above you, slamming his cock into your wet pussy.

“Say my name. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

He shoved you harder, hips snapping with brutal precision. His hands gripped your waist like he was trying to crush the air between you two, nails digging in, leaving marks he’d claim later.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and rough, almost a growl.

“Say you want me, need me. Say you’re mine.”

You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure, heart pounding in sync with his relentless rhythm. His eyes locked on yours, intense, dark, and utterly fucking possessive.

“I’m not asking,” he snarled, leaning down to bite harshly at your collarbone. “I’m telling you. You belong to me tonight.”

“I want you Sunghoon, I am yours” you moaned into his mouth

His hips slammed into yours with a force that took your breath away, dragging out every moan, every shudder. You felt his control in every movement, every command, like a storm that wouldn’t quit.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, voice thick with need. He pulled down hard, crushing you against him, and you both lost yourself in the fire. He grabbed you tighter, his body trembling with the desperate need to claim every inch of you. His voice dropped to a growl, rough and raw.

“Cum for me. Now.”

His movements sped up, every nerve alive, every gasp caught between his teeth. The world narrowed to the feel of him inside you, the heat of his hands, the slick burn of pleasure chasing pain.

When you both came again, it was fierce, shaking, loud, and utterly consuming. He held you close, chest heaving, forehead pressed against yours, like you were the only thing grounding him in the chaos. You rode out the waves together, breath mingling, hearts pounding a quiet rhythm only the two of you could hear.

After, the room settled into a fragile silence, the kind that feels like the calm after a storm, when the sky is bruised with fading light and the air still hums with electricity. He traced a finger along your jaw, voice low but steady, heavy with meaning.

“This isn’t just about tonight. I want more than just this moment. I want everything you have to give. I want you. All of you.”

You looked up at him, eyes heavy with something more than fatigue, something raw, unspoken. The weight of all the battles fought inside, the vows broken and remade in whispered touches.

In that dim room, beneath the flicker of shadows and whispered secrets, you both knew. This tangled fire between you was no fleeting sin. It was the fragile beginning of something more, a slow-burning reckoning of what it meant to be lost, to be found, and to surrender.

Maybe the world outside would never understand, but here, in this sacred fracture of time and flesh, you found a truth sharper than any prayer, deeper than any confession.

And somehow, that was enough.

My brain definitely short-circuited while writing this. I am not religious (if it isn’t obvious enough) but i grew up around religious people so i know a little about it but not too much tbh so i hope this is as accurate as it can be. ALSO!! This is a brand new account, so I’d really appreciate it if anyone wants to be moots! Let me know what you think of the fic, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[acidsoju]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎੭ ATTENTiON ! ───── ❨성훈❩

𝓲𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 sunghoon is desperate to get your attention and he'd apparently go to some lengths to get it ! · if you're done reading check out the journal ₊˚ 

🗯️ 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐈𝐑 ! mr park and fmr ❵ smau type 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 ⋆ profanity, freaky jokes, kys jokes 𑁤  𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐢 ─── hopefully this is funny  •᷄ࡇ•᷅ reblog pleak !!!

tags . @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @voikiraz @miumura @haechansbbg @taejaysreads @shinunoga-iie-wa @teddywonss @naespas @isoobie @dimplewonie @jennaissantes @aishigrey @firstclassjaylee

[acidsoju]

on the rebound ☆ p.sh [m]

synopsis: sunghoon doesn't mind babysitting for the neighborhood mothers - but he certainly doesn't mind when a certain eldest daughter is around to be taken care of, too. genre: acquaintances to ???. older!reader moment (because why not, but also it doesn't really come up.) angst, fluff, smut. this porn has plot, damnit! pairing: babysitter!park sunghoon x fem!older!reader ; mentions of heeseung x reader. word count: 6k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol (that they don't even drink LOL) mentions of toxic relationships, rebounds, reader is only older by a year. smut warnings: oral (f. rec),MUNCH!HOON!! PUSSY EATING ENTHUSIAST HOON!!! nipple play, subtle body worship (f. rec), unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), sub!hoon x sub!reader (just trust me), creampie, subtle breeding kink, wayyy too much whining and whimpering, pet names (pretty girl, baby, etc.) listen to: lie to girls - sabrina carpenter ; number one girl - rosé ; wait - dino ; btbt - b.i, soulja boy, devita ; die for you - the weeknd. author's note: this is for all my eldest daughters out there (not me but y'all stay safe!) i whipped this up while i was procrastinating studying for finals...so apologies if it's shitty (because it is shitty.) also, i dog on heeseung SOOO bad but i promise i love him i just needed someone. this being said, happiest birthday hoonie, i love u!

You and Sunghoon weren't strangers, you wouldn't go that far.

However, there was a good reason that you weren't friends – you were never home when he was at your parents' house. You'd moved out with your boyfriend a month or so into him babysitting your menace of a sister. She was well-behaved for him, but had been an absolute tornado of a child when your mother would ask you to babysit. You were actually the one who found Sunghoon through an ad on social media, and he'd been yet another thing to add to your parents' monthly budget.

Then again, no one told them to have another kid so late in their lives. Or yours, for that matter. You were eighteen when Mina was born, and it'd been a pretty rocky five years since then. You went off to college and didn't really get to see her grow up, and she soon learned you were someone she couldn't depend on emotionally because you were rarely able to stick around outside of holidays. It pained you, but you knew you'd eventually get the time to bond with her.

And that time came very quickly after meeting Sunghoon – because your boyfriend dumped you after six months, insisting he was too busy with school to maintain a relationship. Heeseung was a graduate student, and he tutored on the side for extra cash. Your parents funded your lifestyle, so you'd never worried about anything – until Heeseung sat you down and said that the relationship was stressing him out. 

Needless to say, a week after the breakup – you moved back in with your parents and left him to figure out the rent himself. It was a calculated move, but your parents agreed that you didn't need that kind of energy in your life. It didn't stop you from remembering all the other times Heeseung dogged you – from taking continuous 'breaks' from your relationship in the three years you were together, to falling prey to temptation (read: another woman grinding on him at a bar while you were two feet away.)

And you talked about him to every person you possibly could – including now, your little sister's babysitter as he washed dishes in your parents' kitchen. The conversation hadn't started out this way, he'd actually been telling you how much Mina talked about you while you were gone.

"Anyway, that kid loves you, man." He nodded as he slid a plate onto the drying rack, and you laughed softly. "Mina was born when I was a teenager. She just thinks I'm cool now, she'll go through the phase of hating me when she's older." You shrug.

"I wouldn't be so sure. She talks about you a lot, something about you playing a viobib?" His brow is arched, and you snort. "Violin. I played her the violin one time so she'd leave me alone. I'm surprised she talks to you so much, she has a hard time warming up to anyone. Even my boyfriend can't get her to talk to him."

His eyes narrowed slightly, "You have a boyfriend? Since when?" You shrug again. "Since before I met you. I guess I should say ex, though. Boyfriend is the title he prefers, but not the one he deserves. At least, not right now." You say pointedly, and his brows furrowed as he leans on the counter, arms crossed.

"Elaborate." "You're babysitting my kid sister, not giving me counseling."

"Consider it a perk for eldest daughters who act like they deserve shitty men." He says, a bite to his tone as you scrunch your nose. You sigh, nibbling your lip before rolling your eyes. "We're on-and-off. Sometimes I call it off, sometimes he does. He's in grad school and he tutors, and he said everything was stressing him out. He dumped me a bit ago, and I moved back in here. I'm surprised I haven't seen you around more."

"Right, so what about that arrangement is making you believe that you deserve this sort of behavior?" 

You peek up at him, his brows still furrowed as he awaits your answer. Your stomach tightens a bit as you blink. "I guess…I don't know, actually." "Okay, then ditch that loser." He shrugs, and you scoff. "He's not a loser. He's smart and sweet and we're just going through a rough patch." "If you have to justify his presence in your life or his treatment of you to your friends or anyone you talk about him to, then he's a loser. He sucks and he doesn't deserve to have access to you in any way." Sunghoon clasps his hands in front of himself, and you frown.

"He's nice enough." "Yeah, so is any other guy, babe. You're not gonna give just any dude a chance because he's 'nice enough,' are you?" He peers at you through his shaggy hair, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly in embarrassment. "The fact that you allow that behavior, seemingly quite often, will only make him make you his doormat. He'll do it over and over until he's sick of you, then he gets to dump you and make it seem like it was a mutual thing. You won't win in a situation like that." "It's not about winning." You mutter, grabbing a peach out of the fruit bowl in front of you. He leans back on the island, arms crossed in front of him. 

"Isn't it, though? There is always a prize and a player in a relationship. You," He taps the tip of your nose with his finger gently. "Are the prize, and he's the player. If he's not playing to win you, then he's playing to lose and wasting your time."

You stare into his eyes, not missing the way his brows jump as he leans slightly closer.

"Stop wasting your time on a shitty dude when you can do so much better. Especially if you're really as cool as Mina says. Kids don't lie about people they admire." His tone is slightly teasing, and you roll your eyes. "Mina has thrown eggs at me, I wouldn't be so sure she admires me." "I don't know, she said you're really nice to everyone. That you're funny, you can sing…dance…" Sunghoon lists a few things your sister said while you were asleep, and you feel your ears grow hot. "She also said you're the one who taught her how to do backflips, and that she wants to be like you when she grows up. I'd suggest getting that guy out of your life sooner rather than later so you can set a good example." "Did she mention him?" Your eyes snap up, and Sunghoon shrugs. "Once or twice. She said he makes you cry more often than not." You snort, shaking your head as you look down. "What does she know? She's five."

"Kids see things from an unbiased perspective, they're still learning how to be functioning humans. She associates him with you being upset, so I wouldn't be surprised if you told me that you're 'on a break' right now. I've been listening to you for five minutes and I already don't like this guy. If he cared, he'd be here. He doesn't care." "You're only saying that because it's what I need to hear." You roll your eyes as you avoid the rest of his spiel, and Sunghoon shakes his head, stealing a grape from the ones he washed for you earlier. "I'm saying that because it's the truth, and when I love, I make sure the person I love knows." "You don't even know him." You scowl, and he smirks. "Don't have to, babe. It's all over your face. You look defeated as hell when you talk about him." "Not your babe, Sunghoon." You shake your head, and he shrugs. "Could be, if you ditched that guy. I don't even know your favorite color but I can almost guarantee I'd be a better boyfriend than him."

"My favorite color is green." You mutter, and he leans closer to your face. "Anything else you wanna tell me about this guy?" "Why? You'll just be mean about it." You mumble, licking your lips when you feel his fingers tilt your chin up. He coos, "You're cute when you're defensive over a scumbag." "Stop that." You shove his hand away, and he smiles. "You need a rebound or something. All you've been able to talk about since you moved back is this guy. He sucks, babe." "Ugh, I know! Alright, I know he sucks, you don't have to rub it in." You frown, biting into the peach in your hand. "D'you know he'd never tell me I was pretty? I mean, I know I am, he didn't have to. But it would've been nice to hear every once in a damn while." You chew angrily, before hearing him laugh softly. "You have enough confidence for a man to feel like he doesn't need to tell you that. You carry yourself so well, it's honestly very sexy." You look up at him, meeting his eyes. They're calm and sincere, like he didn't just call you sexy in the middle of your kitchen while you're wearing a random t-shirt and sweatpants. "Me?" "Yeah, you. It's just us in here, Y/N." He snorts, "You seriously need to get over this guy. I don't like hearing you talk about this like you deserved it." "What do you know? You hardly know me." You know your voice sounds bitter, but it only spurs him on. "Don't need to know you super well to know you just need to feel appreciated." "Right, appreciated." You roll your eyes, tossing the half eaten peach in the trash. "Like I'm gonna find that in a rebound." "You can." He nods, making you snort. "Like who? You?" "Sure." He shrugs, and you nearly choke on your own spit. "What? Sunghoon, be serious." "I am being serious. If that's what it takes, I'm all for it." He shrugs again, like this is the most nonchalant thing ever, like he's not offering to fuck the bitterness out of you so you'll act normal again. You gawk at him, "Sunghoon, I cannot just use you like that. We hardly know each other, are you insane?" "Is it insane if I say I want you to?" He leans forward on the counter, a soft blush on his cheeks. You gape at him, his finger coming to close your mouth. "Does it matter how well we know each other? I'm sure it'll be a one time thing, and since we don't see each other often, I don't see the harm." "You want me to use you to get over my ex-boyfriend? You want to be my rebound?" You're shocked at his suggestion, he can tell as he shrugs. "You can use me anytime you want. Think about it." He winks, pushing off the island.

You feel your cheeks grow hot as he leaves the kitchen, letting you sit with your thoughts.

Sunghoon lived a mile away, in an apartment complex you helped him pick out once your parents hired him. Your mother had insisted he live in the house, but your father refuted by saying Sunghoon was a grown man, he needed his own space. You'd taken him to fill out the paperwork, and it was one of the last interactions you'd had with Sunghoon before moving out.

You sigh shakily, running your hands through your hair.

It wasn't the worst idea. You knew that Sunghoon wouldn't have offered it if he wasn't attracted to you, at least. You knew what it was like to feel desired, but something about the way Sunghoon looked at you made you feel giddy.

Maybe it was the promise of feeling something new, or the idea that you shouldn't do it – because he works for your parents. Getting involved with you could cost him his job, if anyone found out. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and you sigh as you reach to grab it.

Message From: Park Sunghoon (Babysitter) [8:32pm] you know where i live if you're down. [8:32pm] just let me know, gorgeous.

Fuck.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad fucking idea.

It hadn't even been a day since you and Sunghoon had the conversation in your parents' kitchen. Or rather, the awkward moment in your parents' kitchen. 

It'd been three hours. It was nearing midnight as you stood in front of the elevator, the cold December air biting at your exposed legs. You'd gone to a late dinner with your friend Aeri, and you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that her encouragement is what got you into this predicament.

The elevator dings, revealing a young girl and her dog attempting to step out. You give her a soft smile, earning a nod and a have a good night as you step in. You press the button to the third floor, bouncing on your heels as the elevator starts moving. This could be the worst fuck of your life and you won't even know until after, or even during. What if it's the best fuck of your life and then you're just forced to be around him as his employer rather than a potential fuck buddy or even worse, a girlfriend? "Get it together, Y/N." You mutter to yourself, hearing the elevator ding as you reach the third floor. You step out, turning to the right and walking past three doors, before standing in front of his apartment. His doormat is that of a frat boy's – Please Don't Do Coke In Our Bathroom.

You snort, before knocking on the door softly. You hear rustling, and the lowering of a TV before the pitter-patter of dog feet. You hear him sigh as he unlocks the door, his face appearing before you as he opens it. He looks surprised.

"Y/N, what a pleasure." He speaks smoothly, and you roll your eyes. "It's cold, invite me in." You cross your arms across your chest, making him smile as he steps to the side. You walk in, shivering as you carefully step out of your heels. You squat to pet his dog, but she disappears behind his legs. You pout at him, and he just snorts. "She's shy."

"It's fucking freezing outside, Hoon." Your teeth chatter as he closes the door, taking your scarf as you hand it to him. "Well, you're barely dressed. I assume it would be cold when you're half naked." "Did you want me to wear layers and make this take ten times as long? Be serious." You huff, sliding your coat off. Granted, you'd put this dress on with the idea of going to a bar after dinner and posting thirst traps on your story for Heeseung to see and yearn for…

Which is shitty of you to appear in Sunghoon's apartment after thinking that way.

"I don't think you wore this for me, Y/N. You were at dinner with Aeri." He rolls his eyes, and you forget he also has your Instagram. "Man, just take the win. Do you wanna fuck me or not?"

He shrugs, "Do you want me to?" "You wouldn't have offered and I wouldn't have shown up if the answer to either of those questions was no." You say pointedly, and he clicks his tongue. "I guess you're right." "I usually am." You roll your eyes, making him laugh. "Here, have a seat." "What, are you gonna wine and dine me?" You tease, and he smirks, disappearing into his kitchen. "Could say that." You take a seat on his couch, looking around the apartment. He's decorated in a very Sunghoon  way – lots of black decorations and shelving on the exposed brick, an array of books on a shelf to the left of his desk and a record player. You look at his coffee table, the fashion magazines and editorials stacked high.

"You always snoop through people's things?" His voice rings behind you as he holds two glasses and a bottle of wine you're sure you've seen only in your father's reserve. You huff, "Well you leave me here to entertain myself, I'm bound to look around." "Valid. Come on." He tilts his head for you to follow him, your cheeks aflame as you do just that. He leads you down to his bedroom, a large bed with a black duvet in the middle of the room. More books, a few incense candles, a few figurines in the corner of his room. "I like what you've done with the place." "Thanks, it only took fucking forever to figure out what I wanted to do. I think the exposed brick makes for a bigger headache than those home bloggers make it out to be." 

It makes you feel at ease, how easy conversation can be with Sunghoon. He doesn't make anything feel inorganic, but he also doesn't talk more than necessary in order to get his point across.

"How long were you with that guy, anyway? Here, put this on." He holds out a pair of sweatpants, which you take with a quizzical look. "Three years. Uh, Hoon, the point is to be naked here, not put on more clothes." "Is that how it was with him? You'd just show up and strip?" He rolls his eyes, digging a shirt out of his dresser for you. You feel your cheeks warm as he hands it to you, before giving you a glance. "Was it?" "...Kind of." You look at your feet, and he sighs. "Yeah, well…I don't play that. Do you need help getting your dress off?" "Oh, yeah. Just the zipper." You turn, pulling your hair to the front. You feel his fingers graze your back, before he tugs the zipper down in one go. He snaps your bra strap playfully, "We can lose this, though." "Yah!" You swat his hand away, making him laugh as he turns away. "Do you want to watch something or just talk?" "We can watch something, whatever is fine. Just nothing scary, my room is spooky at night." You shudder as you undo your bra, folding it in your hand before tugging the shirt over your head. "Oh, do you intend on driving home after?" "Did you want me to stay?" Your words sound a bit bitter, and that only makes Sunghoon frown as he scours the selection on HBO from his bed. "Dude, the more things you say, the more scummy I realize this guy was to you. Next thing you know you'll tell me he never went down on you." You freeze, and Sunghoon gapes at you as you turn around, pulling the shirt down your torso. "Y/N, you've got to be kidding me." "No, he did a few times, I swear!" You try to defend him, but Sunghoon only scoffs out a laugh. "That's fucking insane. Like, actually insane." "Hoon, you're embarrassing me." You whine, and he only blinks. "Why would you be embarrassed that he didn't wanna eat you out? That in itself is embarrassing for him. Real men eat pussy, and they eat it with gusto." "Shut up." You cover your face with your hands as you hear him sigh. "I'm just saying. Now, come on. Either put the pants on or lie the hell down." You huff, shoving the pair of sweats on before joining him on his bed. This is normal, friends fuck all the time.

Except you and Sunghoon are not friends.

You must've spaced out, because the feeling of Sunghoon squeezing your knee makes you jolt. "What are you thinking about?" "Nothing." You lie, shaking your head. He hums, turning his attention to the random movie on the television. "You're a bad liar, you know?" "Am not." Scoffing, you turn to face him. Your knees hit his outer thigh as you turn, and he gives you a lazy smile. "You are. You were staring off into space and chewing on your cheek for like, five minutes. What's up?" You scrunch your nose, looking down at your hands as he tilts his head. "You can tell me, you know. I don't judge." "Don't you, though? I mean, I'm here after you absolutely dogged on my ex earlier." You snort, and he smiles. "I'm judging your ex, not you. Well, not right now at least. I will always dislike the fact that you think you deserved that treatment, let alone from a guy who probably couldn't even make you cum." Your eyes snap to his, shock across your face as he pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Babe, come on." "He was nice!" You whine, and Sunghoon just laughs in disbelief. "Don't laugh! It's not funny!" Your lip is jutted out in a pout, before Sunghoon maneuvers you onto his lap. He makes you move up closer, your ass resting high on his thighs. "He really didn't make you finish?" You groan, adjusting yourself to sit comfortably. "I mean, he did a few times. Just not as often as I would've liked. I don't want to talk about him." You rub your temples, Sunghoon's hands finding home on your hips. "Okay, we don't have to. Tell me what you like." "What I like?" You repeat, and he nods. "Yeah. Like…positions. Any kinks, anything I should know to make this the best experience possible."

"...Does it matter?" Your voice is meek, and he rolls his eyes. "Yes, it matters. I want you to feel good. If you don't know, I can figure it out. You just have to trust me." You feel your chest warm at his words, and you glance at his face as he speaks again. "We can go as slow as you want, this is about you." "But what about you?" You toy with the hem of your shirt, and he smiles. "I'll enjoy myself either way, don't worry about me." His hands squeeze your hips gently as he looks down at you. "You okay?" "I'm nervous." You mumble, looking away as he coos. "Baby, you don't need to be nervous. It's just me." His hand comes to hold your jaw gently, making you face him. He squeezes your cheeks gently, making your lips pucker.

"You're so pretty." He smiles as he compliments you, making you roll your eyes in embarrassment. "Stop." "Why? You are. Pretty little thing." He's teasing you, your hands now holding onto his wrist as he inches closer. "Should I kiss you?" "Yes." Your reply is more of a breath, and he chuckles. "Seriously, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, promise. Unless you're into that."

"Kiss me already." You groan, making him roll his eyes before closing the gap between you. His lips are soft and taste like cherry Chapstick. His hand lets go of your face, moving slightly down to the base of your neck. Your own hands move to fist his shirt as his teeth nip at your lower lip, a whimper from your throat making him move you impossibly higher on his lap. His other hand moves to the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair to hold you steady as his tongue slips into your mouth. 

"You'll stay the night, right?" He pulls away from your lips, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You nod as best as you can with his hand in your hair, "Yeah. If you want me to." "I want you to." He whispers, before letting go of your hair. "Can we take this off?" He tugs at the shirt he gave you, and you move to tug it over your head. He lets you, watching the way your hair cascades down your back. His hands find home on your waist, his thumbs barely grazing the underside of your breasts as you look back at him, flinging the shirt somewhere behind you.

He doesn't say anything, only meeting your lips in a kiss. It's softer this time, but your tongue finds its way into his mouth gently. He sucks on it, hearing a low moan from you as your hips cant against his. "Sorry." 

"No, don't be." He shakes his head, pressing chaste kisses to your lips. "Use me however you want, baby. That's what I'm here for." 

"But–" "This is about you. Just let go." He meets your lips once more, kissing you deeply as his hands grip your hips tightly. He moves you against his hardening cock slowly, setting a gentle pace for you. You follow his lead, rutting against him as his hands move upward before you grab them and place them on your chest. He groans lowly into your mouth, thumbs grazing over your pebbled nipples as he drags his lips down your jaw, your soft whimpers filling the air as his teeth nip at your neck.

"S'fucking gorgeous." He murmurs against your skin, tracing his tongue down the gentle slope of your neck, a shudder running down your spine as he kisses down your chest. "Can I?" His doe eyes peer up at you though shaggy bangs, and you nod quickly. Your fingers card through his hair as his tongue flattens against your nipple as you groan.

"Feel good?" He mumbles against your skin. You only breathe out shakily as you nod, your lip bitten between your teeth as he nips and sucks his way across your chest, your nipples glistening with his spit. He scrapes his teeth against one gently, earning a guttural groan from your lips as he kisses up your chest. "Wanna taste you, angel. Can I?" Your pupils are blown as you look down at him, your fingers pushing his hair back as his hands dip below the sweatpants you're wearing. "Can I?" "Okay." Your voice is slightly raspy with lust, and he smiles softly before pressing a kiss to your lips. "We can stop anytime, just say the word." 

You nod, moving off his lap. He lays you back on his pillows, kissing your lips softly before trailing down your body. "So beautiful, baby. Can't get enough of you." He kisses down your stomach, before his teeth catch on the waistband of the sweatpants you're wearing. He bites down carefully, pulling them down your legs as you cover your face with a whine. "Something wrong?" He calls, pulling them off your ankles and flinging them to the ground.

"No." You respond weakly, and he smirks as his fingers land on your thighs, pulling you closer to him. "You're lying." "You're just hot, okay?" You peek at him through your fingers, seeing him shake his head as he snaps the waistband of your underwear against your skin. You jolt as he smiles, before sinking to his stomach and spreading your legs. You hear a soft whisper of shit from his lips. "Sorry? Is something wrong?"

You try to move away, only for Sunghoon to hold your hips down. "You're fucking soaked, doll. Holy shit." 

He doesn't give you a chance to respond, opting to press his face against the sticky fabric of your ruined underwear and inhale deeply, a whine from his throat hitting your ears as he noses at the fabric. "You're so fucking hot."

You feel his tongue before you reply, the underwear a useless attempt at a barrier as he finds your clit easily. Your thighs tense around his head, his preening at the taste of you just through the fabric is enough to make him cum in his pants. "Hoon…" You mewl, your fingers tugging at his hair to get his attention. He only hums in response.

"Take them off." Your whine is loud, and he hastily pulls your underwear down your plush thighs, throwing it over his shoulder as he dives back in, tongue lapping at your wet cunt like a man starved. You're a moaning mess as his pouty lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently as he pushes your thighs open further, working two fingers inside you carefully. He groans at the way you clench around them so tightly, your walls so warm and wet as he curls them into you.

"Taste so sweet, pretty. Would never give this up, ever." He murmurs against your clit, pressing wet kisses to it. You can't even respond, your eyes screwed shut as you cant your hips against his mouth harshly. "That's it, baby. Come on, give it to me." He's whining against your pussy, latching his lips to your clit as your thighs begin to tremble.

"H-Hold my hand." You mumble, and Sunghoon immediately laces his free hand with yours. "Need you to cum on my tongue, beautiful." His fingers find that spongy spot, making your soft belly cave in as your thighs close around his head. A choked moan leaves your lips as you coat his tongue and lips in your orgasm, your body trembling beneath him as you try to push his head away from you. "S'too much, Hoonie-" "One more, baby. You can give me one more." He bullies his shoulders through your thighs, moving to hover over you. He presses his wet lips to yours, your tongue attempting to collect any taste of you off of him. He lets you deepen the kiss, his hand snaking between your legs to rub teasing circles into your clit. Your mouth falls slack, your nails digging into his bicep. "One more, baby. Wanna feel you around me." "O-Okay." 

He reaches over you to his nightstand, pulling the drawer open to find an empty box of condoms. "Fuck, wait. I think–" "Want it raw." You mumble, eyes closed as your hands run under his shirt, fingers tracing circles into his softly chiseled abdomen. His eyes are wide, his hand coming to your face, stroking it gently. "Look at me. Are you sure?"

"Positive. Want it, Hoonie. Wanna feel full." You barely open your eyes as you nod, turning your head slightly to kiss his palm. He shivers slightly, closing his eyes to compose himself as he nods. "O-Okay. Alright." He straightens, pulling his shirt over his head and quickly pushing his sweats down. You don't bother to look down, knowing in your heart the stretch will be worth a thousand viewings. He pulls you to the edge of the bed by your thighs, carefully tucking a pillow under your hips as he rests your leg on his chest. He kisses your ankle softly, before running the leaking tip of his cock through your wet folds. He nearly buckles, the warmth almost debilitating as he eased himself into you. Your mewl is so soft he almost misses it, his eyes darting to your face as he slowly sheaths himself inside you, biting his lip so hard he's sure he'll draw blood. Your lips are so swollen from the kissing and biting that he can't help but lean over and kiss you gently, burying himself to the hilt inside you. Your soft whisper of fuck is against his lips. "Move, Hoon." "You gotta give me a second, baby." He whines into your neck, making you clench around him. "Fuck, fuck don't do that." His hips jerk involuntarily, earning a choked moan from you as your nails dig into his shoulder. He straightens himself, figuring if he's going to cum fast, he'd better make it worth your while. He pulls out almost entirely, pushing your thighs to your chest as he bullies his cock back into you. Your moans are so loud he's lost in them, your chants of yes, yes, right there so overwhelming for him as he tries his hardest to stave off his own orgasm.

"Feel so fucking good, baby. Shit." He whimpers into the air, his grip on your thighs bruising as you mewl beneath him, your hands finding his wrists. "Kiss me, Hoonie. Wan' a kiss.." He leans forward, the kiss a mess of teeth and tongue as he bottoms out inside you repeatedly. His tip is bullying your sweet spot relentlessly, making you whine into his mouth. "Want you to cum in me." You whisper, and he almost stops as the words hit his ears but your nails drag down his back. "Want you to fill me up, Hoonie. Please."

"Anything you want, fuck. I'll give you anything, baby." His voice is choked as he trails his lips down your neck, feeling your cunt flutter around him in that oh-so-familiar way. "Gonna cum for me? Gonna cream all over this dick?" You only whimper in response, your teeth sinking softly into his shoulder. He feels himself spill inside you at the sensation, a deep groan from his soul as you cum right after. He doesn't stop working the two of you through it, his hips bordering the two of you into overstimulation as you claw at him.

He feels his skin sticky as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, your fingers now flat against the muscle of his back as you breathe in deeply. You shift slightly beneath him, before patting his shoulder. "I don't…I can't get up, I don't think. I can't feel my legs." You rasp, and he chuckles into your skin.

"Yeah, that's usually what's supposed to happen." He replies smugly, earning a sharp smack from your hand in the middle of his back. "Ouch! What the hell!" "I told you to stop making fun of me!" You huff, and he moves to look at you. "I'm not! Did I not just give you two mind blowing orgasms?"

"I wouldn't say mindblowing–" He rolls his eyes as he covers your mouth. "I made you cum, which was the goal. Was it not?" "No, the goal was to get over my ex." You say, muffled by the palm of his hand. He ponders a bit, before looking down at you intently. "Well, are you?" You feel your cheeks flush as you look away. "Maybe. Might need to go again, don't know. Not fully convinced." "Not fully convinced, she says." He removes his hand from your mouth as he teases you gently, and you roll your eyes. "Okay, fine. You're good, you got me." You admit tiredly, and he smiles.

"For how long?" "What?" You look up at him, and he shrugs. "How long do I have you?" You let your eyes scan his face as he looks down at you with curiosity in his eyes. You scoff, an amused tone to your voice. "You like me." "Obviously." He rolls his eyes, "Otherwise I wouldn't have offered." "You sly little minx. Luring me in here with the premise of getting me over my ex, knowing I'm on the rebound." You poke his chest, and he scoffs. "Clearly, you like me too. Or else you could've absolutely dodged my offer." "Or maybe I think you're hot and wouldn't mind seeing you outside of the cute little necklaces my sister makes you wear." You tease, and he shrugs. "I'll take what I can get. Either way, do you feel better? Less thoughts about that idiot, more good feelings?" You nod, sitting up on your elbows. "Let me take you to dinner, Hoon." He blinks at you, before glancing at the clock on his nightstand. "It's two in the morning, babe." "Not right now. Later. After you're done babysitting." You say, and he raises his brows. "Are you sure?" "I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to." Your tone is pointed, and he scoffs. "You want me so fucking bad." "In your dreams. Get off me, I'm all sticky."

He does just that, and takes the most gentle care of you. He lets you lean against him in the shower, he shampoos your hair and steals kisses when you least expect it. He changes his sheets while you try to sit comfortably in his desk chair, complaining of sore hips and thighs as he smirks to himself. "So much for a rebound, huh?" He murmurs into your hair as you snuggle into his side, making you snort. "Go to sleep, Sunghoon. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, babe."

"Not your babe, Hoon."

"Not yet."

BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[acidsoju]

󠀠󠀠 GANGSTA WORLD ◞ only yours

𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 ¡ how enhypen as gang-members would be like and how they’d react to their girlfriend treating their wounds 𓈒

enhypen x f!rea — fluff ◞ skinship ◞ est.relationship

JUNGWON

jungwon always had the best eyes in the group, always seeing trouble before it sees him. however, this night, he got caught off guard—a rival gang cornered him in the alley behind the arcade.

when he told you the story about what happened over the phone, you immediately left your house to find him, ignoring the curious gazes of your relatives. when you found jungwon, he was leaning against the brick wall, blood trickling from his lip, but he still flashes you a small, playful grin.

“i’m sorry, doll, i didn’t wanna wake you, but as you can see, i’m in no state to go home..” he mumbles, wincing as you press a bandage to his cheek.

you roll your eyes but can’t hide the worry in your voice as you tell him, “you’re lucky i love you, idiot.” you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “i love you too— so much..” he says, pulling you close.

HEESEUNG

heeseung is the oldest and kind of the leader of his group, always the first to jump into a fight if someone talks trash about his friends.

he’s definitely the type not to take bullshit for an answer. tonight, he took on three guys at once, and now he’s sitting on your couch, shirtless, with bruises blooming across his ribs. you hovered right about him, looking at his battered-up form.

you sigh, dabbing disinfectant on his wounds as he hisses in pain. “you’re so reckless,” you scold, but he just laughs and pulls you close. “it’s worth it,” he murmurs into your hair, “as long as you’re the one fixing me up.”

JAY

jay is an interesting character to say the least. he’s got a reputation for being the smoothest talker, but even he can’t charm his way out of every fight.

tonight, he got into it with some guys at the underground pool hall, and now he’s sulking on your kitchen counter, a cut above his eyebrow.

you gently clean the wound, trying not to laugh as he pouts. “they started it, i swear..” he grumbles. “i know, tough guy,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “but next time, try not to get your pretty face messed up.”

he smirks and looks up at you, batting his eyelashes. “you think i’m pretty?” you smile softly at his weird yet endearing antics and nod and he lights up, pulling you in for a kiss.

JAKE

jake’s usually the peacemaker, but even he can’t resist defending his friends when they’re getting mocked. this cold, dark night, he stepped in when some losers started picking on one of the younger members, and now he’s got a split knuckle and a black eye.

you sit him down on the edge of your bathtub, carefully tending to his injuries. “you’re too good for this world,” you mutter. jake just simply grins, wincing as you apply ointment. “i’d do it again for you,” he says, squeezing your hand as he gently takes your chin and kisses you softly.

you smile, but pull away as you scold, “kisses are for later.” he pouts, but winces again as you continue bandaging him up.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon’s the quiet one of his group, and it fooled everyone but he could fight. like really well. tonight, he got into a scuffle at the skate park, and now he’s sitting on your bed, shirt torn and lip busted.

he looked so disheveled and vulnerable. you shake your head as you clean his wounds, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his closeness.

“you’re actually impossible, ‘hoon,” you sigh. sunghoon just smirks, his eyes soft. “and? you love me anyway,” he whispers, pulling you into a gentle hug. you sigh as he gently kisses your neck and you speak up, “so needy even after you just got beat up..”

SUNOO

sunoo is definitely the sunshine of the group, but even he’s got a temper when his friends are threatened. today, he got into a shouting match that turned into a shoving match, and now he’s got a scraped knee and a bruised ego.

you sit him down on your couch, gently cleaning his scrapes. “you’re supposed to be the caring one,” you tease. sunoo pouts, but his eyes sparkle. “who says i can’t be loving and tough?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

you just smile softly and he murmurs into your ear, his breath hitting your neck, “thanks for taking care of me.” you sigh, pulling him in closer. “you don’t need to thank me..”

NIKI

he’s the groups youngest, but he’s got a wild streak that gets him into trouble. tonight, he got into a fight at the convenience store, and now he’s sprawled on your floor, a cut on his cheek and a gleam in his eye.

you kneel beside him, dabbing at the wound with a cotton pad. “you are such a troublemaker,” you sigh. niki simply grins, catching your wrist. “but you love me, right?” he asks, his voice playful. you can’t help but smile as you nod, pressing a bandage to his cheek. “of course, loser..”

“don’t call me that.” he says, frowning. “you have to buy me something from chrome hearts or denim tears now just for—” you cut him off with a kiss and after you pull away, there’s a satisfied smirk on his face and he and says, “nevermind, that’ll do.”

071425 / © overmura