chocochiffonnn - Tumblr blog

chocochiffonnn · 3 months ago

Text

the most ridiculous and cutest heeseung fic ever i am so in love🥹

in this economy? (part 2)

summary: you needed money. he needed a fake girlfriend. easy deal, right? except he’s your best friend’s boss. and you’re one minor inconvenience away from setting something on fire. he’s cold, rich, emotionally unavailable. you’re loud, broke, and very good at pretending this isn’t slowly turning real.

genre: fluff | fake dating

characters: ceo!heeseung x f! broke ass reader

words: 11k???

warnings: implied sex

part 1

"Where's Jake?" you asked, dropping your bag onto the seat in front of Heeseung’s desk like you owned the place.

He didn’t glance up from his computer. “He has a meeting. I sent him on my behalf.”

You blinked. “Wait. You actually trust him to speak on your behalf?”

Heeseung paused, then looked up slowly. “Not really. But the board finds him charming and impossible to argue with, so it balances out.”

“Huh.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Dangerous skill set. Should be illegal, honestly.”

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Then… should we still continue?” you asked. “I mean, without Jake hovering and directing us like a deranged drama teacher. I can come back in an hour. Or tomorrow. Or never. I’m flexible.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to the pantry to steal bread, aren’t you?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I—”

“There’s some over there,” he said, cutting you off with a tired sigh, nodding to a neat tray sitting on a side table near the window. “You don’t have to steal them anymore.”

You stared at him.

He looked back at you, completely unamused.

“You stocked bread for me?”

“No,” he said flatly. “They were already there. I just didn’t bother to hide them.”

Your lips twitched. “So… a passive offering.”

“More like preemptive damage control.”

You crossed your arms and tried not to smile. “You’re being oddly considerate today.”

“I just don’t want crumbs on my conference table again.”

“I make no promises.”

Heeseung exhaled, returning to his screen.

You walked over to the tray, took a roll, and sat down in the chair across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow… it kind of was.

The two of you had, against all odds, managed to fall into a kind of rhythm.

Heeseung sat at his desk, typing away at some high-stakes corporate proposal with the focus of a man trying to win a war. His jaw was tense. His posture perfect. Not a single hair out of place.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on his couch—yes, the very expensive, probably Italian-imported couch in the corner of his office—laptop balanced on your thighs, working on a university assignment that made you question all your life choices.

It had been relatively peaceful.

Until you sighed.

Again.

For the tenth time.

Loudly.

Heeseung’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He let out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t look up. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sighed ten times in the last fifteen minutes.”

“I sigh when I’m tired,” you muttered, chin resting in your palm. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Then maybe you should be concerned for my well-being.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You know, most people who use my office do it for meetings. Business. Work.”

“I am working,” you said, lifting your laptop like a trophy. “This is an academic battlefield.”

He snorted softly. “Right. And I assume the heavy sighing is your war cry?”

“Correct.”

You slumped further into the couch, dramatically over-exaggerating your next exhale.

Heeseung shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable, but he didn’t kick you out.

Instead, he turned back to his screen.

And you kept sighing.

Maybe a little louder this time—just for fun.

You were trying. Truly. Every ounce of effort was going into keeping your eyes open.

But the soft whir of the air conditioning, the muffled clicks of Heeseung’s keyboard, and the dangerously plush couch—the one you swore had memory foam meant for seduction—were all working against you.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your screen blurred. Your head dipped.

And then you were gone.

Curled up awkwardly, slumped to one side, your head tilted off the edge of the couch like gravity had given up. Your mouth parted slightly, and one arm hung limp off the cushion, fingers twitching like they were still trying to finish a sentence.

Across the room, Heeseung didn’t notice right away.

But then the silence hit.

No more sighing. No muttering. No passive-aggressive typing.

He finally looked up from his screen.

You were fast asleep. In his office. On his couch. With your mouth open.

And somehow… you still looked soft. Small. Asleep in a way only someone who was truly exhausted could be—your guard down completely for the first time since he met you.

His brows lifted, surprised at the sudden pang in his chest.

He set his pen down. Sat back in his chair.

Then, after a moment, he rose—slowly, quietly, as if not to wake you.

He crossed the room, footsteps soundless against the carpet. For a beat, he just stood there, gazing down at you. Your breath was steady, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair a little messy from where you’d burrowed into the armrest like it owed you comfort.

Heeseung let out a small breath of amusement. Shook his head. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he shrugged off his jacket.

It was still warm from his body. Crisp and dark and clearly expensive.

But without a second thought, he leaned down and draped it over your sleeping frame—gentle, careful. He adjusted it around your shoulders, tucking the edge around your knees like someone who’d done this before. Like someone who wanted you to stay warm.

His fingers hovered at your wrist for a second too long.

He didn’t know when it had started—this quiet shift inside him. This tug. This softness.

You mumbled something in your sleep and shifted slightly under the jacket, your nose scrunching the way it always did when you were annoyed.

Heeseung smiled. Not the amused kind. Not the forced, polite kind he used at business meetings.

He watched you for another beat, hands back in his pockets now, expression unreadable save for the faint flicker in his eyes.

“…Don’t drool on the couch,” he murmured softly.

Your breathing had evened out. The room was quiet. Peaceful, even. But then your head shifted.

Just slightly at first, a twitch in your sleep—then more. A slow, inevitable tilt toward the edge of the couch cushion. Your cheek slipped against the fabric, your entire upper body beginning to slide.

Heeseung caught you before gravity could win. His hand shot out, steadying the side of your head, palm cradling the curve of your temple with surprising gentleness.

He froze.

Your hair was soft. Your skin warm against his fingers.

You stirred at the contact, brows twitching, and he held his breath.

If he moved you too suddenly, you'd wake up. And as much as he'd pretend it was to avoid the awkward explanation, a small part of him didn’t want to see that shift in your eyes—the one where you’d go from relaxed and unguarded to self-conscious in a flash.

So, he didn’t move you.

Instead, with a barely-there sigh, Heeseung sat down beside you. Slowly. Carefully.

And with a hesitant, almost unsure motion, he tilted his shoulder toward you, easing your head against it.

You didn’t stir.

He relaxed, just slightly, settling in. One arm resting loosely behind you on the back of the couch, the other propped on his leg. Your head fit there like it belonged—heavy, warm, grounding in a way that made no logical sense to a man who built his world out of logic.

He turned his head just enough to glance down.

You were still sleeping. Peacefully now, your lips parted, breath brushing the fabric of his shirt.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

This wasn’t part of the contract. This wasn’t strategy. This was something else entirely. Something real. And that was dangerous.

But… he didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Minutes passed. Long enough for the hum of his computer to fade into background noise. Long enough for the warmth of your body to seep through the layers between you.

Eventually, without quite meaning to, Heeseung's head drifted sideways.

And rested gently against yours.

His eyes closed.

Sleep tugged at him.

And before he could tell himself this was a terrible idea, he was out too.

—

“Uh… Mr. Lee?”

The voice was hesitant. Too hesitant.

Heeseung stirred with a low breath, one hand coming up to rub the sleep from his face. His neck ached. His back cracked. His eyes were still half-closed, vision blurry from the impromptu nap—until the shape beside him shifted ever so slightly.

Warmth. Weight. Soft hair against his collarbone.

You.

Still asleep, head nestled against his shoulder, one hand curled lightly near his chest, your body tucked close to his side like you’d been there all along. Your leg had, at some point, slid across the cushion, half draped over his. His jacket—his expensive, custom-tailored jacket—was still wrapped around you.

And you looked peaceful.

Which made it worse.

His breath caught, muscles going rigid. He moved the tiniest bit and—

Your head shifted.

Rested more firmly against him.

His eyes widened. He froze.

The sudden, horrifying realization of his current position crashed down on him like a second cup of scalding coffee: He was on a couch. In his office. Asleep. With you.

His fake girlfriend.

His hired, bread-stealing, chaotic fake girlfriend.

He didn’t even have time to process the panic beginning to crawl up his throat before a second voice—a louder one—cut through the awkward silence.

“SEUNG!”

A loud clap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Heeseung flinched violently. You jerked awake with a muffled yelp, nearly toppling off the couch in the process.

Jake was standing near the door, clutching his tablet awkwardly like it was a shield. His expression was half amused, half frozen in I’m witnessing something I should absolutely not be witnessing panic.

And behind him—

Grandpa Lee.

Cheerful. Smiling. And very observant.

Heeseung sat bolt upright, his shoulder cold from where your head had been. You blinked up at the room in confusion, your hair a mess, his jacket slipping off one shoulder.

Your eyes met Jake’s first.

Then Grandpa’s.

Then slowly—painfully—Heeseung’s.

There was a long, horrible silence.

Jake cleared his throat. “I—I knocked. I definitely knocked.”

You looked at Heeseung, wide-eyed, still half-asleep. “Did I… drool on you?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Because yes.

Yes, you had.

Right on his dress shirt.

He ran a hand down his face.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you crumpled on the couch, the jacket, the disheveled closeness, the obvious, inarguable evidence of intimacy—and clapped again.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you tangled on the couch, his grandson’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your face still warm from sleep, Heeseung looking like he’d rather melt into the floor—and clapped again.

This time in absolute delight.

“Well, well, well!” he beamed, eyes twinkling. “So this is the girlfriend I’ve been hearing about.”

He wiggled his eyebrows with the energy of a man half his age and immediately began making his way across the room—eyes fixed on you like you were a prize to be claimed.

Unfortunately, the coffee table had other plans.

He bumped into it with a grunt, then made an awkward shuffle-waddle between the corner of the table and the armrest of the couch, muttering something about how “the furniture in this place keeps shrinking.”

You panicked.

Immediately sprang to your feet like someone had launched you out of a cannon.

“Hello! Mr. Lee!” you blurted, practically diving over the armrest to intercept him before he got too close to your nap crime scene. You stumbled slightly as you landed, pushing your hair back and straightening your posture in one frantic movement. “It’s, um—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stuck your hand out stiffly. Firm grip. Friendly smile. Crisis mode: activated.

He took your hand with both of his, beaming. “My, my, my. You’re prettier in person than the way Jake described you.”

Your eyes snapped to Jake, who was hiding behind his tablet and mouthing I’m so sorry while also very clearly not sorry at all.

You turned back to Grandpa Lee, cheeks on fire. “Ah—thank you, sir. I—um—I really wasn’t planning to… meet you while half-asleep on Heeseung’s couch but—”

You laughed. A bit too high-pitched.

Heeseung made a strangled noise behind you.

Grandpa Lee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re the first girl I’ve seen knock him out cold. Must be doing something right.”

Your soul left your body.

You smiled, borderline delirious now. “Right. Yes. That’s me. Doing things right.”

Grandpa leaned in slightly, peering at you with amused affection. “You call him Seung, huh?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“You called him Seung in your sleep,” Jake chimed in unhelpfully from the corner.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale. “Jake.”

“I just thought it was cute,” Jake said, shrugging.

“I—I must’ve been dreaming!” you blurted, your laugh high and awkward as you fidgeted with the sleeves of Heeseung’s jacket still wrapped around you. “Dreams are wild, right? Who knows what they mean. Crazy subconscious stuff—anyway!”

Your eyes lit up suddenly, and you reached out, gently grasping Grandpa’s forearm. “Grandpa Lee, have you eaten yet? You must be so tired after all the traveling. I should’ve asked earlier—do you want some tea? Water? Should I—should I find someone to bring you something?”

His eyes crinkled, delighted. “My, oh my. A girl with so much manners.”

He gave you a fond pat on the back, then turned immediately to Heeseung, his face dropping into theatrical disapproval. “You little brat.”

Heeseung, still half-seated on the couch, blinked. “What?”

Grandpa raised his cane with flair, like a sword in a historical drama. “Why aren’t you the one taking care of me?”

“I—I didn’t know you were coming today—”

“She’s the one asking all the thoughtful questions,” Grandpa interrupted, gesturing toward you with a dramatic swing of his cane. “Why aren’t you ever this considerate? Huh?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. Looked mildly offended. “I pay for your full-time driver, your concierge doctor, and the personal chef who makes your weird seaweed soup every Tuesday.”

“And yet,” Grandpa sniffed, crossing his arms, “she asks me if I’ve eaten. That’s love. That’s care. That’s human decency.”

You tried very hard not to laugh, smoothing your hair nervously and reaching to help Grandpa steady himself when he shifted his cane.

He gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’re very sweet, dear,” he said, looking at you like you’d just personally renewed his faith in humanity. “If Seung doesn’t treat you well, I’ll disown him.”

You turned pink. “Oh—thank you, sir. He’s been… very kind.”

Behind you, Heeseung made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

You turned to glance at him, and just for a second—just one—his usual blank expression cracked.

There it was.

A barely-there smile.

Small. Subtle. But real.

It disappeared the moment you made eye contact.

He looked away with a mutter of, “He’s going to be insufferable about this for weeks.”

But he didn’t stop smiling. Not completely.

And when you turned back to Grandpa, still fussing over whether he needed tea or a cushion or someone to call his driver, Heeseung just watched you quietly.

With a look that wasn’t quite annoyance.

Not quite amusement.

Something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

—

Somehow, without quite meaning to, you’d been swept into the strange, chaotic current of the Lee family dynamic.

Jake had left hours ago—after giving you a dramatic, drawn-out farewell like he was being shipped off to war and not just heading back to his apartment. You’d waved him off, chuckling under your breath, unaware that the moment he was gone, you were being voluntarily held hostage by a rich, meddling grandfather and his emotionally-repressed grandson.

“I insist,” Grandpa Lee had said, gripping your hand like a man on a mission. “Come to dinner. We’ll order something good. I’ll show you pictures of baby Heeseung. You’ll love it.”

You had tried, really tried, to politely decline.

But the man begged.

Not gently. Not in passing.

He begged—with wide eyes and dramatic sighs and the kind of wounded expression only grandfathers and veteran actors could pull off.

You couldn’t say no.

You weren’t heartless.

Not even if he was filthy, stinking rich and had an estate large enough to qualify for its own postal code.

So now here you were.

Entering the Lee family home like you’d been there a thousand times, when in reality, you were still trying to figure out if this entire week was an elaborate fever dream.

“Careful now,” you said gently, your hand looped around Grandpa Lee’s arm as you helped him up the front steps. “We can go slowly, no rush at all.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he replied, letting you guide him toward the front door like you were escorting royalty. “You’re much gentler than my useless grandson. That boy leads me around like I’m made of bricks.”

You laughed softly. “Well, you’ve only got one pair of knees, sir. I intend to make sure you keep them.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased.

Behind you, Heeseung followed a few steps behind—quiet, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding the door open as he watched the two of you walk ahead like old companions.

He should’ve been annoyed.

His grandfather was clearly laying it on too thick, pushing boundaries, dragging you into family traditions you had no business being part of.

But instead…

Heeseung just watched.

You, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile that was too real for a fake girlfriend.

His grandfather, soaking up your attention like sunshine and already asking if you liked kimchi stew or preferred something mild for dinner.

And Heeseung?

He thought about how much he could get used to this.

—

The dining room table could seat twelve.

Twelve.

Twelve humans.

Maybe fourteen if two of them were toddlers and didn’t mind elbow contact.

You sat across from Heeseung, quietly chewing your food like a peasant at Versailles, trying not to let your eyes dart around the room every five seconds. But how could you not? The chandelier above you looked like it belonged in a royal ballroom. The dinnerware probably had a net worth higher than your student loans.

God, his house was huge.

You were ninety-nine percent sure there was an echo in the room. The soft jazz playing through hidden speakers? Offensively classy. You were half-expecting someone to walk out offering you a wine list in French.

The fanciest place you’d ever eaten was Cheesecake Factory. Once. And Jake had paid.

Meanwhile, here you were being served short ribs plated on imported porcelain while pretending to be the loving girlfriend of Lee Heeseung, Seoul’s most emotionally constipated tech prince.

Heeseung, for what it was worth, sat beside you with practiced ease—perfect posture, calm expression, cutting his food like it was being filmed for an etiquette manual. But every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you.

And lingered.

Just for a moment.

Grandpa Lee, of course, was in full host mode. Reclined at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, looking positively smug.

“So,” he said, pausing mid-chew, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened.

Heeseung paused, fork in midair.

Oh no.

This was it.

The fake dating interrogation.

“Ah—” you began, immediately kicking Heeseung under the table for backup.

“She was…” Heeseung started slowly, eyes shifting toward you. “She was at a café.”

You nodded quickly. “Right! I was getting coffee.”

Heeseung added, “She spilled it.”

“On myself,” you confirmed, gesturing vaguely at your shirt like it still bore the evidence. “Scalding hot latte.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “Romantic.”

You pressed on. “And he—Heeseung—offered me napkins.”

“Nine of them,” Heeseung said flatly.

You turned to him, surprised. “You remember the number?”

He blinked. “It was excessive.”

Grandpa watched the two of you like a cat watching goldfish. “And then?”

“And then we started talking,” you said quickly. “And he—um, he helped me order a replacement drink because I was too embarrassed to go back to the counter.”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “It was a weirdly long line.”

“But he waited,” you said, and then—before you could stop yourself—smiled a little. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

There was a pause.

A beat longer than necessary.

Heeseung looked at you.

You looked at him.

And something about the way your smile lingered—soft, a little grateful—made his chest feel strangely warm. He swallowed.

You quickly turned back to Grandpa, cheeks hot.

“So, yes,” you said, stabbing your fork into your rice like you were sealing the story with a signature. “That’s how it happened.”

Grandpa sipped his wine, clearly amused. “Hmm.”

“You don’t believe us?” you asked, trying not to panic.

“I do,” he said easily. “Too many details. Real liars don’t share numbers. Nine napkins? That’s commitment.”

You nearly exhaled in relief.

Then, out of nowhere, Grandpa added, “And I saw the way he looked at you just now.”

You froze.

Heeseung did too.

The room went quiet.

“I’ve known that boy since he was born,” Grandpa said, setting his wine down with a quiet clink. “He doesn’t look at people like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like he forgot he’s supposed to be faking something.”

You blinked. Slowly.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the shift in the air beside you.

And then—suddenly, quietly—his hand brushed yours under the table.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to ground you. To say yeah, that wasn’t planned either.

You didn’t pull away.

And you didn’t speak.

But you felt it.

“Oh.”

The room had settled into a strange kind of stillness.

Not uncomfortable—just quiet. Like everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

You kept your eyes down, gently prodding the last piece of rib on your plate, pretending your heart wasn’t doing tiny somersaults over the fact that Heeseung’s fingers had just brushed yours under the table.

Grandpa, of course, was not one to let silence win.

He set his glass down with a soft clink, leaned forward slightly, and said, with all the casualness of a man dropping a bomb:

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Your fork paused mid-motion.

Heeseung visibly stiffened beside you.

You blinked up at Grandpa. “Like what?”

“So… attentive,” he said, as if that explained everything. “My grandson doesn’t just give away his jacket. That thing is practically stitched to his body. I've seen him wear it through a snowstorm. And yet, what do I find? Him curled up next to you, jacket draped over your legs like he’s your personal butler.”

You choked slightly on your rice.

“Grandpa,” Heeseung muttered, eyes narrowing.

But the older man wasn’t finished.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Grandpa continued, pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung. “In the car—on the way back—you turned up the temperature. Just a notch. Quietly. Barely moved a muscle. But I saw you glance at her first. Just once.”

You flushed, your heart tripping over itself.

You had shivered once in the back seat, barely even noticing it yourself. But apparently… he had.

Grandpa leaned back in his chair, smiling like he had just solved a particularly satisfying mystery. “He’s never done that. Not for anyone. And let me tell you, this boy’s been around people his whole life—business deals, charity galas, matchmaking setups I’ve dragged him to. You name it.”

He turned to you, gentler now. “He’s polite, always. But attentive? No. Never. Not unless it’s something that matters to him.”

You blinked. Swallowed.

Across from you, Heeseung was uncharacteristically still.

His jaw was tense, eyes downcast, but something had shifted in his face—something softer, quieter. Like he was letting the words sink in too.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t.

The room had gone warm. Not from the heat. From the weight of what Grandpa had just said.

And what it meant.

You glanced at Heeseung.

He looked up, met your gaze.

And for the first time all night, neither of you needed to say anything at all.

—-

Dinner had ended… eventually.

The plates had been cleared, the wine glasses refilled twice, and Grandpa had officially shifted into storytelling mode—arms waving, voice animated, eyes twinkling with the kind of energy only decades of mischief could supply.

You hadn’t said much.

You just sat there, chin resting on your hands, smiling as you listened. And oh, the stories. Stories about little Heeseung—piano recitals gone wrong, failed lemonade stands, a brief but passionate phase where he thought he could become a magician.

You laughed. You giggled. At one point, your eyes welled up from how adorable it all was.

Across the table, Heeseung looked like he was deeply regretting ever being born.

“Was he always this serious?” you asked, voice light.

Grandpa barked a laugh. “Serious? That boy once cried for an hour because someone stepped on his sandcastle. Age twelve.”

Heeseung groaned. “Can we not—”

But it was already 11 p.m. by the time the laughter began to fade and your eyes started to droop. You stretched your arms with a yawn, blinking slowly.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. “I’ve got an 8 a.m. lecture tomorrow and if I miss it, I’ll cry. Publicly.”

Heeseung stood from his seat automatically. “I’ll drive you.”

But before he could even reach for his keys, whack—Grandpa’s cane smacked lightly against his shin.

“Are you crazy?” Grandpa scoffed. “It’s almost midnight. Let her rest here. You have a perfectly good bed. And walls.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy?”

Grandpa looked between the two of you like you were the ones being unreasonable. “Don’t tell me she’s never slept over here.”

Heeseung shot you a look that screamed don’t you dare.

You smiled tightly, heart racing. “Oh, plenty of times!”

Heeseung choked.

“Gosh,” you added with a nervous laugh, hands fluttering in the air, “this house… it’s practically my second home. I love this house. Love it. So homey. Very… echo-y.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but having way too much fun.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with casual menace, “you’ll be sleeping with Heeseung tonight?”

You blinked. “I—left my—”

“You’ll be sleeping with Seung tonight,” Grandpa repeated with a knowing smile, cane tapping the floor rhythmically. “Won’t you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then looked at Heeseung, who looked exactly like someone who’d just swallowed a lemon.

You turned back to Grandpa with a grin so forced it should’ve come with a cramp.

“…Yes. Of course. That’s the plan.”

“Well then,” Grandpa beamed, clapping his hands once. “I’ll sleep soundly knowing my two lovebirds are safe and snuggled up. Goodnight, children.”

And just like that, he turned and shuffled down the hall, whistling.

You stood there in the silence that followed, staring down at your socks.

Heeseung exhaled deeply beside you.

“This is the worst lie I’ve ever committed to,” he muttered.

You peeked up at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just down the hallway. But the tips of his ears were red.

And yours?

Burning.

“…Where’s your room?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He finally met your gaze.

“Upstairs,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ve got an extra pillow.”

—-

You weren’t sure what rich people did with this much space, but Heeseung’s en suite bathroom was bigger than your entire dorm room. Probably had better plumbing too. The water pressure? Heavenly. The heated floors? Life-changing. The mirror didn’t even fog. What kind of sorcery—

You stepped out wrapped in an oversized cloud of cotton.

His pyjamas—crisp, soft, and clearly designed for a man with longer legs and significantly broader shoulders—swallowed you whole. The shirt hung just past mid-thigh, brushing against your bare skin as you walked. The sleeves covered your hands. The collar was just slightly too wide, revealing the soft slope of your collarbone with every step.

You hadn’t bothered with pants. The top was long enough. Besides, who the hell was going to see?

...Right.

Heeseung.

You made a small sound as you fumbled with your hair tie, accidentally knocking over a bottle of something suspiciously expensive on his nightstand.

His head snapped up from his phone.

And everything in him—every rational, composed, deeply repressed cell—froze.

There you were.

Walking toward the bed like some kind of sleepy siren, his shirt hanging off your body like it had always belonged to you. Bare legs. Damp hair. That slightly flushed post-shower glow. He could see the delicate line of your throat when you tilted your head to fix your sleeves.

His breath hitched—sharply.

He looked away immediately, gaze darting back to his phone like it was on fire.

Nope.

He was not going to think about how your thighs looked in the dim lighting. Or the fact that you were wearing his clothes. Or the way the fabric of that button-up swayed slightly as you walked.

He swallowed hard.

Cleared his throat.

You glanced over at him, half amused, half oblivious. “You good?”

“Fine,” he said too quickly. His voice cracked. Cracked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounded like a dying bird.”

Heeseung coughed into his fist and sat up straighter, yanking the blanket slightly higher over his lap.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, eyes glued to his screen like he was researching stock reports and not silently begging the universe for strength.

You padded across the room, dropping onto the other side of the bed with a little bounce.

His bed.

You were in his bed.

Wearing his clothes.

With bare legs.

He stared at the ceiling.

You, stretching lazily, tucked the blanket around yourself. “These are really soft, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They’re… cotton.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Your knee brushed against his under the covers.

He stopped breathing.

You didn’t notice.

But God help him—he noticed everything.

"Are you sure…" Heeseung’s voice cut through the quiet, just barely above a whisper. “You don’t mind sharing one bed tonight?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not really. I’ve done this plenty of times with Jake when we go on trips.”

“Oh.” Heeseung blinked. Hard.

Jake. Right. Your other male roommate. The one you’d apparently shared beds with like it was no big deal. The same Jake who drank from the milk carton and sang in the shower and left hair ties in the microwave.

Cool. Casual.

Totally fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when you were currently climbing into his bed, his shirt hanging off your body like sin itself, the hem rising with every motion of your legs. Your thigh brushed the comforter as you moved, bare and soft under the dim bedside lamp, and Heeseung’s eyes locked on it like he’d been hypnotized.

You flopped down with a sigh, fingers raking through your damp hair. With a frustrated huff, you pushed up onto your knees and pulled your hair into a ponytail—arms raised, shirt rising even higher, revealing the smooth curve of your hip and a glimpse of skin that did unspeakable things to Heeseung’s already struggling self-control.

Something snapped.

He swallowed.

Hard.

“I—on second thought,” he said abruptly, voice tighter now, “maybe I’ll just… sleep on the couch.”

You whipped your head around. “What? Are you crazy?”

He was already half out of the bed, blanket in hand like he was escaping a wildfire.

“It’s fine. Really. You—you take the bed. I’ll just—”

You rolled your eyes. “Heeseung, it’s just one night. It’s not like we’re going to do anything crazy.”

“That’s not—”

“And besides,” you added casually, slipping under the covers like it was your own bed, “what if Grandpa comes in? Huh? What’ll he think when he sees one side empty? We’ll be exposed. Caught. Fired.”

Heeseung paused, blanket still clutched in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “He already thinks I call you Seung in my sleep.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“C’mon,” you said, patting the empty space beside you. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He looked at the bed.

Then at you.

Then at the ceiling like he was praying for strength.

And with a sigh—long, heavy, full of the emotional weight of a man who had just been sentenced to a trial by fire—he climbed back in.

Stiff as a board.

Tense as a wire.

And one wrong move away from completely combusting.

You, meanwhile, simply yawned. “Goodnight, Seung.”

His breath caught again.

“Sleep,” you mumbled, already drifting off. “Be normal…”

He stared at the ceiling.

He was definitely not sleeping tonight.

It had been ten minutes since Heeseung shut off his phone.

Ten minutes since the room went still, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights spilling through the tall windows. Ten minutes of lying there, staring into the dark like it might offer him a lifeline.

It didn’t.

Instead, he tossed. Then turned. Then flipped onto his back, onto his side, back again. Adjusted the blanket. Shifted the pillow. Anything to make it stop.

But nothing did.

Because you were beside him.

And you weren’t just beside him—you were curled into the covers wearing his shirt, skin bare beneath it, body warm, soft, close.

Every time you moved—every tiny adjustment, every sleepy twist—your thigh brushed against the back of his hand. Light. Innocent. Deadly.

And he was losing it.

Because your skin was smooth. Because you smelled like vanilla and his body wash. Because your breathing had gone slower, heavier, but not deep enough to say you were truly asleep. And because you’d been inches away from him for ten solid minutes, and he was almost certain the mattress had started shrinking just to screw with him.

His mind spiraled in every direction—don’t look, don’t touch, don’t think. Especially don’t think.

He swallowed hard, chest tightening when you shifted again, this time dragging your leg slightly against his, a friction that had no idea how dangerous it was.

“Can’t sleep?” your voice came through the dark, quiet. Soft. Laced with sleep.

Heeseung let out a slow breath. “No.”

Not when you’re wearing next to nothing in my bed. Not when you keep moving like that. Not when I can smell you.

He didn’t say it.

He just laid there, staring at the ceiling like it was his only ally in this war.

There was rustling beside him. Sheets moving.

And then—

You turned.

Faced him.

He could feel it—your presence shifting, your warmth moving closer. Then your face, just barely lit, settled near his. Inches. Maybe less. He turned his head and you were right there.

Your eyes found his.

And he couldn’t breathe.

“Why did you have to resort to fake dating?” you asked softly, voice low, barely a whisper. Like it was a secret meant only for this room. Only for him.

He blinked. The question registered—somewhere far away. But mostly he was focused on how close you were. How your breath skimmed his chin. How your lips were parted just enough, soft, tempting, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you were causing.

“What?” he managed, though it sounded hoarse.

You didn’t back away.

Your gaze stayed on his like you were still trying to figure him out. “Why’d you resort to this? Paying someone $500 to pretend they like you… must be—”

“Weird?” he said, lips twitching faintly.

You shook your head. “Exhausting.”

That word sat heavy between you.

He swallowed again, eyes flicking down—just for a second—to your mouth.

“I just…” he hesitated, jaw tensing, “I guess I don’t want Grandpa to be disappointed.”

Your features softened. He could see it—could feel the way your expression shifted, less teasing now, more understanding. More real.

You blinked slowly, and then, before he could even brace for it, your hand brushed against his under the covers. Light. Unintended. But it stayed.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

“I don’t think he’d ever be disappointed in you,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The space between you disappeared.

The tension changed—thicker, charged. Heeseung could feel it building in the air between your knees, your chests, your breath.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t dare.

But he wanted to.

God help him, he wanted to.

His hand lay there beneath the blanket, centimeters from yours. Still. Controlled. Every muscle in his body tense with the effort of not reaching. Not brushing his thumb across your knuckles. Not leaning forward just to see what your lips might feel like under his.

And then—quietly, like a sigh—he spoke.

“You’d be surprised.”

Your brow furrowed. “About what?”

He turned his head toward you, gaze meeting yours in the dark.

“About Grandpa,” he said, voice soft, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud. “It seems like his whole mission is to make sure I’m happy, yeah. But I don’t think he knows how. So he fills in the blanks. Tries to fix things I don’t say out loud.”

You were quiet for a beat, processing that.

Then, “Are you kidding me? It seems like his entire life revolves around you. The way he talks about you, it’s like this life mission is to keep you happy.”

He let out a soft, dry laugh. “Happy or not alone?”

Your eyes searched his face, reading more in the curve of his lips than in the words themselves.

“In his defense,” you murmured, smiling just a little, “you can be kinda… aloof.”

He turned toward you slightly, one arm propped beneath his pillow. “Oh really?”

You nodded, suppressing a grin. “When I first met you, you said I was late.”

“You were late.”

“I was two minutes late.”

“And that’s still late.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning in just slightly, forehead nearly brushing his. “That’s not late. That’s margin-for-error-level arrival.”

“It’s a time commitment. If someone says 2:30, it means 2:30. Not 2:32. Not 2:31 and thirty seconds. 2:30.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you whispered, eyes sparkling in the low light.

He smirked. “You’re the one fake-dating the weirdo.”

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “he’s growing on me.”

Heeseung blinked.

Just once.

And everything in him stilled.

You didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore. But it was out there now, floating between your shared breaths, warm and weightless.

The silence returned—but this time, it wasn’t empty.

And neither of you moved.

But that space between your hands?

It got smaller.

And smaller.

Until your pinkies brushed.

And neither of you pulled away.

“I don’t have to… submit a request to kiss you, do I?” you whispered, your voice feather-light, but laced with something deeper—something that curled low in your belly and dared to rise.

Heeseung blinked, startled.

“What?”

“The contract,” you said, gaze flickering down to his mouth. “Clause Five. Physical contact?”

His expression twitched—something between amused and completely wrecked.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

Not hesitant. Not even close.

He surged forward, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been holding back for hours—days—and couldn’t do it a second longer. His lips crashed into yours, hot and hungry, all restraint forgotten.

Your breath caught—then disappeared completely.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, yanking him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body pressed flush against yours, the heat rolling off him. His mouth moved over yours like he’d been waiting for this–firm, demanding, a little messy, a lot needy.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the chance—deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your thighs clench, your entire body arch into him without thinking. Your hand fisted at the back of his neck, pulling, anchoring, grounding yourself as your mouths moved in perfect, aching sync.

His other hand slid under the hem of your—his—shirt, fingers splaying over your bare waist. His palm was warm, calloused, and when his thumb dragged slowly along the soft curve of your side, you shivered.

He pulled you until you were nearly straddling his thigh, your legs tangled with his under the sheets. His lips left yours just long enough to catch his breath, only to return to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You let out a noise—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—and he cursed under his breath.

“I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind,” he whispered against your skin.

“You already are,” you panted, tugging him back in.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like this had stopped being fake a long time ago and neither of you had realized it until now.

You felt his breath hitch, his hands still roaming your sides, reverent and aching and starved.

And in that dark, breathless tangle of limbs and mouths and months of built-up tension, one truth burned bright:

This wasn’t part of the contract.

This was real.

And you both knew it.

The moment your mouths found each other again, it shifted.

The desperation from before—hot and rushed—simmered into something deeper. Slower. More dangerous. Like you were both savoring what you already knew would ruin you.

His lips dragged over yours with purpose, tongue sweeping slow and teasing before pressing deeper, pulling a soft, wrecked sound from your throat that made him groan into the kiss.

He rolled slightly, his hand gripping your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt—his shirt—his thumb brushing the bare skin there like it was something sacred. You gasped, the contact sparking fire under your skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your lips, forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, voice hoarse.

You barely managed to respond before he was kissing you again—slower this time, but no less intense.

Your own fingers slipped beneath his shirt, running along the firm lines of his stomach, the dip of his waist, the warm, smooth skin stretched over lean muscle.

You pressed closer, your legs tangling with his under the sheets, the soft brush of his sweats against your bare thigh igniting something primal. His hand found the curve of your ass, dragging you just that much closer as he kissed you deeper, harder.

The air grew heavier, your bodies slick with heat and friction.

And then he pulled back—barely—his lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His eyes were dark, wild, but searching yours with something softer beneath it all. Something that ached.

“This isn’t just the contract anymore, is it?” you whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

His thumb brushed along your jaw.

“No,” he said. “Not even close.”

—-

The sunlight poured in far too kindly for the chaos it was about to illuminate.

You stirred first, blinking blearily as your body slowly registered the warmth next to you. A solid chest. An arm draped loosely across your waist. A slow, even breath at the back of your neck.

And then it hit you.

You weren’t in your bed.

You were in his.

You were in Lee Heeseung’s bed.

And right—right—you remembered now.

Flashes of last night hit like a slow-burning montage.

His hand cradling your face. The way his voice cracked when he said it wasn’t fake. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like you were something he'd been holding back from for far too long.

Then—heat. Teeth. Hands. Skin on skin.

And now?

You were naked.

Fully. Absolutely. No-fabric-in-sight kind of naked.

Your eyes snapped open.

You lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked underneath.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Shit.”

Your cheeks blazed as you slowly, carefully dropped the covers like they had personally offended you.

You had done it.

You had done did it with your fake boyfriend.

Who was also your fake boss.

Who was also—by technical definition—your employer.

Your CEO.

“Shit,” you muttered again, burying your face into the stupidly soft pillow.

Everything about last night replayed in agonizing, high-definition clarity.

And yet—beneath the panic, beneath the mild oh-my-god-I-slept-with-the-CEO breakdown—a softer, more terrifying feeling began to surface.

Because it hadn’t been just physical.

You remembered how he looked at you before it even began. How he touched you like you were something breakable. How, afterwards, he didn’t just roll over and sleep—he stayed close. Held you. Let his fingers run gently along your back like he didn’t want the moment to end.

And now you were awake.

Naked.

In his bed.

It was an HR violation with a side of deep emotional confusion.

Except you weren’t technically working for him. Not in that way.

You weren’t on his payroll, didn’t report to him, weren’t attending Monday meetings and yet… you were getting paid. By him. For relationship labor.

So what was this?

What was he to you?

You clutched the blanket to your chest, eyes wide, brain spiraling like a loading screen with no internet connection.

You were going insane. That was the only logical explanation.

And maybe—just maybe—your inner meltdown was loud enough to wake the man beside you.

Heeseung stirred beside you, letting out a soft groan. His arm stretched, his hair falling into his eyes as he rubbed at them groggily. Still half-asleep, he blinked blearily at you, then glanced around the room like he was buffering.

“…What time is it?” he muttered, voice still raspy from sleep.

You cleared your throat. “Uh. Eight.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Don’t you have a lecture?”

You clutched the blanket tighter. “It’s not like I can go now.”

“I can drive you—”

“It’s fine.” You looked away, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ll just ask Jungwon for notes.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Heeseung sat up straighter, blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes.

His hair was adorably messy—tufts sticking out at odd angles, like he'd lost a round with the pillow. His voice, still husky and half-croaked, sharpened with sudden realization.

And then… his eyes dropped.

Just briefly.

A subtle glance under the blanket that covered both of you, then back up to you.

His entire face went red.

Not just a light flush. Red. Crimson. Full-body blush like he’d been slapped by the truth.

“Did we…” he asked, voice almost squeaking at the end.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then down at the blanket.

Then back at you again.

Your own cheeks heated in response, but you somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Heeseung.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I mean—like—did we actually…” he flailed, hand gesturing vaguely toward the bed, the room, your bare shoulders.

You raised a brow and slowly lifted the blanket just enough to peek.

Then dropped it.

“Unless I had a really intense dream and sleepwalked out of my underwear,” you said dryly, “yes. We did.”

Heeseung made a noise—something between a cough and a whimper—and dragged a hand down his already-flushed face.

“I swear I don’t usually do this,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Neither do I,” you muttered, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “Believe it or not, this isn’t standard protocol in fake dating.”

“God,” he whispered.

Silence settled over the bed again. Awkward. Tangled in expensive sheets. Full of unsaid things.

Then, softly, almost shyly, he added, “Was it… okay?”

You turned your head slowly, raising one unimpressed brow. “Are you asking me for a Yelp review?”

Heeseung groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, pulling a pillow over his face.

You snorted. “For the record,” you said, staring at the ceiling again, “I’d give it a solid four and a half stars.”

He peeked out from under the pillow.

“Four and a half?”

“You lost half a star for the part where you knocked over the lamp.”

“You moaned my name when that happened!”

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin. “Okay, then what about me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Me, Heeseung.” You turned your head to face him fully, the blanket still tucked under your arms. “Did I… I mean, did I do fine? Because I haven’t really—”

Your voice trailed off awkwardly. Heat crawled up your neck. You tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “I haven’t, like… done that in a while. At all. So if I was, like, bad or weird or made a weird noise or elbowed you in the ribs—”

Heeseung sat up, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he was trying very hard not to look completely charmed.

“I don’t need to know about your ‘previous ones,’” he said, air-quoting with a soft laugh, “but I thought you were…”

He hesitated for a second. Like the compliment got stuck in his throat.

You raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was…?”

His eyes met yours—steadier now.

“I thought you were beautiful,” he said simply.

—-

You didn’t have to tell Jake that something happened.

Son of a bitch knew.

Knew it before you said a word. Probably the second he walked into the apartment and caught you humming Levitating while making coffee with the dopiest smile known to mankind.

So now here he was.

Storming into Heeseung’s office with murder in his eyes and violence in his heart.

“Jake!” you yelled, already chasing after him in panic. “Jake, don’t—”

Too late.

The door slammed open.

Jake marched in like a one-man riot, fists clenched, breathing like he’d just sprinted through traffic—and made it his personal mission to ruin one (1) rich man’s entire day.

“You slept with my best friend?!” he roared.

Heeseung blinked from behind his desk. “…What?”

Jake didn’t wait. “You SLEPT with her?!”

Then he lunged.

Like physically lunged.

“Jake!” you shrieked, grabbing his arm, but he twisted out of your grip like some low-budget action movie star. “I swear I didn’t tell him! He figured it out on his own.”

Heeseung dodged just in time. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“You absolute bastard!” Jake shouted, winding up for Round Two.

“Can you not try to assault him?!”

“I’m not his employee anymore! I quit! I QUIT, baby!” Jake yelled, chest heaving as he pointed at Heeseung with a shaking hand. “Which means I can say whatever the hell I want and throw hands freely!”

Heeseung held up both palms. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now—”

“She was singing Dua Lipa, man.”

Heeseung paused. “…What?”

“LEVI-FUCKING-TATING.”

You groaned. “Jake, please don’t—”

“She only sings that damn song when something life-altering happens. Once after her ex situationship finally disappeared from the face of the Earth, and once when she found fifty bucks in a jean jacket she forgot she owned.”

“Okay, that second one was a really good day,” you muttered.

Jake spun dramatically, wild-eyed. “Exactly! So when I walk in and hear her humming the post-coital anthem of joy, don’t expect me to sit quietly and sip tea!”

“You drink cold brew,” Heeseung said numbly.

Jake turned on him. “Don’t you dare correct me right now, Lee! You think you can just—just—have sex with her like it’s nothing? Like she’s just one of your carefully-scheduled board meetings? Bro, this isn’t a calendar event. This is a human woman! She’s the love of my platonic life!”

“Jake, oh my god,” you groaned.

“She’s not some emotionally available guinea pig you can use to test whether or not you’re capable of affection! She is smart, and kind, and sings weird songs when she’s nervous, and loves shitty takeout dumplings! She is—” Jake choked on his own rage. “She is MY best friend. Yea, she can be irritating. A little annoying. Doesn’t use a coaster. Loud as hell—”

“Get to the point.”

He pointed at Heeseung again. “BUT if you hurt her, I will haunt you. Alive.”

“…Still don’t know what any of this means,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t even blink. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

Then, softer, almost broken, “We want out. I don’t care if she doesn’t say it—I’m saying it. This arrangement? This fake dating thing? Over.”

You stared at him, guilt and panic knotting together in your stomach.

Jake took a breath. His voice cracked as he added, “You can’t just sleep with her and expect me not to beat your ass.”

He turned, ready to leave.

And muttered one last time under his breath:

“Levitating. Fuckin’ hell.”

Then walked out.

Slammed the door.

Left behind a room full of stunned silence and one emotionally derailed CEO.

Heeseung turned slowly to look at you.

“…You sing Levitating after sex?”

You groaned, face in your hands. “I’m never listening to Dua Lipa again.”

You and Heeseung exchanged a look.

Then together, without a word, you marched out of the office in search of one (1) dramatic, emotionally unstable Jake Sim. He hadn’t made it far—just outside the hallway, pacing and muttering to himself like he was trying to manifest a HR lawsuit.

You each grabbed an arm and yanked him back inside.

“Jake,” you said sweetly, too sweetly. “Jake Sim. My baby. My sweet, sweet emotional support delinquent.”

Heeseung stiffened beside you, maybe a little jealous. “Not loving the pet names, but okay.”

You ignored him. “Look. Fine, yes, Heeseung and I… slept together…but—”

Jake immediately slapped his hands over his ears. “Lalalalala—I do not need to hear about something that repulsive before I’ve had my first fucking meal of the day.”

“Let me finish! Jake. JAKE!” you swatted at his hands, trying to pry them off. “Jake Sim, you son of a—get your hands off your ears, you dramatic toddler!”

The two of you spiraled into a flailing, full-body slap-fight. It was mostly ineffective but very loud. You were pulling, he was twisting, there was shouting, and all the while Heeseung stood there watching like a war correspondent reporting live from the world’s most undignified domestic disaster.

“YEAH!” you shouted suddenly, loud enough to shake the windows. “YEAH, WE FUCKED!”

Jake froze.

“I’M TALKING FUCKED SO GOOD—”

“EW! Get your musty, dusty, grimy little goblin fingers off me, you unhinged FREAK!” Jake hissed, fighting you off like a wild animal.

“Okay,” Heeseung said quietly in the background, looking one emotional outburst away from leaving the country.

The wrestling match raged on until—

“OKAY!” Heeseung snapped, louder this time.

You and Jake both froze mid-grapple, hands still locked like a pair of tangled action figures.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. Then, leveling his gaze at Jake, he said, “Yes. We slept together.”

Jake narrowed his eyes like a detective about to call bullshit, “I—”

“But I’m not playing with her,” Heeseung said. “Despite what you think, this isn’t a joke. This isn’t some fake PR stunt. And it sure as hell isn’t a game.”

Jake folded his arms, jaw tight. “And why the hell should I believe you? Huh, Mr. Contract Clause Five No Touching? Mr. Emotionally Constipated CEO? Mr. Fake Dating Lying Bitch—”

“You really gotta stop calling everyone ‘bitch’ in this office,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t blink. “Bitch.”

You sighed so hard your soul briefly left your body.

But then—Heeseung took a step forward.

Calmer now. Firmer.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter this time. “I like her. A lot.”

Silence.

Complete. Deafening. Awkward silence.

Jake blinked.

You blinked.

Heeseung, for the first time in this entire conversation, looked… a little nervous.

“And I like her,” he said again. “As in—I want this to be real. If she’ll let it.”

Jake stared at him. Then looked at you.

You were too stunned to say anything.

Mouth slightly open.

Heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

“You…” You swallowed. “You like me? Like you find me attractive kind of like me or is this a friendship kind of thing…”

Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you—like he had been holding that in for longer than he’d ever admit. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sure and a little wrecked.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d just do what I did with anyone, did you?”

Your face burned. “I just assumed—”

“That I was emotionally void?”

“...Kind of?”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… full. Full of everything unsaid between the two of you. Full of five fake dates, one very real night, and every tiny glance in between.

He shifted a little closer, his tone softer now. Sincere.

“Look,” he said. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Barely a month, honestly. And maybe this wasn’t how either of us expected to start… anything. But if you’d let me—if you’re okay with it—I’d love to take you out.”

He smiled. Not the polished, press-ready one. A real one.

“For real this time.”

Before you could respond—

“Over my dead body!” Jake shrieked from the couch, hand dramatically raised like he was about to object in court.

You whipped your head around. “Jake Sim. I swear to God—” Your death glare could’ve ignited small fires.

Jake whimpered. Whimpered. And slowly sank back into the cushions like a chastised poodle.

You turned back to Heeseung, still breathless, still unsure if you were dreaming.

“So… we don’t have to lie anymore?” you asked. Voice small. Hopeful.

“This doesn’t have to be fake?”

Heeseung’s eyes were on you. Gentle. Steady. A little pink around the edges, like he was terrified you’d say no.

“No,” he said. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You exhaled. Slowly. Fully. Like you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath for days.

“So…” you leaned in slightly, tilting your head with the faintest grin. “You mean I can kiss you… without submitting a formal request?”

Heeseung smirked. “Correct.”

“And touch you without sending an email for approval?”

“You never had to do that.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You licked the top of my bubble tea straw in front of my boardroom.”

Jake groaned from the couch. “I’m going to vomit.”

You ignored him.

“So,” you said again, brushing your hand against Heeseung’s. “If this is real now…”

He turned his palm up. Laced his fingers with yours.

“Then maybe,” he murmured, eyes on your lips, “you should kiss me. No email. No contract. No Jake screaming.”

You smiled, heart fluttering somewhere near your throat.

And then, without another word, you leaned in—and Heeseung met you halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time.

It was a collision.

Weeks of tension, fake-flirting, lingering looks, and one very real night all combusting into one hungry, breath-stealing kiss. His hand cradled the back of your head, your fingers gripping onto the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt.

He deepened the kiss, your noses bumping, your breath catching, your entire body leaning into his like you were trying to erase every inch of space between you.

And then—

“Get me outta here.” Jake groaned loudly from the couch.

You broke apart, lips flushed, cheeks hot, both of you turning in perfect sync to glare at him.

Jake, as always, remained completely unfazed.

He sat up, stretched dramatically, then sauntered across the room, like he wasn’t the same person who just tried to commit CEO murder twenty minutes ago.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “About the whole ‘I quit’ thing…”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow.

Jake smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, I was kinda joking. Like. Performance art. Stress-induced drama. You get it.”

You crossed your arms. “You literally said ‘I want out, and I speak for both of us.’”

“Right, but I was speaking from a place of deep emotional instability.” He pointed at Heeseung. “So. Let’s all just call it even.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You screamed ‘bitch’ at me five times in a row.”

Jake held up a finger. “Technically three of those were about the situation, not you personally.”

You blinked. “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, smiling way too brightly. “I’m just saying—if I don’t get paid this week, I will marry a rich sugar daddy.”

You snorted. “Honestly? Kind of tempting.”

Jake pointed at you with full enthusiasm. “RIGHT? We could be a duo! I’ll make a spreadsheet. We’ll tag-team it—me and you, taking turns flirting with eligible old men at yacht clubs.”

Heeseung froze.

You blinked. “You made a spreadsheet?”

Jake nodded proudly. “I could make one that’s color-coded. We’ll have target age ranges, net worth minimums, and a calendar for shared sugar daddy rotations. If we get a two-for-one, I call dibs on the one with the villa in Capri.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was gripping his pen a little too tightly.

“Jake,” he said slowly, voice eerily calm. “You’re rehired.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.” Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Starting now. With a strict office policy: no more saying the word ‘bitch’…”

Jake opened his mouth.

“…Or sugar daddy.”

Jake frowned. “Is this a personal rule or an HR rule?”

“Yes.”

Jake squinted at him, then grinned with evil glee. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Heeseung said through clenched teeth.

Jake ignored him entirely, turning to you. “You think if I start dressing like you, I’ll get a CEO to kiss me on a rooftop?”

You smirked. “You gotta be more charming like me, dude”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’d get too attached. I’m more of a ‘ruin your life in a week and leave behind a playlist’ kind of guy.”

Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jake kept going. “Anyway, I’m free Thursday if you wanna start scouting sugar daddies in the CBD.”

“She’s not free Thursday,” Heeseung said flatly.

Jake blinked. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Heeseung looked right at him, then at you. “Because we have plans.”

You choked.

Jake grinned. “Oh, you’re so jealous.”

Heeseung leaned back, calm but dangerous. “And if you ever mention her dating anyone else again, you’ll be the first person I rehire just to fire.”

Jake raised both hands. “Damn. Okay. Y’all got real.”

He looked at you.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep sugar daddy scouting just in case this one implodes emotionally?”

You smiled sweetly. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

“Right, right. Leaving.” He paused dramatically at the door. “But if you change your mind—Villa. Capri. Matching linens.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence.

You turned to Heeseung. “You know he’s gonna keep this over your head, right?”

Heeseung looked at you—then, with the softest smile, pulled you closer.

“As if you could find a better sugar daddy than me.”

part 1

950 notes · View notes

chocochiffonnn · 3 months ago

Text

u talk, i listen

summary: you’re loud, dramatic, and one emotional spiral away from a breakdown. he’s quiet, calm, and allergic to unnecessary words. at first, you drive him insane but maybe that’s part of your charm. you make the chaos, and he makes sure you don’t burn the whole world down with it.

genre: fluff | hyper gf x calm bf

characters: sunghoon x f!reader

words: 13k

warnings: none i think!

The first time you met Park Sunghoon, you’re pretty sure he hates you.

To be fair, it was your first day, and Ni-ki—who you knew for exactly ten minutes—told you pressing the green button on the espresso machine would help "wake it up."

It did not.

Instead, it made the machine scream, shoot steam into your face, and sent you stumbling backward with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying goose. A tray of croissants nearly went down with you.

“OH MY GOD—Ni-ki!” a voice shrieked from somewhere near the pastry display.

You coughed, flailed, and possibly cried, when someone silently reached past you and switched the machine off with a flick of his wrist. No words. Just calm, collected competence. The kind that makes you feel even more like a human disaster.

You looked up—and saw him. Park Sunghoon.

He’s quiet. Like, unnervingly quiet. Dressed in black from head to toe with his sleeves rolled just enough to show his veins (rude), and eyes that flick to you once before looking away again. Not a single word. Just a blank expression like you’re a fly he’s choosing not to swat.

“Don’t mind him,” Sunoo said, swooping in with a comforting hand on your shoulder. “That’s Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not mean. I promise.”

“I didn’t say he was mean,” you muttered, still trying to rearrange the croissants you nearly obliterated.

“You thought it, though,” Sunoo grinned, like he’s already read your soul.

Meanwhile, Ni-ki was cackling in the corner, filming your breakdown for "training purposes."

Sunghoon, still wordless, wiped the steam wand clean, glanced once at the mess you’ve made, then—finally—muttered, “You shouldn’t listen to Ni-ki.”

His voice was soft, low. Dangerous. Like he only spoke when absolutely necessary.

You blinked. “Thanks for the early intel.”

He looked at you again. Longer this time.

And then, he walked away.

No other words. Just disappeared behind the back counter like you were the one who interrupted his day.

“…So anyway!” Sunoo chirped, practically dragging you away, “Let’s get you trained before you break anything else, hmm?”

You glanced back once, just in time to see Sunghoon glance over his shoulder at you.

He looked away first.

And for some reason… that annoyed you.

—

You’d worked four shifts now. Sunoo was basically your fairy godmother, Ni-ki was your unpaid therapist-slash-chaos agent, and Sunghoon?

Sunghoon was still a cardboard box with perfect skin.

He didn’t talk to you unless he had to. Didn’t smile unless he was laughing at something Sunoo said. Didn’t even look at you unless you were actively on fire, and even then, you weren’t sure he’d do more than mildly raise an eyebrow.

Which was extra annoying because somehow he was also weirdly funny. When he talked to Ni-ki or Sunoo, he’d drop the driest one-liners out of nowhere, and suddenly everyone was on the floor laughing. You tried to talk to him? Nothing. Crickets. Maybe a blink, if you were lucky.

You were cleaning the counter one evening when you caught him saying something to Ni-ki, low and casual, and Ni-ki absolutely lost it.

“Okay, that was actually good,” Sunoo wheezed. “Where was that energy earlier when she knocked over the milk?”

“She was already dying,” Sunghoon replied. “Didn’t need to bury her.”

Your head snapped up. “Excuse me?!”

He looked at you, slow and lazy, like he was surprised you heard. “It’s a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?”

He shrugged. “You’re resilient.”

You stared. “I—what—resilient?! I tripped over my own shoelace!”

“I noticed.”

Sunoo clapped a hand over his mouth like he was about to implode.

You blinked at Sunghoon. He blinked back.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re so—”

He lifted a brow. “You’re loud.”

You opened your mouth, but Sunoo threw an arm around your shoulders like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

“Okayyy! Let’s all take a breath,” he sang. “Some of us process friendship through gentle banter and others process it by… doing whatever it is Sunghoon does... verbal sparring?”

“I’m not sparring,” Sunghoon said, already walking away.

You glared at his back. “You never spar. You just vanish.”

“Exactly,” he called over his shoulder.

You looked at Sunoo. “I don’t get him.”

Sunoo just smiled. “You will.”

You really thought you wouldn’t—until God bestowed upon you a tragic prophecy, disguised as the café schedule for the following week.

Mon–Fri Closing Shift (5PM–11PM): YOU + SUNGHOON

You stared and blinked, rubbed your eyes, tried processing.

Sunghoon saw it at the same time you did.

“…No,” he said flatly.

You crossed your arms. “Wow. Good to see you too.”

“Sunoo,” he called toward the kitchen. “Switch me. Please.”

“Nope!” Sunoo’s voice floated back. “You’ll thank me later!”

You both stared at the schedule like it had personally offended you. Then—slowly—at each other.

This was going to be a long week.

—

Monday was… quiet.

You tried to make conversation—about the playlist, the new coffee beans, even the weather—but Sunghoon gave you absolutely nothing. Just a few nods and hums, like you were a podcast playing in the background.

You swore he spent more time restocking stirrers than actually speaking to you.

You huffed under your breath, finding him impossible to work with. The shift felt ten hours longer than it actually was, and you were convinced the silence was slowly killing your soul.

As the evening dragged on, you caught him sitting at the back counter, pulling out a laptop in between cleaning duties. You tried not to be nosy—but it was hard not to peek.

Tabs upon tabs of schoolwork were open on his screen—assignments, lecture slides, even a color-coded spreadsheet. You blinked. Huh. Sunghoon was more hardworking than you’d expected. You thought he was just the type to show up, do his job, and disappear back into the void—but here he was, typing away like the shift never even ended.

You munched on your dinner, a sad slice of pizza you grabbed from down the street during your break. The cheese had hardened and the crust was borderline cardboard, but it was food. You leaned against the counter, chewing quietly, when you realized—

Sunghoon hadn’t eaten anything. Not since the two of you started at five.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, fingers tapping against his keyboard, face unreadable in the glow of his screen.

You opened your mouth. “Hey, do you—” But you stopped yourself. Closed it again.

He’d probably just get annoyed. Or say no in that flat, disinterested way of his. And then you’d feel stupid. Still, you kept glancing over at him, stealing quick looks in between bites. At one point, you noticed his hands pressing lightly against his stomach, like he was trying to ignore it. His expression didn’t change, but the movement said enough.

He was probably hungry. You looked down at the last bite of pizza in your hand and sighed.

Tuesday, you decided, would be different.

Tuesday, you showed up with an extra sandwich from the convenience store.

You didn’t say anything. Just slid it across the counter around 7PM, because the night before, he hadn’t eaten dinner and you weren’t about to let him pass out mid-espresso pull.

He stared at the sandwich. Then at you.

You raised a brow. “You didn’t eat yesterday.”

He blinked. “…Okay.”

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t hear a thank you. But he didn’t give it back either.

Progress.

Wednesday, there was a cup of noodles in your locker.

Just sitting there. No note. No explanation. Just… sitting.

You marched up to Sunghoon, holding it in your hands like evidence. “Did you put this in my locker?”

He looked at the cup noodle. Then at you. Then blinked, deadpan. “…No.”

“Really.”

He shrugged.

You squinted at him.

He walked away.

You were this close to launching the noodle at the back of his head. Instead, you ate it. And maybe smiled. A little.

Thursday, you both brought each other dinner. At the same time.

You froze at the counter, holding out your plastic bag just as he set his down.

“…I got you something,” you said.

He stared at your bag. Then gestured to his. “So did I.”

You glanced at each other, at the food, and then away.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He nodded. “Mm.”

You caught the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth as he turned around.

You smiled too. But only when he wasn’t looking.

Friday, you didn’t expect anything. You were restocking the fridge when you heard it:

“Hey.”

You turned around, startled. “What?”

Sunghoon was standing there, one hand on the fridge door, the other in his pocket. His voice was quiet, like he was testing it out on you for the first time.

“I—uh,” he started, eyes flicking to yours, then away. “You always wear that hair clip. The pink one. With the sparkles.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “I thought it was dumb at first.”

“Okay…?”

“But now it’s kinda…” He paused, scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Cute, I guess.”

You stared at him.

“Forget it,” he muttered, moving past you.

“No wait,” you said, stepping into his path, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Did you just say I’m cute?”

He didn’t look at you. “I said the clip is cute.”

“That I’m wearing.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Sunghoon thinks I’m cute~” you sang, spinning in a circle while he groaned and walked away.

But you caught it—right before he turned around completely.

The smile. The real one.

And for the first time all week, you were pretty sure… he might have liked you back.

The silence didn’t feel heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable. Like a pause instead of a wall.

You were sweeping. He was mopping. The usual end-of-shift rhythm. You hummed a song under your breath—something from the café playlist that had been looping for hours. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just kept mopping in sync with you.

The air smelled like cleaning solution and vanilla syrup. The lights were dimmed to their soft closing hour glow. Outside, the city buzzed quietly under the street lamps.

Then you heard it—his voice. Low. Careful.

“I hear you’re starting college soon.”

You blinked, glancing up from your broom. He wasn’t looking at you, just focusing on a coffee stain near the back corner of the café.

“Yeah,” you said. “Orientation’s next week.”

He nodded once. “Same.”

You stopped sweeping. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded again, this time glancing at you. “Business major?”

“Yeah. Are you—”

“Same.”

You stared. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, mouth twitching like he couldn’t believe it either. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You couldn’t help it—you grinned. “Wow. And I thought this week was the end of my suffering.”

He smirked, just a little. “Mutual, believe me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks felt warm. “This is gonna be weird.”

“Probably.”

You leaned against your broom, tilting your head. “What if we get put in the same class?”

“I’ll transfer out.”

You laughed. Actually laughed. And the look on his face softened in that tiny, quiet way he did sometimes—like a blink-and-you-miss-it moment of fondness.

“So,” you said, brushing past him on your way to put the broom away, “does this mean we’re friends now?”

He paused. Looked at you.

Then—“You’re loud.”

You turned around, walking backward. “Not a no~”

He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t say no.

—

Your first day of college started in a lecture theatre that looked like it belonged in a movie.

Wide rows of tiered seats. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive screen at the front welcoming new students with a generic but oddly comforting "Welcome, Future Leaders!" banner.

You slid into a seat at the back row, instinctively avoiding the eager clusters forming near the front. It was still early, and the place buzzed with chatter, nerves, and the rustle of free tote bags and pamphlets.

You opened one of the pamphlets a student ambassador had handed you earlier and scanned it while sipping on the last of your bottled tea. Campus map. Co-curricular activities. After-school programmes. There was even a flowchart on how to balance academic and personal development. It was cheesy, but a part of you—the part that studied like hell to get here—felt… proud. You belonged here. You were surrounded by people who cared just as much as you did.

You let out a small sigh, the kind that came from contentment, then finally looked up—

And blinked.

Sunghoon was walking toward you.

Brown coat sweeping behind him. A scarf looped casually around his neck. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, framing his face in a way that made him look straight out of a campus brochure. He carried two cups of coffee in one hand, the sleeves of his coat pushed just enough to reveal the band of his watch.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just placed one of the cups in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at it. Then at him.

“…You stalking me now?”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You’re sitting in the back row. That’s the least stalkable seat.”

“Mm,” you hummed, smirking as you took the coffee anyway. “So you do want to be friends.”

He slid into the seat beside you. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You raised the cup. “Acts of service. Love language. I’m flattered.”

He gave you a look. “It’s just coffee.”

“And glasses,” you added, gesturing to his face. “You’re really committing to the college-boy aesthetic, huh? Next you’re gonna pull out a book of poetry.”

He rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his lip twitched like he was holding back a smile. “You’re annoying.”

You took a sip. It was warm. Slightly sweet. Exactly how you liked it.

“And yet,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “here you are.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead at the empty podium, his fingers wrapped around his own cup. But his shoulder stayed against yours—light, steady, unbothered.

And you… didn’t move away.

Then, the two of you were a part of a routine.

Ever since you both found out you were classmates, Sunghoon would wait in the apartment lobby every morning with a drink in hand—tea or coffee, depending on how late you texted him the night before.

Before 12AM? Chamomile. After 12? Iced latte, extra pumps of vanilla. No questions asked.

It had been a whole month of college, and while you were still adjusting, you were glad you had Sunghoon. (More like—Sunghoon was glad he had you.)

You were outgoing. People liked you, drawn in by your energy. Sure, you could be shy at first, but once you warmed up, you were easily the heart of any group. Loud. Expressive. A little dramatic. And though Sunghoon called you irritating more times than you could count, he couldn’t deny it was part of your charm.

Part of why he noticed you in the first place.

Now here you were—walking side by side, warm drink in hand, on your way to your first class of the day. You were mid-story about something ridiculous your professor said in a group chat. Sunghoon just walked quietly beside you, listening.

And somehow, that felt like the best part of your morning.

You were walking across the quad with Sunghoon, your cup in one hand, rambling about something dumb from class when a football came flying almost knocking you out.

A second later, a tall guy sprinted into your path, trying to catch it—and collided right into you.

You gasped, stumbling back, but before you could even register what happened, Sunghoon had already pulled you aside, his hand wrapping firmly around your arm, shielding you behind him.

“Shit—sorry!” the guy said, breathless, catching the ball. His cap was turned backwards, and strands of his hair stuck to his forehead from running. He looked at you, eyes wide. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes locking with his.

He smiled.

And for a moment, your heart stuttered.

He was cute. Really cute. Sharp jaw, dimpled grin, that kind of effortless charm that made you forget what you were saying.

“I—uh, yeah. All good,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon’s hand slowly dropped from your arm. You didn’t notice. You were still looking at Yeonjun.

He looked at you too. “I’m Yeonjun, by the way.”

You smiled, just a little. “Nice to meet you.”

Sunghoon stood still beside you, silent as ever.

But he saw it.

The look. The smile. The way you laughed, a little softer than usual. The way Yeonjun’s eyes lingered when he handed you back the drink you almost dropped.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

He just looked away.

—

Yeonjun showed up at the café on a Friday afternoon, all sunshine and charm, and you were too busy juggling orders to notice him at first—until he waved from the counter with that same boyish smile.

Your eyes lit up. “Oh my god—hey!”

He leaned over casually, glancing at the menu. “Didn’t know you worked here. I guess I’ll have to stop by more often.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Sunghoon sat at a corner table with a textbook open in front of him and an untouched iced americano beside it. According to him, he was there to study. According to Sunoo, he was there to “keep an eye out for Selenur.” (Sunoo’s thoughtful codename for you, since he was very sure Sunghoon had a “thing” for you)

Sunghoon told him to shut up.

Now, he watched silently as you and Yeonjun exchanged numbers, your head tilted toward the screen, smile wide. He saw Yeonjun grin, say something that made you laugh, and hand you his phone.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.

Not my problem, he told himself, eyes flicking back to his textbook. Not. My. Problem.

You walked over seconds later, practically skipping, still holding your phone like it was made of gold. “Can you believe it? He asked me out!”

Sunghoon didn’t look up.

You slid into the seat across from him anyway, hitting his arm repeatedly with giddy little slaps. “Sunghoon. He asked. Me. Out!”

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. “Stop hitting me.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, not sorry at all. “I’m just excited!”

He watched you bounce in your seat, hair bouncing with you, eyes sparkling like you just won the lottery. He hated to admit how adorable you looked when you were like this. But he had a reputation. And emotions. And he was firmly committed to ignoring both.

Still. Something didn’t sit right.

Sunghoon had done a little digging after the football incident. Nothing crazy. Just… a casual scroll through Instagram. And maybe a few archived posts. Some comments. A look at mutuals. Purely for research.

Yeonjun was a third-year business major. A senior. Popular. Handsome. And according to a few posts Sunghoon definitely did not save—someone who changed girlfriends like he changed outfits.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like him.

Not for you.

But what did he know?

He looked down, turning a page in his textbook. Not my problem, he chanted in his head.

Definitely not.

—

Sunghoon stood in the apartment lobby, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order. He checked his phone for the time, glanced toward the elevator—then froze.

You stepped out, smile already bright, your phone in one hand and the hem of your dress held lightly in the other. It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen you wear—soft fabric that fell just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist, the color making your skin glow. Your hair was styled, subtle makeup dusted across your cheeks, and your lips were curved in that effortless way that made it suddenly very hard to breathe.

You looked… gorgeous.

His heart did something stupid in his chest, but he quickly cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the vending machine.

“How do I look?” you asked, voice playful.

He didn’t meet your eyes. “The same,” he muttered.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Do I?”

You sighed, and he heard the disappointment in it—saw the way your shoulders dropped just slightly.

Guilt hit him instantly.

“In a good way,” he added quickly, almost too quickly.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He finally looked at you, then down at the coffee he was still holding. “You look… pretty today.”

He cleared his throat and shoved the cup toward you before you could say anything else. Then he turned and started walking first, trying to escape the inevitable teasing.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, you smiled behind your cup and jogged up to walk beside him.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked after a few beats of silence.

“My date with Yeonjun’s today,” you said with a grin.

His step faltered for a split second. “You like him that much?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know about like, but… it’s just—I’ve never been asked out before.”

You tilted your head as you said it, your voice soft. Honest.

Sunghoon frowned. “I’m surprised.”

“What’s so surprising?” you laughed. “You’ve met me. Everyone’s either calling me loud or annoying.”

“Isn’t that what’s so charming about you?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You turned to him, eyes wide, mouth parting. “Did you just—compliment me?”

“No,” he said immediately, gaze fixed ahead like it never happened.

You didn’t press it.

You just smiled again, even softer this time, and walked beside him like nothing had changed.

But for Sunghoon… everything had.

—-

The date started off… nice. Not mind-blowing. Not movie-level magical. But nice.

Yeonjun took you to a rooftop café near campus—fairy lights strung across the ceiling, soft music humming under the chatter. He pulled your chair out like a gentleman, complimented your dress, and told you you looked beautiful in the golden hour light. You laughed, cheeks warm, nerves fluttering. You weren’t used to this. To being seen.

“You know,” he said between sips of his coffee, “I heard you got into the business faculty because of some competition?”

You nodded, a little surprised. “Yeah. The Young Entrepreneurs’ thing in my final year.”

“That’s so impressive,” he said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “You must have had a really solid proposal. What was it about?”

You blinked. “Um… a sustainable student-run café model. With profit-sharing incentives and local sourcing.”

Yeonjun’s smile widened. “That’s genius. Seriously. Are you using it for any of your current modules?”

You hesitated. “Well… sort of. I’m reworking the model for this semester’s proposal project.”

He nodded slowly. “Wow. You must be at the top of your class already.”

There was a pause. You tried to smile, but something twisted in your gut. He kept asking—about the proposal, your outline, your ideas. Details most people would only bring up if they were in your group, or at least interested in the topic.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. The second the door closed behind you, you leaned against the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something about this didn’t feel right. You couldn’t place it, but the way he kept circling back to your work felt… off.

When you returned, Yeonjun was all smiles again. Charming. Sweet. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just gently interrogated you for thirty minutes under the glow of fairy lights.

You tried to shake it off.

The next day, your phone stayed quiet. And the day after that. And the one after that, too.

No texts. No calls. No explanation.

Yeonjun ghosted you. Completely. Like the date never happened. Like you never happened.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t like you were in love with him. That it was just one date. One boy.

But it still stung.

It wasn’t about Yeonjun, not really. It was about what it made you wonder.

Maybe you were hard to like. Maybe you were too loud. Or too awkward. Maybe you talked too much, or didn’t say the right things. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Or cool enough. Or quiet enough.

He smiled at you. Told you you were smart. Sweet. Pretty. And still—he left. Without a word.

And it made you wonder if all the things people always said about you were true. If deep down, you were too much of everything… and not enough of anything.

You didn’t even like Yeonjun like that, not really. But being left behind like you didn’t matter—that part hurt more than you'd ever admit out loud.

Especially when all you did was try to be yourself.

Then came the worst part.

You were working on a different assignment, digging through your laptop for a reference doc when you realized… your final business proposal was gone.

Completely gone.

You stared at the empty folder for a long, frozen second. Then searched again. And again. You turned the whole desktop inside out, but the file wasn’t there.

Panic bloomed in your chest. You didn’t delete it. You never would.

Desperate, you made your way to the engineering block where your friend Heeseung was camped out, headphones around his neck and an energy drink half-empty beside him.

You dropped beside him and wordlessly shoved your laptop in front of him.

“I think my file’s gone,” you muttered. “Like—gone gone.”

Heeseung frowned, pulling the laptop toward him. Fingers flying across the keyboard. You sat still, breath caught in your throat.

After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair.

“It says here your laptop’s last file access was through a thumbdrive. Someone plugged one in, moved your business proposal, then took it out.”

You stared at him.

“What?” you said. Your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked again, tilting the screen. “Time stamp says it happened the day before yesterday. Around 8:42 PM.”

Your mind flicked back.

Yeonjun. That was the night of your date.

No. No way. He wouldn’t— He couldn’t—

But the timing fit. The questions. The ghosting.

No. No fucking way.

—

You were pissed.

You wiped the counters with a little too much force, angrily scrubbing at invisible stains like they personally betrayed you. The blender hadn’t even been used today, but you cleaned it twice. You huffed. You sighed. You muttered curses under your breath while flinging dishrags and slamming cabinet doors just a bit harder than necessary.

Sunghoon stood at the sink, quietly washing mugs like you were a rabid animal he didn’t want to startle.

“I—” he started.

You grunted.

“You—”

You sighed.

He blinked. You hadn’t let him get out a full sentence all shift. At this point, you were acting like him, and he was the one trying to initiate conversation.

It was terrifying.

Thirty minutes of silence passed before you finally spoke.

“You know what I hate about men?”

Sunghoon froze mid-dry. He glanced down at his own very male hands. Great. He was framed by default.

“You people,” you said, voice rising, “and your terrible innate sense of justice.”

You slammed the rag down onto the counter. “Stealing a person’s work? Pfft. How stupid do you have to fucking be?!”

Sunghoon stayed quiet, lips pressed into a thin line. He had no idea what you were going on about—only that your date with Yeonjun clearly didn’t go well.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you waved a wet dishcloth in his face like a white flag of fury.

“And you know what else?” you went on, eyes blazing. “You people are just little gremlins who take. And take. And take.”

You let out another heavy sigh, leaning against the counter like you were carrying the weight of all modern betrayal.

“And for what?!”

Your voice hit a pitch so sharp that Sunghoon actually flinched. He snapped upright like you’d physically struck him.

“I’m guessing the date didn’t go so well?” he offered carefully.

“He stole my business proposal.”

Sunghoon paused. “…What do you mean?”

You exhaled through your nose like a dragon mid-breakdown, pacing the space behind the counter as you told him everything. The date. The weird questions. The missing file. The thumb drive. Heeseung’s diagnosis. The awful, dawning realization.

By the time you were finished, Sunghoon just stood there—speechless. Stunned.

“He’s an… asshole,” he said finally, slow and deliberate, like he needed to taste each word before letting it out.

“Yuhuh,” you mumbled, flopping into the stool behind the register and dragging your hands down your face. “What am I gonna do? The deadline’s on Friday. I spent two weeks on that thing. I’m screwed.”

Sunghoon reached for the industrial bag of coffee beans under the counter, tearing it open like this was a normal Tuesday. “Well, it’s not like you can sneak into his house and steal his laptop back.”

You froze.

“…Come again?”

Sunghoon paused, one hand still buried in the bag. “No. That was just a comment. Not an idea.”

“But a good one.” You turned toward him slowly, a little too bright. A little too smiley.

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“You have to help me.”

“Why me?!”

“Because you gave me the idea!”

Sunghoon sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Like he already knew he was going to give in but had to fight for the sake of his pride.

“You’re lucky I don’t believe in karma,” he muttered.

You grinned, victory written all over your face. “So that’s a yes?”

—

It was 3:07AM when Sunghoon found himself walking through a quiet residential street, questioning every decision that had brought him to this point.

The address you’d sent him earlier lit up on his screen. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, exhaling into the chilly night, when—

“Psst!”

He turned his head toward a cluster of trees—and nearly jumped out of his skin.

You were crouched behind a bush, donned in an all-black ensemble: black beanie, oversized black hoodie, black jeans, and…

“Slippers?” he blinked.

You grinned, proud. “I see you noticed the vibe. I’m dressed up as a burglar.”

Sunghoon stared. “…Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“Isn’t it cute?” you whispered, excited. “I got it all on sale just now.”

“At what? A Target for burglars?”

You swatted his chest with the back of your hand, ignoring the way he flinched with a low sigh.

“There,” you said, pointing toward the modest two-story house across the street. “That’s his house.”

“Okay, and what’s your—” You swat him again.

“Our plan?” he corrected, exasperated.

You beamed. “Glad you asked. See that room on the second floor? With the string lights and the cracked window?”

He squinted. “Yeah?”

“My intel says that’s his room.”

“…Your intel. You mean, Sunoo?”

“Yes.” You wiggled your brows mysteriously before turning serious. “So. We put up the ladder. I climb. I sneak in. I get the laptop. We disappear.”

“You’re actually insane for this,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored him, eyes locked on the prize. “The windows are open, and I made sure he’s distracted tonight.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “How exactly?”

“I texted him from a fake number pretending to be a girl he ghosted last semester. He’s currently having a breakdown about his ‘reputation.’ I give us twenty minutes.”

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

And then he sighed. Deep. Long. Existential.

Is this worth it? He thought to himself.

He glanced down at you again—eyes full of unhinged determination, your hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists, that tiny pout on your lips as you tried to judge the ladder distance.

God. You looked ridiculous. And cute.

So yeah. It was worth it.

“…Let’s do this,” he said.

You grinned like the gremlin you were. “I knew you liked me.”

He rolled his eyes, cheeks just a little too warm. “Regretting this already.”

But he followed you anyway.

—

You set the ladder against the side of the house like you’d done this before. Sunghoon, meanwhile, stood beside it with the stiff posture of someone definitely not okay with committing a crime at 3:15AM.

You looked back at him. “Hold it steady, okay?”

“Just… for the record,” he muttered, “this is breaking and entering.”

“I prefer the term justice retrieval.”

He sighed so hard you thought his soul left his body. “Just don’t fall and die. Please.”

You winked. “Aw, you care.”

“No, I just don’t want to explain to the police why you’re dressed like a criminal and wearing slippers.”

You began to climb.

The first few steps were fine—until one of your slippers nearly slipped right off.

“Oh, fuck—” you hissed, gripping the ladder.

“Do you need to wear those?” Sunghoon whisper-yelled from below, clutching the base of the ladder like his life depended on it.

“They’re comfy!”

“They’re a hazard.”

You ignored him, determined, as you reached the second-floor window. The breeze fluttered through the half-open pane, moonlight pooling gently across Yeonjun’s empty room. His laptop sat on the desk, closed. Glowing faintly.

Target acquired.

You carefully pushed the window open wider and swung one leg through.

Sunghoon watched from below, jaw tight, muttering to himself like a man saying his last prayers. “This is how I go down. Helping a girl in bunny slippers commit theft.”

You managed to slide inside without knocking anything over. Heart pounding. Hands slightly shaking.

You tiptoed across the carpet, grabbed the laptop, and slipped it into your drawstring bag like the world's most underqualified spy.

You were halfway back out the window when—

“HEY! WHO’S THERE?!”

A voice rang out from somewhere downstairs.

Your eyes widened. You turned to look down at Sunghoon, who was still grabbing the bottom of the ladder.

“Go, go, go—!” you whispered harshly.

You clambered down the ladder as fast as you could, nearly taking Sunghoon out as you reached the bottom. He caught your wrist before you could stumble, pulling you into a sprint without a word.

Your feet pounded against the pavement—slippers slapping, bag bouncing, hearts racing. Behind you, a door slammed open.

“HEY!” Yeonjun’s voice echoed into the street.

Sunghoon didn’t slow down. “Left!” he hissed.

You turned sharply, ducking into a narrow alley between two quiet apartment buildings. The shadows swallowed you both instantly.

“Over here—quick,” he muttered, yanking you behind a large trash bin and squeezing into the tight space beside you. It was small. Barely enough for one person, let alone two.

You pressed your back to the wall, chest heaving, adrenaline thrumming in your ears.

Sunghoon’s face was too close. Way too close.

You turned to whisper something, only to notice the way his profile was still partially visible, his cheek nearly poking out past the safety of the shadow. Panic surged through you as Yeonjun’s footsteps grew louder.

Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s face—gentle but urgent—and pulled him toward you, forcing him deeper into the corner.

He blinked, startled, his hands landing on either side of you to steady himself.

And suddenly—everything stopped.

His breath hit yours. Warm. Shaky. His nose nearly brushing yours. Your fingertips still on his cheek. You could feel the heat rising between your bodies, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You were so focused on listening for footsteps that you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you.

His eyes were locked on yours, soft and unblinking. Like you were something precious. Something fragile. Something he wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t help reaching for.

But then—he cleared his throat.

You blinked, still slightly dazed, and smiled—completely unaware of how close you were until you finally pulled away.

He stepped back the moment you did.

You laughed, breathless, heart still sprinting inside your chest. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“I can’t believe you dragged me into it,” he said, grinning despite himself.

Your laughter echoed down the alley, light and free and bubbling with triumph.

And even as the moment passed, and the footsteps faded, and you both stumbled back out into the quiet night—

Sunghoon couldn’t stop thinking about how your hands had felt on his skin.

—

Sunghoon unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment as if nothing about the situation was even remotely unusual. You followed close behind, hoodie pulled low over your head, black beanie snug, sleeves covering your hands, and—most incriminating of all—a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers completing the look. If anyone had seen you on the way over, they might’ve called the cops.

Inside, the living room was dimly lit, the glow of the TV casting flickering light across Jake and his girlfriend, who were curled up under a blanket, halfway through a rom-com rerun and clearly deep into their peaceful little couple night. That peace shattered the moment Jake looked up and saw you.

He froze with a chip halfway to his mouth. His girlfriend stiffened beside him. Their gazes locked on your all-black ensemble, eyes trailing from your hoodie to your slippers, as if unsure whether to scream, laugh, or call for help.

“Sunghoon,” Jake said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Why is there a burglar in our house?”

You smiled brightly, completely unfazed. “Hi!”

Jake blinked, turning to Sunghoon for confirmation. Sunghoon simply sighed, kicked his shoes off, and muttered under his breath, “Not how I wanted you to meet her.”

“You brought her to the house,” Jake said, still staring. “At 3 a.m. Dressed like that.”

You shrugged, strolling toward the desk and pulling Yeonjun’s laptop from your drawstring bag. “We’re breaking into a computer, not the house. Totally different vibe.”

Jake’s girlfriend leaned forward. “Are those bunny slippers?”

You nodded proudly. “They’re for stealth.”

“Right,” she said, blinking. “Very… quiet.”

Sunghoon dropped his keys on the table with a sigh, already preparing himself for the chaos about to unfold.

“She’s trying to hack into a guy’s laptop,” he said, walking to the kitchen like he needed caffeine and therapy at once. “Don’t ask.”

“Why are you helping her?!” Jake asked, scandalized.

Sunghoon opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’m not.”

“You literally held the ladder for me twenty minutes ago,” you called over your shoulder.

Jake choked. “Ladder? What ladder?!”

You turned around, laptop booted up, the login screen glowing faintly. “The one I used to climb through a second-story window.”

Jake gaped. His girlfriend quietly set the chip bag down, her expression somewhere between horrified and fascinated.

“I love her,” she whispered to Jake.

“I fear her,” Jake whispered back.

Sunghoon leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. He looked at you—messy hair peeking out from under your beanie, eyes focused, face lit by the laptop screen. Completely unbothered by the scene you’d walked into.

And for some reason, despite all the madness, he still thought you looked kind of cute.

“God help us all,” Sunghoon muttered.

By the time you cracked into the laptop, Jake and his girlfriend had already retreated into their bedroom. Sunghoon had closed the door behind them with a roll of his eyes and a muttered, “That’s just code for they’re about to smash, so we should probably play some music or something.”

You’d snorted at the time, but now the silence in the room felt heavy.

The soft hum of the laptop was the only sound between you, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor next to Sunghoon’s desk. He sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms loosely folded, eyes flicking over the screen with quiet interest—until he glanced at your expression and realized you’d stopped scrolling.

“What is it?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes were fixed on the folder open in front of you. Document after document lined the screen, all titled neatly with class names and—oddly—names. Different ones.

Mina. Elly. Jisoo. Grace.

And then… your name.

You clicked on it. Your proposal opened, just slightly reworded, your diagrams rearranged—but it was yours. Every piece of it.

You stared at the screen and crossed your arms tightly, a cold knot settling in your chest. The adrenaline was gone now. In its place was something much heavier. You felt small. Humiliated.

“I was just another one,” you muttered.

Sunghoon looked over, brows drawing together.

“Just another girl he got close to for an assignment,” you said, voice flat. “Was I that boring? That forgettable? Was I really so—unlikable—that the only time a guy showed me attention, it was because he needed my fucking work?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head as the words tumbled out, unfiltered. “God. What is wrong with me? What did I think was gonna happen? That someone like him actually liked someone like me?”

You let your arms drop and folded your hands over your face, pressing your palms into your eyes.

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close but not touching, eyes fixed on the floor like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say and coming up completely empty.

You wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, but it was no use—your mascara had already betrayed you, running in streaks down your cheeks. You were crying harder than you realized, tears silent but relentless.

You turned to him, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “So you’re just gonna stay quiet?”

He looked up, startled. His gaze met yours, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. You looked—God, you looked like a mess. Eyes red, lashes damp, your hoodie sleeves pushed up unevenly, and cheeks stained with tears.

And somehow, he thought you’d never looked prettier.

You weren’t pretending. Weren’t smiling for the sake of others or hiding behind jokes. You were just… you. Raw and hurting and real.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say? I’m not good at comforting people.”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled. “Say he’s an asshole or something.”

Sunghoon shrugged a little. “Well, he is.”

You looked at him, still waiting, unsure if that was all he had in him. He looked like he was about to say more, and then—he did.

“He is an asshole,” Sunghoon repeated, louder this time. “I don’t know why you even agreed to go out with him.”

You opened your mouth, confused. “I—”

“You’re loud,” he said suddenly. “You’re pretentious. You’re annoying—”

Your eyes widened, and you flinched.

“What—”

“You interrupt people all the time,” he continued, voice rising with something that wasn’t quite anger—something messier. “You talk too much. You never stop moving. You’re chaotic and stubborn and you don’t think things through—”

Tears were streaming down your face again, this time faster. You looked away, chest tightening.

But then his voice softened.

“...And you’re also caring. Kind. God, you’re the only person I know who goes to the store at four in the morning to feed stray cats in an alley every two days.”

You blinked. Slowly turned back to him.

Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re funny. You’re thoughtful. You remember the little things people say even when they forget they said them. Anyone would be lucky to be your friend… let alone always be with you.”

He looked at you then, eyes steady and full of something warm. Something aching.

“I’m lucky,” he said, quieter now. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive, as long as I get to stand next to you and call you my friend.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, lips parted, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

Because for the first time… it felt like he wasn’t just calling you a friend.

—

Maybe it was the crying. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the night—the heist, the heartbreak, the sudden unraveling of every thought you’d kept tucked neatly away. Maybe it was the way Sunghoon had looked at you when he said he was lucky.

But either way, you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

One moment you were sitting beside him, the warmth of his words still lingering in your chest like a quiet heartbeat. The next, the world had blurred softly at the edges, and your body gave out beneath the weight of it all.

So now, you were on his back.

He’d barely hesitated before lifting you, tucking your arms around his shoulders and hooking his arms under your knees. You didn’t even protest—you were too tired to argue, too comforted by the way he held you like he’d done it before.

Your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he walked, the rhythmic sway of his steps, the subtle hum of a tune you didn’t recognize—but it was sweet, and low, and made your heartbeat slow down.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just walked.

Past the quiet streets. Past flickering streetlamps. Past your favorite corner store and the alley you fed cats in and the bus stop where he first bought you coffee.

He didn’t complain about your weight. Didn’t tease. Didn’t say a word about the mascara smudged against the fabric of his coat.

You didn’t know if he knew you were still half-awake, but when he gently adjusted your leg, you heard him murmur so softly you almost missed it:

“You’re not stupid.”

Your heart ached.

And then you let sleep take you.

Because if there was ever a place to rest— It was here. On his back.

—

You woke up warm.

Too warm, actually. Wrapped in layers you didn’t remember putting on. The hoodie you had on last night clung loosely to your body, sleeves pushed halfway up your arms, and your slippers were neatly placed by the side of your bed—something you definitely hadn’t done.

You sat up slowly, blinking at the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Your room was quiet. Peaceful. And completely unfamiliar in the sense that… you had no idea how you got there.

You rubbed your eyes, your body aching in the most confusing way—like you’d run a marathon, cried through an entire movie, and fought off an emotional breakdown all at once. Oh. Right.

The heist. The yelling. The crying.

Sunghoon.

You swung your legs off the bed, still a little dazed, and padded out of your room.

That’s when you smelled it—eggs. Butter. Something slightly burnt, but in a way that made your chest tighten.

You turned the corner and froze.

Sunghoon was in your kitchen.

His hair was messier than usual, falling into his eyes as he stood in front of the stove, flipping something that might have once been a pancake. He was wearing the same hoodie from the night before, sleeves pushed up, a spatula in one hand, your mismatched cat-print apron tied haphazardly around his waist.

You blinked, brain short-circuiting. “What the hell…?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re awake.”

“I…” You looked down at yourself. “How did I get home?”

“You passed out,” he said simply, turning back to the stove. “I carried you.”

You stared at him. “You carried me?”

“Like a princess,” he deadpanned. “Except you drooled on my shoulder.”

You gasped. “I did not.”

“You did.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

He flipped another pancake—slightly more edible this time—and shrugged. “You needed the sleep.”

You looked up at him again, softer this time. “Why are you making breakfast?”

He didn’t look at you. “Felt like you could use something warm.”

You felt your throat tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words sat too heavy on your tongue. So instead, you just stood there in the doorway, watching him quietly.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks—you felt safe.

Breakfast passed in silence.

Not awkward, not heavy—just... silent. The kind of silence that settled like sunlight through the window, warm and gentle and unspoken.

You sat across from him at your little dining table, your knees brushing every so often beneath the wood, your plate mostly untouched. He ate like nothing was different, like he hadn’t carried you home last night, like he didn’t make pancakes in your kitchen while wearing your cat-print apron.

And yet, something had shifted.

You kept stealing glances at him in between tiny sips of orange juice. The way his lashes dipped as he focused on his food. The subtle curve of his mouth as he chewed. The way his hair curled just slightly at the ends when he didn’t style it.

Your heart fluttered.

Your stomach twisted—but not in the way it did when you were nervous or sad. This was... different. Lighter. Warmer.

What is this? you thought. This weird, floaty feeling in your chest. This little ache every time you looked at him.

Sunghoon glanced up, catching your gaze.

You quickly looked down at your plate.

He didn’t say anything for a moment—just reached for his cup, took a sip, then set it down with a quiet clink.

“Go take a shower and get dressed,” he said casually.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He leaned back in his chair. “You heard me.”

“But it’s Saturday. I don’t have any—”

“I’m taking you out.”

You stared at him. “Out? Like… out out?”

“Let’s go,” he said again, nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just casually turned your whole world upside down with three words.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh,” you said. Quiet. Surprised.

Sunghoon stood and collected your plate like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m not giving you the plan. Just go shower.”

And then he walked off toward the sink, sleeves rolled, calm as ever.

You sat there for another ten seconds, frozen, heart racing.

What is this feeling?

And why did you suddenly never want it to stop?

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of your yellow chiffon babydoll dress for the third time. It swayed lightly around your thighs, soft and airy, the color bright against your skin. You’d tied your hair into two loose pigtails, hoping it came off cute and not childish—just… soft. Sweet. Something that might look good next to him.

Sunghoon, with his wardrobe of tailored coats and muted sweaters. All clean lines and high-end simplicity. He never had to try, and he always looked perfect.

You hoped—just a little—that standing beside him, you wouldn’t look too out of place.

You took one last look in the mirror, then stepped out of your room.

He was sitting on your couch, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling casually through his phone like he hadn’t just changed your entire Saturday morning. He looked up when he heard your footsteps.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

Then back down to his phone.

No double-take. No compliment. Not even a blink.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up with a stretch.

You stared at him, jaw tight. “Stupid idiot,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that?” he asked, turning toward you, brows raised.

You plastered on a fake smile so quickly it nearly hurt. “Nothing.”

He watched you for a beat, unreadable as always, then looked away.

“You look pretty,” he said softly—so quiet it was almost drowned out by the rustle of his coat sleeve as he reached for his keys.

You blinked.

But before you could respond, he was already walking toward the door, acting like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Typical Sunghoon.

Your heart fluttered anyway.

—

“Are we there yet?” you sighed for what had to be the fifteenth time.

Sunghoon didn’t look at you—just kept walking ahead with that maddeningly steady pace. “Almost,” he said.

“You said that two hours ago.”

“Mm.”

Just a hum. No explanation. No sympathy.

You followed anyway, flats sinking further into the mud with every step. You’d taken two buses, a ten-minute train ride, and now you were walking deep into a part of the park you didn’t recognize at all. Far from your neighborhood. Far from everything.

You glanced down at your shoes, now spotted with dirt and regret. This dress, the hair, the whole effort—you were starting to think it had all been a mistake.

Then Sunghoon’s pace suddenly picked up. His eyes lit up, focused on something just beyond the next turn.

“There,” he said softly.

And before you could ask what he meant, he reached for your hand—sudden, unthinking—and pulled you with him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

His hand was warm, firm around yours, fingers interlaced like it had always been that way.

You didn’t say a word. Just followed.

He led you past a line of trees, through tall grass, and down a narrow slope. Then finally—you saw it.

A small, glimmering pond hidden in a clearing. The water was still, mirror-like, catching the soft gold of the late afternoon sun. Willow trees bent low over the banks, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Wildflowers bloomed in quiet clusters along the edge—lilac, yellow, soft blue—and dragonflies skimmed the water’s surface, their wings catching the light like tiny stained-glass windows. It was quiet. Peaceful. Untouched.

Like something out of a fairytale.

You stared, mouth slightly parted. “How’d you even—how’d you find this place?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just stood beside you, still holding your hand loosely.

“When I was younger,” he said after a moment, voice softer than usual, “my family came here for a vacation. My sister and I snuck out one morning and found this by accident.”

You glanced over at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just at the water, like it still held something sacred.

“I used to take her here when she cried,” he continued, “whenever she got scolded by our mum. I don’t know... it always calmed her down.”

You smiled, quietly listening.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed under his breath, the sound light, almost shy.

“It’s silly,” he said, eyes still on the pond. “But last night, when you were crying…”

You looked at him then—really looked at him.

His expression was unreadable, caught between memory and now. He glanced at you finally, voice quieter.

“You reminded me of my childhood. Of her. You looked so… innocent.” He gave a faint, crooked smile. “And maybe I thought this place would cheer you up.”

Your chest ached in the most unexpected way.

Not from sadness. Not even from joy.

Just from the quiet knowing that someone had thought of you that deeply.

You looked down again at your joined hands.

Still holding. Still warm.

The two of you made your way closer to the water, weaving past the low-hanging branches until you found a flat patch of grass near the edge. You sat down carefully, smoothing the fabric of your dress beneath you, your feet dangling just above the still surface of the pond.

Sunghoon dropped beside you, resting his arms lazily on his knees, legs slightly apart, sneakers almost brushing the water. The breeze was cooler here, brushing your cheeks with the scent of wildflowers and grass. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of cicadas, and the quiet ripples of the pond.

He didn’t speak.

Of course he didn’t.

You’d grown used to his silences. They weren’t cold, or distant—not really. They were just… Sunghoon. Thoughtful. Still. The kind of quiet that made you want to fill the space, not because it was empty, but because he made you feel safe enough to.

So you talked.

About everything. About nothing.

You told him about the weird dreams you’d been having lately, about the girl in your class who kept trying to copy your notes, about how you once tried to bake cookies for your primary school crush and forgot the sugar. You pointed out shapes in the clouds. Gave names to the dragonflies. Talked about the playlist you made for a fictional road trip you hadn’t taken yet.

And Sunghoon?

He just listened.

Not distracted. Not fake-listening like some people did, nodding along while their mind was elsewhere.

He listened with his whole body. Slight tilts of his head. The way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The quiet little hums when something made him laugh. The barely-there smile when you said something completely ridiculous.

You kicked your feet gently above the water.

“Sorry,” you said at some point, half-laughing. “I talk too much when you’re quiet.”

He shook his head slowly, still looking out over the pond. “I like it.”

You blinked. “You do?”

“You talk like you’re alive,” he said softly.

You turned to look at him.

His expression was unreadable, gaze fixed somewhere across the water. But his voice—his voice sounded like truth.

Your heart beat a little faster. You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to will the blush away.

The two of you had been sitting there for a while now, feet dangling over the edge of the pond, sunlight dancing on the surface of the water. You’d done most of the talking—naturally—and Sunghoon had just sat beside you, quietly listening like always, eyes half-lidded from the warmth, arms resting lazily over his knees.

You were halfway through a very dramatic retelling of the vending machine incident from earlier in the week when something soft landed on your head.

You paused, blinking. “Did something just…?”

Before you could reach up to check, Sunghoon leaned in.

His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing through your hair with careful precision. You stilled completely. He was close—closer than usual—and the moment stretched, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.

His face hovered just inches from yours, eyes focused as he plucked a single pink petal from your hair. The breeze tugged at your dress, your heart did a weird little somersault, and your brain short-circuited trying to process the proximity.

You barely dared to breathe. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and soft. He didn’t move away.

And somehow, your mind made the leap.

Oh my god. He’s going to kiss me.

Your heart leapt. You shut your eyes without thinking, every nerve in your body suddenly very, very aware of the shape of his mouth and the way your knees were touching.

But instead of a kiss, you got—

A throat clear.

You opened your eyes to find Sunghoon leaning back like nothing happened, examining the flower petal with the clinical interest of someone assessing a grocery receipt. Like he hadn’t just completely hijacked your central nervous system.

You blinked at him, heat flooding your face.

He glanced up, clearly fighting back a smirk. “Did you just—”

“No.” Your answer was immediate. Loud. Defensive.

“I didn’t even finish my senten—”

“Shut up.” You whirled on him, hands flying dramatically as the full force of your embarrassment took over. “You scooted so close to me, and you leaned in and, and I—I didn’t know what to expect, okay?!”

Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled, lips twitching. “I was taking a petal out of your hair.”

“You took your sweet time, that’s what you did,” you huffed, arms flailing now. “God, you and your–cold–cold boy exterior. I can’t read your face! You could be about to kiss me or about to tell me my card got declined, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that made your chest ache a little. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Excuse me for assuming I was about to have a romantic moment by a magical pond with a boy who—”

He reached forward suddenly, both hands cupping your cheeks, and you froze mid-rant.

The world slowed.

His palms were warm. Gentle. Holding your face like you were made of something delicate. You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Then his voice came, low and steady.

“Do you want me to?”

Your words died in your throat. Your heart thundered somewhere behind your ribs.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure what to say.

He didn’t press. Just looked at you with that infuriating, calm expression—the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was teasing you or being completely serious.

And somehow, that only made you fall harder.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“I—” you tried.

Sunghoon waited.

You panicked. “You took way too long with the petal.”

He laughed. This time, fully. And God, if your heart hadn’t already betrayed you, that laugh would've done it.

“Okay,” he said eventually, letting go of your cheeks like he hadn’t just gently cradled your entire soul.

You immediately buried your face in your hands.

You hated him. You adored him. You had no idea what this was.

But you kind of never wanted it to end.

—

The walk back was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind that usually settled between you and Sunghoon. This one was thick. Tense. A silence so loud it felt like it echoed.

You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the pond.

He’d glanced at you a few times as you walked side by side, but you kept your gaze stubbornly forward, arms crossed, cheeks still warm from earlier. You couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head—his hands on your face, that question, your silence, the way your heart had practically stopped beating altogether.

And now, here you were. Standing outside your apartment. Streetlights glowing gold above you. Crickets chirping. The air cool and still.

He hadn’t said anything either.

Not until now.

Sunghoon cleared his throat softly. “You’ve been quiet since the park.”

You let out a small, unbothered-sounding tch, keeping your eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

What a stupid question. He knew why.

You were embarrassed. Flustered. Emotionally compromised and desperately trying to hold it together. And he just stood there, calm and collected, as if he hadn’t casually almost kissed you and then walked away like it was nothing.

You turned toward him, fire rising again. “You—!”

You raised your hands, ready to start waving them mid-rant like you always did. But before a single word left your mouth, Sunghoon stepped forward and grabbed both your wrists gently, stopping them midair.

You blinked.

“What are you—?”

And then he leaned in.

Soft. Quick. Certain.

He pressed a kiss to your lips—just a brief, featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your thoughts scatter in all directions.

It was simple. Barely a second long. But it knocked the wind out of you.

“There,” he said, voice low and calm, as he pulled back.

You stared at him, completely frozen. Mouth slightly parted. Eyes wide.

“Y-You—” you stammered, hands still in his.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “You were being loud in your head. I could hear it.”

“I—That’s not—You don’t just—!”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Feel better now?”

Your heart was a mess. Your brain was fuzz. But still… you nodded.

He let go of your hands slowly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Goodnight,” he said, and turned to walk away.

You stood there, stunned, watching him go. And somewhere between your heart trying to reboot and your hand brushing against your lips…

—-

The library was quiet, save for the occasional turning of pages and the distant hum of the printer.

You were trying to focus. Really, you were. But it was hard.

Not because of your thesis—which was enough of a monster on its own—but because of him. Sitting right next to you.

Sunghoon.

The boy who kissed you once. Who sent you home after and said nothing. The boy who still picked you up for class, still shared his earbuds, still split convenience store snacks with you like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t. Not really.

You weren’t kissing everyday. You weren’t dating. There were no labels. Just… this strange, sweet in-between. And it was driving you insane.

You’d been hanging out every day, and yet neither of you had brought up the kiss. Not the one by the pond. Not the one on your doorstep.

You were somewhere between friends and more, and he seemed perfectly content to sit in that quiet space—while you were losing your mind wondering what it meant.

You were currently scanning the shelves, trying—and failing—to find a book for your thesis. You swore it was here. The catalogue said it was. But after combing through the aisle three times, you were ready to throw yourself into the return bin.

“Ugh,” you muttered, turning to scan the shelf one more time.

And then, like some book-finding angel, Sunghoon stepped beside you. He reached forward casually, plucked the exact book from the shelf above your head, and handed it to you without a word.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

You snatched it from his hand, dramatic as ever, and turned to him with wild eyes.

“I’ve been here for twenty minutes! And you—!”

Your hands flew up instinctively, ready to gesticulate in full rant mode when—

He caught them.

Both of them.

Warm fingers wrapping around your wrists, stopping you mid-rant with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

And then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

Just like that.

Soft. Steady. No hesitation.

Your breath caught completely. Your brain shut off. The library, the thesis, the confusion—all of it disappeared under the pressure of his lips against yours.

It was over in seconds.

He pulled back like nothing happened, still holding your hands.

“Loud,” he said, voice low and amused.

And then—he let go and walked away.

You stood frozen in the aisle, mouth still parted in disbelief, the book clutched to your chest like it had personally witnessed a crime.

Your heart was pounding. Your face was burning. You were sure your soul had just left your body.

And once again… He didn’t look back.

Typical Sunghoon.

You were unwell.

Absolutely, fully, catastrophically unwell.

Because Sunghoon kissed you again.

In a library.

After handing you a book like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And when you raised your hands—to explain, to demand answers, to yell in three different emotional languages—he just… kissed you. Again. Calmly. Casually. And walked away like it hadn’t just restructured your entire brain.

You tried not to think about it. You really did.

But the moment you sat back down at the table, book open in front of you, and he slid a highlighter across the desk toward you like he hadn’t just emotionally detonated you—

You exploded.

“Okay,” you said, too loudly for a library. “What are we?”

He looked up from his notes, blinking once.

You leaned forward. “Because you kissed me. Twice. And you keep holding my face like I’m a traumatized woodland creature and then walking away before I can process anything.”

He tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm. “So you have been thinking about it.”

You sputtered. “Of course I’ve been thinking about it!”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, flipping to the next page of his notes.

You blinked at him. “Are you ignoring me?”

“I’m studying.”

“I’m spiraling.”

“Noted.”

Your hands flailed.

And just as you raised them again, fully prepared to unleash wave two of your emotional breakdown—

He stood up from his seat, leaned across the table, and kissed you. Right there. Again.

Quick. Soft. On the corner of your mouth this time.

You froze.

“I—” you squeaked.

“You were getting loud again,” he said, sitting back down like he hadn’t just completely ended your speech mid-sentence.

You gawked at him, face on fire. “You can’t just kiss me every time I get dramatic.”

“That’s what you think.”

You opened your mouth. He raised an eyebrow.

You closed it again.

He handed you your highlighter. “Let me know when you’re done with denial.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so hard you could hear it echoing in your skull. He was calm. Unbothered. Absolutely smug.

You hated him.

You wanted to kiss him again.

You highlighted the same sentence seven times just to avoid looking at his stupid perfect face.

—

You were walking home from the library with Sunghoon again. Just like always. Quiet sidewalk, golden streetlights, late-night hum of the city in the background.

Except nothing about it felt normal anymore.

Not after the kisses.

Not after the looks he kept giving you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Not after your brain had chewed itself into pieces trying to decode what you were to him.

And tonight—you were done pretending you were fine with it.

“I just think,” you said for what felt like the fifth time, voice rising as your steps quickened, “that if you’re gonna keep kissing me, then maybe—and this is wild—I deserve to know what it means!”

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He kept walking beside you, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Infuriatingly calm.

“And if it doesn’t mean anything, that’s fine,” you added, already lying to yourself. “But then stop doing it! You can’t just weaponize your mouth to shut me up like some human mute button—”

He stopped walking.

You blinked, still mid-rant, too fired up to notice that he’d turned until his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back—swiftly, gently, deliberately—until your back hit the cold brick wall of the nearest building.

The shock of it knocked the words straight out of your mouth.

“Wha—”

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

No hesitation. No teasing.

His lips found yours in one clean, fluid motion, like he’d been waiting, burning, counting every second leading up to this moment. His hand pressed firmly against the wall beside your head, his body angled toward yours—not pushing, just close. Too close. Close enough that you felt the heat radiating off of him, the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before his other hand slipped to your jaw, tilting your face up slightly—and then his mouth opened against yours, and his tongue slid in. Slow. Confident. Sure.

You gasped softly into him, your fingers gripping the front of his sweater like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And God—he tasted like mint and quiet danger, like late nights and secrets he hadn’t told you yet.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize your mouth.

Like he wanted you breathless and boneless and ruined in the best way.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like it had been building inside you too, like you’d been waiting for him to break first—waiting for this exact kind of dizzying, spine-melting surrender.

By the time he pulled back, you weren’t sure where you were anymore.

Your chest heaved. Your lips tingled. Your back was still pressed to the wall, legs weak, thoughts tangled.

Sunghoon didn’t move far—just enough to speak, his thumb still brushing softly along your cheek.

“You’re loud,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “But not when you’re kissing me back.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even glare. Your eyes were still wide and unfocused. Your body felt like it had been struck by lightning wrapped in velvet.

And him?

He just took your hand again like nothing happened.

“Let’s go,” he said, like he hadn’t just absolutely wrecked you against a wall.

You followed.

Stunned. Silent.

And for the first time in your life— You understood exactly why he did that.

Because nothing had ever shut you up like that before.

—

The next morning, Sunghoon was already waiting outside your apartment by the time you stepped out, bleary-eyed and still emotionally unstable from the night before. He stood there with his usual sleepy calmness, one hand in his pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order.

Of course he knew you hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t either.

Because while you were lying awake replaying that kiss over and over again, so was he. He’d tried to read, tried to distract himself—but every time he closed his eyes, all he could feel was you against the wall. Your fingers in his sweater. The way your lips opened under his, soft and wanting. The sound you made when he bit down gently on your lip before pulling away.

He was in trouble.

You walked toward him slowly, eyes puffy, your hoodie a little crooked from sleep. You didn’t say anything—just snatched the coffee from his hand and took three aggressive gulps like it personally wronged you.

“Hmph,” you huffed, before storming three steps ahead of him like an angry little duck.

Sunghoon blinked.

Then he laughed.

God, he was so gone for you.

“Why are you mad?” he asked, catching up easily.

You didn’t look at him. “Because—because you won’t tell me what we are. You keep kissing me every time I get dramatic, and you don’t say anything after, and you won’t tell me if you even like me, and—”

“Don’t you like it when I kiss you, though?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t setting your entire nervous system on fire.

You stumbled. “I—! I—”

He looked far too smug. You hated how good he was at this.

“You can’t just say smug shit like that and make me not want to choke you—”

You didn’t finish. Because just like last time, he moved without warning.

In one sharp, fluid motion, he backed you into the nearest tree, the rough bark grazing your spine as your back hit it with a quiet thud. His hand slid around to the small of your back, pressing you against him, while the other gripped your waist and dragged slowly down to your hip, fingers curving around it possessively.

His mouth was on yours before you could speak. No hesitation this time.

His lips crashed into yours—hot, hungry, open. He tilted his head, deepening it fast, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you harder against him. Your gasp disappeared into his mouth.

His tongue slipped past your lips, slow and deliberate. He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing—like he knew how to pull sound from your throat without a word. His body pinned yours to the tree, firm and steady, his hips brushing into yours just enough to make you lose your balance and grab his sweater for support.

He groaned lowly when you kissed him back, your fingers bunching at his chest, his thumb digging into your side as his mouth moved harder, needier, lips parting, tongue sliding deeper.

And then—he bit down on your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“You didn’t stop me,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.

Your mouth opened. “Because—”

“Because you like it,” he said again, low and certain.

You glared at him. “And what if I do?! At least I’m being honest with my feelings.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Because you haven’t really told me anything about your feelings,” he said simply.

You threw your hands up. “Is it not clear?!”

You folded your arms, frustration bubbling up.

“Is it not clear that I clearly like you?!”

And just like that—he was silent.

Sunghoon had always been calm, collected, a little unreadable—but something in his expression faltered then. His cool cracked just a little, the tiniest stutter of surprise flickering across his face.

His heart was doing things he would never admit out loud.

Because no matter how smooth he could be, no matter how many times he kissed you like he knew exactly what he was doing—you were the only one who could completely unravel him.

He looked at you, smiling softly.

“Look under your cup.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The cup,” he said. “Turn it over.”

You squinted at him suspiciously, lifting the cup over your head like it owed you answers. And there—scrawled in slightly smudged black marker under the base—was one word, just barely legible in his messy handwriting:

GIRLFRIEND?

Your breath hitched.

Your arms dropped.

You stared at it, then at him.

He stood there with his usual hands-in-pockets posture, pretending to be all calm and collected—but you saw it. The way his ears were just a little too red. The faint twitch of his mouth like he was holding his breath.

You blinked. “You wrote it… on the bottom of a coffee cup?”

“I thought it was romantic,” he said, completely deadpan.

You raised a brow. “You know people usually use, like, their mouths to say these things, right?”

“I figured this way, you’d actually read it instead of yelling over it.”

You paused.

Touche.

“You truly are a man of few words.”

He shrugged. “You use enough for both of us.”

You rolled your eyes—but your grin gave you away.

And then, quietly, you held the cup closer to your chest.

“…Yes,” you muttered.

His lips twitched. “You’re supposed to say it louder.”

You glared. “Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”

He smiled, wide this time. “Too late.”

Before you could react, his hands wrapped around your waist—confident, steady—and he pulled you in all at once. You let out a small yelp, half laugh, arms instinctively catching onto his shoulders as he swept you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then he kissed you.

His lips pressed into yours like he already knew you’d say yes, like your quiet little “yes” had unlocked something in him. There was no teasing this time, no smirk hiding behind it—just him, kissing you like he meant it.

His grip tightened around your waist, grounding you against him, your body flush to his as his other hand came up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing just below your ear. You melted into him without a thought, your fingers curling around the back of his sweater, trying to pull him even closer.

You could feel his heartbeat, fast but steady, pressed right against yours.

When he finally pulled back, just barely, his lips hovered over yours—still close enough to steal another breath.

“I’ve been waiting to do that properly,” he whispered, voice low and warm.

5K notes · View notes

chocochiffonnn · 3 months ago

Text

MEDDLE ABOUT

➸ Pairing: Tattoo artist Jake! x Reader

➸ Word Count: 23k

➸ Synopsis: In which the experience of your first heartbreak led you to the wonders of getting a tattoo. But surprise, surprise— the tattoo artist is hot. As in, mouth-watering hot. So you keep coming back for more— both the tattoo and the hot artist making it.

➸ Themes: Friends With Benefits, Porn With Plot (smut tags below) , Strangers To Fuck Buddies To Lovers.

➸ Warnings: Jake is IMPLIED to be a playboy, he's also gives mixed signals, BLONDE JAKE!! I REPEAT, BLONDE JAKE!! Lots of cursing

➸ Smut Tags: dirty bathroom intercourse, drunk sex, Jake is mouthy and loves babbling his mouth off, dom Jake, he LOVES praising, Jake is rough with his hand, squirting, fingering (f receiving), hand job, mouth job, making out, unprotected sex, teasing, cum dumping (or whatever).

➸ Author's Note: this took me forever to finish, life + school + work has been ROUGH! sorry for the wait guys! hope u enjoy reading this as much! also, this is my first smut don’t judge pls

➸ Taglist: @titttuaf @beomgyus11 @kristynaaah

NEEDLES WERE NOT MUCH OF YOUR STRONG SUIT— the mention of something pricking your skin bears chills down your spine, though quite figuratively. There was something so odd and intolerable about it.

Some people liked to assume and correlate one’s fashion with their personalities. Adorning one’s body with dark palettes and accessories automatically meant for some that it was practically a basic practice to be relishing the skin with hundreds of tattoos, or to be acting like a delinquent in the midst of the streets.

Not for you, though.

Needles creeped the fuck out of you.

You pricked yourself with it once, the moment still replayed in your head whenever it had the chance. Sometimes, even being the cause of such a nightmare.

You hated being pricked with something so sharp, literally.

Figuratively? It was even worse.

Experiencing your first heartbreak during the first day of the second semester was ass. Correction— is ass. The moment you entered the shared room of your apartment, craving the need of a long day’s rest after endless hours of classes and work, pins and needles came crashing down and pricking upon you like a voodoo doll.

Like the ones you used to play with at the ripe age of ten, poking through your dolls as you mumble the names’ of your enemies. Like the toys you used to thrash around whenever it was all sparkly, and pink, and pretty princess-sy.

You hated it.

You dreaded the feeling, walking up with heavy steps as you see your boyfriend of five years that certain October— Doyun, making out with your best friend, on the very same sheets you cleaned. The very same pillows you fluffed, the very same room you’d design alongside him.

They felt like needles.

Thousands and thousands of it.

And it hurt like shit.

You’d left that very same room after a much deserved slap to both their faces, claiming, hoping you never see the two of them again. Fate had other plans, but at least, it was enough on your end. It was too much.

And months later, you find yourself laying down at that very same room, the space feeling empty and dull without the shared laughs and moments with your cheater of a boyfriend. Your phone clutched in your hand, scrolling through the ceaseless Pinterest inspirations of your feed, going as far as creating a board for it, labeled:

Tattoo inspos.

Needles were fucking ass, but what the fuck about it?

“Maybe this one will look good…”

It was a small sword, embedded with a sort of crisp fabric around it.

“Too tacky.” You say, scrolling through another inspiration. A skull tattoo, with wings adorning the back of it— freedom and death? “Too emo.”

You frown, clearly, there was no visible tattoo thus far to catch your attention. Feeling a bit dejected and worried, you scrolled a bit farther down the app in order to find something, anything, before you had the chance to change your mind and wuss out.

Then you notice it— a dime sized butterfly tattoo, black in color, melting in ink. It was like drawing with a gel pen on a random piece of paper, then smudging that pen to achieve a blurry effect. Except this one, except of a smudge, the butterfly looked like it was melting.

It immediately caught your attention,

“Perfect.”

~~~~~~

You really just hoped there was no shady business going down here.

Contrary to well-received reviews on their service, you must say— the place definitely looks suspicious and odd. Located beneath a train station with uneventful sights and not necessarily the most aesthetically pleasing background, safe to say you are more or less suspicious.

Tats.

The little sign above the room sparkled, the room itself was clean, decored in black and white, perfectly matching your vibe. With but prayers on your side, you entered and soon find out that contrary to what you’ve been assuming, this place does seem sterile and clean. At least… More so than the outside.

Someone greets you upon entering, a small woman who had tattoos from her arm up to her neck. He her hair was auburn, she had freckles painting her face like it was also a tattoo. From the counter, she smiles, “Welcome to tats. Walk in?”

You nod, “Yes, if that’s okay.”

The woman turns her head, grabbing some sort of paper for you to fill in your personal information. It was rather cold, and from your peripheral, you can see the stationed little booths that perhaps each tattoo artist resided and do their work in. Your hands felt rather clammy as you reached the end part of the paper, it felt like you were going to throw up, seriously.

“Alright! There’s an available artist right now, would you like to have yours done straight away?”

You nod, she smiles. “The only problem is it’s a man so… If that’s okay with you?”

“It’s okay, I’m not getting a tattoo done up my ass.” You quip, the auburn woman geniunely laughs at your joke, mumbling an ‘okay’ as she gestures to one of the nearby booths. Taking it upon herself, she exits the counter and leads you to where she’s been pointing at. “Sim Jaeyun?”

The receiving end was silent.

The woman sighs, grabbing the curtains and haphazardly opening the stall. “Jake!”

Oh no.

“What? Stop nagging.”

Sim Jaeyun— or so she calls him, rubs the back of his blonde hair as he lifted himself up from the tattoo chair, he looked like he’d just gotten out from a nap.

He’s hot.

As in— chiseled by the gods and goddesses type of hot. Like, what in the actual fuck type of hot.

“You’re sleeping again? I can’t believe you.”

Sim Jaeyun laughs sheepishly, “Sorry, sorry.”

Oh fucking no.

You visibly winced as you feel yourself checking him out. Dressed in all black, his neck up to his ears were adorned with necklaces and accessories that had you going feral.

He is exactly your type, the very epitome of you. Only difference is that he’s a man.

“Who are we getting done today?” He asks, the rasp in his voice visible as he attempts to regain consciousness. Complete Australian accent. Hot. Sexy. What the fuck?

“This is Y/N. She’ll tell you the design she wants,” The woman turns to you, “This one’s Jake, he’ll be the one to tattoo you.”

You nod. You had to retract what you said a couple of minutes prior. Maybe you just had to get a tattoo done up your ass.

“He looks like he may bite, and he actually does—” Jake cuts him off, “Yah!”

“But he’s a pretty talented artist so you’ll get your money’s worth. Just be careful, though.” The auburn woman laughs, pointing a finger towards a Jake who was visibly pouting as he arranged some of the equipment needed. “She might not end up getting a tattoo from me anymore.”

You grin, “I’ll see your skills for myself.”

“Oh?” Jake turns around, leaning against the table as he pulled the latex glove fit on his hand. “Gladly.” He smiles, you can feel him visibly stare you down. The way his eyes lingered from your head down to your feet. At this point, the auburn woman had already left to tend to another client and it was just you and him alone.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t utter a word. He just blatantly stares. Hardly being subtle about it, and being all the more obvious. Was he checking you out?

“You can sit down now.” He says with a shrug, eyes still glued to you. You nod, knowing his burning gaze pierced through you. It made you all the more excited and thrilled. Usually, things like this weren’t one for the books given your pitiful relationship months prior.

But nobody ever plays things by the books now, everybody wants to have a little edge— to think outside of the box.

“So, Y/N.” Jake starts, holding the head of the chair as he hovers above you, “What tattoo am I making for you today?”

You shrug, pointing towards the spot just below your collarbone. “I want a butterfly.”

You notice how Jake pauses, stifling in a laugh. He turns his head to the side as his broad shoulders vibrate a bit. “What?” you ask him, not quite getting the reason as to why he’s laughing. Were butterflies outdated now?

“You don’t want one that covers the whole arm? Maybe a back tattoo?”

You physically shiver, shaking your head as a response. “Hell no. I’d appreciate it if I don’t die at my first tattoo appointment.”

Jake raised a brow, “your first time?”

Nodding, you rub your below to calm down your nerves. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” You feigned offence, Jake laughs. “No, sorry, I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that— you do look like someone who gets tattoos pretty often.”

You shrug, “So people say. Is it because of the way I dress? I also get told I’m brazen.”

Jake grabs some of his tools, the gun, needles, ink— whatever it was that was to be pricked upon your skin. You find the way he sets it up to be so distracting, men who know what the hell they’re doing has you going feral.

Paired with the nerves and the jitters of that thing, and the idea that you were actually getting a tattoo?

Any second and you might actually pass out now.

“Maybe both, I mean you do look tough.”

“Am I not?” You quip, Jake shook his head with a smirk. “Someone who gets chicken skin from needles isn’t necessarily the most toughest person out there.”

“Hey!” You counter, rolling your eyes. “We all have our own fears. Mine just happened to be needles.”

“Valid.” Jake snorts, holding the tattoo gun with his right as he sat down on one of the chairs, spreading his legs for balance. “Can I see your reference?”

You nod, pulling out your phone to show him the specific post from interest you saw last night. Jake takes a long look at it before he nods, “are you ready?”

“No.” You say honestly, holding in a breath. Sim Jaeyun smirks, fingertips brushing across your piercing collarbone. His clad fingers were cold to the touch, yet at the same time, it electrified a part of you. “I thought I’d show you some of my skills?” He whispers low.

You whisper back in response, though force and strained, “I’m not sure I’m the person to be testing that out on!”

“Shh,” He cooes, “Just relax. It won’t hurt.”

“I really hope it doesn’t.” You hold in a breath as Jake’s precise needle came into contact with your supple skin. It felt way less worse than what you’d dreamed about, what you thought about. Like being bitten by an ant, thousands and thousands of it.

From the corner of your eyes, Sim Jaeyun’s focus was unmatched. He bit the bottom of his lip, his head unimaginebly close to your shoulder. God, he smelled divine. He had his undivided focused locked on the piece of art, hands precise and delicate as it poked the ink through your skin. Strands of his blonde hair collided wit your shoulder, making you shiver all the more.

Minutes pass with Jake’s unnerved focus on your skin. Once he was done, you feel him pull back, his face unreadable. It was rather awkward on your part, eyes straying anywhere but his hair. The paintings on his wall, the equipment on his desk— anywhere but him.

“Do you want me to fill it in?” He asks, gaze boring into yours. For a moment, you forgot how to breath as you responded, “No, it’s um. It’s fine that way! Looks perfect.”

He nods, standing up from his chair and turning towards his equipment. He fixed his stuff as he spoke, “It’s best if you avoid submerging it in water for a little while. Scratching, exposure to sun, tight clothing— you know, the things any sane person would not do with a fresh tattoo.”

You nod as Jake turns towards you, handing you a piece of something from his pocket. It was a small card, with not the place’s number, but his number on it. It looked professionally made. “You hand these out to everyone?”

Jake smirks, shaking his head. “Only to those I want to send ‘em out to.”

“Oh,” You laugh, “Should I be thanking you or what?”

Jake shook his head, shrugging, “Up to you.”

You nod, perhaps slightly getting the hint of his words, the fire you were playing, and more or less, the danger this thing resided in. The danger he resides in.

“I’ll take note of that.”

“You really should,” He smiles, “I have a feeling I’ll see you around more often.”

~~~~~~

Needless to say, the urge to keep coming back for more proved to be compelling enough. You woke up that morning with a banging headache and an immense amount of urge to scratch your newly-placed tattoo.

A headache didn’t matter, the moment you woke up, it felt like all you wanted to do was go back and have your skin imprinted with another piece of ink.

Or perhaps to go back and have Sim Jaeyun’s touch somewhere else. Up your ass, maybe?

Last night, however you were immediately hit with the unfortunate announcement of an exam. With not much time to think or even let your fingertips touch Jake’s given card, you had immediately stayed the night up studying for the written exam. But you thought about it the entire time— Sim Jaeyun’s lingering touch.

Damn, does he know the effect he has on people?

Procastinating and being under time pressure worked wonders.

Waking up late twenty minutes before the said exam also worked wonders, and you find yourself scurrying around your apartment the following morning as you settle for whatever clothes and stuff you had in display to bring.

Walking along the campus of your university in a rush with a cup of coffee in hand, you rushed towards the exam site in hopes of making it in time. Then, you stumble upon something that had your eyes intrigued. You pause momentarily, gazing upon the small poster that stuck itself onto your department’s floor.

The poster of Jake’s tattoo shop. Not his tattoo shop, but the place he worked at. It offered a promo for this month, a free tattoo for one person as long as the latter was paying.

And you think for a few seconds about it until eventually, an idea popped into your head.

You had just the right person in mind.

~~~~~~

The routines that followed the rest of that day remained subtle. Classes in the morning, work in the afternoon. Until eventually, afternoon came down and you’d decided to make the eventful choice of getting another mark.

“You got a tattoo and didn’t think to even tell me?!” Lee Heeseung, one of your co-workers said dramatically. You worked at a particulary run down CD shop that had the vibes of something from the 90’s, but what you sold was only part of it.

CD’s of music ranging from classical genres to newer ones, even limited editions that artists had either cancelled or no longer sold. In the art of music, there wasn’t really anyone better than Lee Heeseung for the job. He had not only the place memorized, but also the music and its soul in general.

Not to mention, he was the attention and the focus of the customers who dropped by here. The apple of everyone’s eye— also part of the reason why this place hadn’t shut down yet. No one ever really buys CD’s anymore, yet what some fail to notice is that music is always timely— regardless of what age you lived in. Or so, Heeseung always liked to ramble on about like a philosopher.

“Come on, Hee! It’ll be like— fun.” You say the last part flatly as you fix a particular stack of CDs. It wasn’t particularly fun or satisfying on your part. Heeseung looks at you suspiciously, mouth twitched upward, looking utterly disgusted. “You are fucking scared of needles, am I supposed to believe that?”

“Uh— Yes? Cause its literally coming from me. Look,” You drop a particular CD, inching Heeseung’s finger and unveiling a part of your collarbone. “I got a small butterfly.”

Heeseung stares at it long and hard before he choked in a laugh. “Are you sure that isn’t like made with a pen or something?” his fingers attempted to brush against the mark, only for you to pull back swiftly, glaring at him intently. “Don’t touch it! It’s healing.”

Heeseung was laughing at this point, clutching his stomach as he struggled to speak, “And there I thought you got your whole arm tattooed or something!”

You pout, “I wouldn’t do that for my first tattoo! That’s like a one-way ticket to hell.”

He shrugs, “fair point, still no.”

“Come on Hee!” At this point, you were shaking Heeseung’s shoulders around, jumping up and down as you coaxed him to getting a tattoo with you. Contrary to public opinion, Heeseung was not such a big fan of tattoos, claiming he doesn’t like putting such marks on his body. But it doesn’t hurt to try, especially since you kind of know the way to Heeseung’s mind.

“You can get a CD tattoo, or an ipod, maybe a quote from a song you like the most?” You suggested with a sweet voice. Heeseung looked at you, unconvinced. Yet, his eyes were a bit more gentle and less tense than last time. Oh, you were so getting him.

“I’m paying for the tattoo, you just have to show up! It doesn’t matter if it’s small, it’s free anyways. So just accompany me— please?”

“What if I get a dick tattooed on my back, like a huge one?”

“Well— that’s your choice. Nobody’s stopping you.” Heeseung rolls eyes, “Fine, until when’s the promo?”

You grin, “Tonight.”

~~~~~~

The shop closed at 5PM with you and Heeseung traveling to the same alley you got your tattoo at, the suspicious corners and parts of town.

The sole idea of Heeseung getting a tattoo— you try and sweet talk him— is absolutely a very smart move. Girls would consider him more attractive, more customers would flock in, the sales would increase, and eventually, everyone would be happy!

“If this thing gets infected, I’m totally blaming you.”

“I’m not holding you back, I’m scared mine will get infected too.”

“You’re planning my demise, aren’t you?”

“How’d you figure out so easily?”

“You’re literally the type.”

You laugh, brushing Heeseung off. Eventually, you were met with a rather pungent smell of some dog shit as you walked along the alley. “You’re definitely planning to kill me, what the heck is this place?” Heeseung asks, disgusted as he held his nostrils with his fingers.

“I know,” You say, covering your own nose, “Trust me though, the place isn’t dirty.”

“I sure would hope not cause I’m bolting the moment you leave me here.”

Eventually, you were met with the black doors of the tattoo studio, the neon lights of the name lighting up just above— Tatts.

“Tatts? That’s exuding some immense aura.”

“I know right.”

You enter the stall with much anticipation, you hadn’t even thought about what tattoo to get next, only adamant on being here. Which is weird, you’ve never had such a stronger urge to be somewhere so fast. Like some magnet was pulling you in.

You were greeted with the same auburn woman— who you learned was named Kaiza, who entertained you during your first session. She recognized your presence, immediately smiling once she saw you, smiling even wider when she saw the person you were with.

“Y/N! Came to get your second tattoo?”

You nod sheepishly, “Yes. Is your promo still on?”

“You are currently,” she checks her watch, “lucky, because the promo ends in an hour.”

You turn to Heeseung, mumbling an ‘I told you so’ and he simply sticks his tongue out. “Are you getting a tattoo, too?” Kaiza turns towards Heeseung who nods his head, showing one of his captivating smiles. Weirdo.

“Yes, I’m with her.”

Kaiza grabs a piece of information paper, handing it towards Heeseung, he filled it in. Meanwhile, you looked around the familiar the room. Still the same as you last left two days ago. Dark, well lit, and very much gave the vibes of a tattoo studio.

Heeseung finished filling his paper up, Kaiza leads the two of you to the stalls. You hoped, you really hoped—

“Sim Jaeyun is here today, would you like to get your tattoo done by him?”

“Yes! I mean— yeah, yeah, that’d be chill.”

You can sense the way Kaiza’s face contort into that of mischief, Heeseung remains oblivious to the way you so eagerly give way to such a statement. He was too busy admiring the room, and ultimately, Kaiza.

You can’t blame him, the auburn woman is sure as hell attractive.

“There are two other people here who can do your tattoo, Heeseung.”

“Do you do tattoos?”

“Me? Yes… Why?”

“Can you do mine?”

Damn!

You swiftly look at Heeseung with a smug look, nudging him ever so slightly with your elbow and wiggling around. Heeseung knows what you’re implying, and he chooses to ignore your little antics and teasing, opting to shoot his shot instead.

You feel Kaiza laugh, “Hmm. Do you want me to?”

Heeseung shrugs, “I’d want my first tattoo to be memorable.”

Oh you had to give it to him. If there was ever a time where it rained of cockiness and confidence in flirting— perhaps Heeseung was there, with his arms wide open, catching every single drop. Kaiza bites into his oblivious flirting as she drops you off to Sim Jaeyun’s corner.

She opens the curtain, only to find the man, once again, splayed out nonchalantly in the tattoo chair. His black clothes blended in a bit with the chair, aside from part of his arms, shoulder, and head. He quite literally just wore a tank-top, exposing his muscular arms which surprisingly, had no tattoos.

“Jake, Y/N’s back.”

“Oh, really?” This time, Jake wasn’t

napping. Rather, he was playing a random game on his phone, eyes focused on tapping the screen. Once he heard your name roll off Kaiza’s tongue, he closed his phone and threw it to the side. Jake ruffled his hair, looking at you with quite an unreadable look. “I’m guessing showing my skills worked?” He quipped, you rolled your eyes, “Shut up, I have a growing interest for tattoos now.”

Kaiza and Heeseung bid goodbye, with the latter harshly patting your back and mumbling a short, ‘this the dude? pretty valid.’

Despite the fact that you hardly told Heeseung anything, he just somehow seemed to know. But you can tell he wasn’t really here to scold, with the way he followed the auburn woman around to get his, “tattoo.”

“What are we getting this time? Don’t tell me its an ant now.” Jake stands from the chair, going over to his equipment. “I haven’t really thought about it honestly.”

“Oh?” Jake stops momentarily, turning around to look at you. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this for fun.”

“Maybe I am doing this for fun.”

He leans back in his desk, arms crossed. ”You probably just came over to see me again.”

Dead serious, you looked at him straight in the eye and responded, “Yeah, that’s actually the reason why.”

Part of Jake’s blonde hair covered his left eye, the other low yet unnerved towards your body language. You felt a little clammy and small under his gaze, but you kept yourself still and grounded even with the way he strips you bare with his gaze alone. That same look he used the first time he saw you, the first time you spoke. Then, Jake laughs.

“You weren’t lying when you said you’re bold and brazen.”

You shrug, “Can you blame me? You’re like—” pointing towards him, “that.”

He leans his head to the side, an amused look on his features. ”Like what?”

“Like an absolute meal.” You say, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing ever. Jake laughs, twisting his head to the side. “You find me that attractive?”

“Just alright.” You had to somewhat humble him. Jake does his usual routine of setting his equipment up, until he was already sitting beside you and you layed down the chair. “Where’s your next tattoo gonna be?”

You think about it for a moment. Though you’ve no particular interest as to what design you wanna do, there is a specific place your mind desires for his craft.

“Beneath my chest, ribcage.”

“Y/N, are you serious?” Jake deadpans, pulling his gun back. You nod, “Dead serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know that’s like, one of the most painful places to get a tattoo at?”

“I’m well aware.”

“So you’re fully aware of the consequence this may bring, yes?”

You shook your head. You know it’s going to hurt, but how bad it’s going to hurt, you absolutely did not know. “It’s probably going to hurt like hell.”

“It’s going to hurt more like hell,” Jake clarified, “What design are we doing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me."

“I’ll tell you?” Jake feigns amusement, he was surprised. Usually, when people come in to get their tattoos done, they already have something in mind. “What do you mean I’ll tell you?”

“I don’t really know what tattoo I want, you got any suggestions?”

He can put a piece of dick or shit on your ribcage for all you care and you would absolutely thank him for it. Jake thinks about it for a moment, leaning back against his chair, “are you letting me decide your tattoo right now?”

“Yes, it’s why I’m asking you.”

“Are you sure? You may not want to trust me with something like that.” He leans forward, fingers pointing towards your black shirt. Taking the hint, you lift the hem of the fabric, exposing part of your stomach and ultimately, the part just beneath your bra. Jake stares, inching his hand towards the spot effortlessly, as if he’s done this hundreds of times before. And he probably has for the most part.

His cold touch sent electric shivers down your spine as your ribcage felt the sensation of his crisp fingers. “What have you been into these days?” Jake asks.

“What specific category are we looking for here?”

“Nothing in specific, just…” He shrugs, “anything general you’ve been obsessed with?”

“Tattoos maybe?” He laughs, “just that?”

“Well, I’m a med-student so probably any thing related to that.”

In your eyes, perhaps Jake thought of you as a colorless book, someone who sought out the adventures of being bad because you always bury your noses in those textbooks. Like a nerd or something, like most people would assume for such students.

“A med-student? Really?” He asks, with a surprising interested glint in his eyes. You nod, “I know, might seem boring but—”

He quickly intervenes, “no, no. I mean, you’re out there what? Training to save lives? That’s so fucking cool.”

“You think of that as cool?” You ask, surprised. Jake nods like a little puppy, the tousle of his hair straightening along as he agrees. “That’s the most overbearing course you could possibly take.”

“It gets me overstimulated all the damn time so pretty understandable.”

Jake laughs, “so like, a stethoscope or something?”

You shook your head swiftly, “Oh, hell no!” As much as you somewhat appreciated your course, never in your life would you leave remnants of such in your body. Simply traumatizing, too traumatizing.

“Think of something that represents you as a whole, Y/N.”

Something that represents you as a whole…

“I can’t think of anything.”

“If that’s the case, do you trust me enough?”

You nod almost too quickly. “I do.” Jake laughs, the corners of his face tugging along into an expression of mischief. Never in his career has he tattooed someone who doesn’t precisely know what they want. Usually, something like this would require decisions. And for you to throw that choice out the window for him?

Jake felt his pride begin to swell up.

“Do you go to college, Jake?” You ask amidst the silence as Jake nears your ribcage. He nods, “Surprised? I go to the same campus as you.”

If anything, you were the one surprised. “Really? What course are you taking?”

“Applied Physics. I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to that.”

Oh. You definitely did not peg Jake as someone who is into anything Science. You can see the way part of his face turned slightly sheepish, yet the jolt of pain in your ribcage came following along straight after. You winced, “oh shit, you weren’t lying when you said it’d hurt.”

“I told you.” Jake mumbles, feeling you wiggle slightly. His other hand which stabilized itself onto your ribcage settled just around your waist, attempting to keep you still. “Don’t move around, stay still, yeah?”

“Sorry…” You mumbled, wincing as he poked the gun and the ink into your skin. You don’t know what he was doing down there, but for the most part, you kind of trusted him. “I didn’t think you’d be the— shit,” you bit your lip as another jolt of pain came pushing through, “type of person to be interested in courses like those.”

“So people would say. I’ll brag, I’m pretty good at what I do.”

“You look like you’re good at everything.” You quip, rolling your eyes as Jake laughs along. It was a subtle conversation of asking each other one’s interest, hobbies, things in life, and things that may spark some interest between the two of you.

Eventually, you learned that Jake was currently on the second year of his course. A total physics nerd, with the way he randomly inserts some of his knowledge of his topics over to you. Jake also was quite the opposite of what most people would assume someone working in a tattoo shop would be like.

He’s gentle, he loves dogs, he’s always been rather crafty, he enjoys dancing. But one certain assumption that sits just right for his entire image?

Sim Jaeyun is a playboy at heart.

A big ass fucking playboy and heartthrob.

Sounds like a cliché statement to say the least, like something from a 2000’s romcom, but his stories were testimonies enough that indeed— Sim Jaeyun loved to meddle around.

You asked him how many girlfriends he’s had for the past year (choosing to be a little brave), to which he said none, because he said he absolutely hated committing but wouldn’t mind the thrill of just one night stands.

You asked him if he’s ever been to a bar or a club before and he’s been to plenty.

The tattoo itself eventually finishes after what felt like forever, Jake was intent on his work, every detail, precise and accurate. And once he was done, he pulls back and lets you judge the moment for yourself. The skin had reddened just a tiny bit, fingers came to graze along the spot just near the tattoo.

The tattoo extended from the bottom of your ribcage down to the curve of your hips. “I hope you don’t mind, but this one doesn’t really have a specific meaning. Just something that I think would suit your whole vibe.”

You stare at it, long and hard. In absolute awe of what Sim Jaeyun was capable of doing. “You really know what you’re doing…” you mumble as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Jake laughed as he cleaned up the rest of his stuff, “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“It swells my pride up, you know.”

He meant it as a joke, but perhaps Sim Jaeyun truly lived by the compliments he gets on his work. You smile, “but you are good.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Hmm? About what?” You were still gawking over your tattoo. “The card. My number.”

“Oh?“ Your face turns into that of mischief, “I thought that was purely for business, Sim Jaeyun. I didn’t know you wanted me to get your number.”

“And here I thought I made it pretty clear.”

You laugh, “I’m just kidding, I’ve been so busy I haven’t gotten time to go over it.” Jake crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side as he eyed you, the same mischievous look on his face. “Am I blatantly being rejected right now?”

You shrug, “Gotta think about it, you know?” But you know there was nothing really to think about it. The clear answer: absolutely yes.

“You’re a bit difficult.” He mumbles, inching closer ever so slightly. He stood in front of you, his chest and arms flexing unintentionally. Going to the gym must also be one of his habits because– damn. “It’s not anything new.”

Jake smirks, “And yet you’re interested?”

You’d forgotten all about your tattoo at this point, shamelessly exposing yourself as you check him out. How could you not? He always looked attractive, smelled good, you bet he’d probably feel good too.

God, you know the consequences this would entail, yet you’re jumping in anyways. “I am interested, Sim Jaeyun.”

Jake chuckles, “You’re cute.”

You bit back a, “I’m quite well aware.”

He leans down, head coming face to face with yours. Surprised, you retracted your head away. Jake was suddenly being bold now, closing the distance between the two of you. But from this angle, you can see the sharpness of his features more clearly. The slight slit on his right brow, the tip of his nose, his long lashes.

He felt even more handsome and attractive up close.

“And a bit bratty too.”

Shrugging, you level his boldness and cross your arms as you inched your head a bit closer, “So they say.”

“Just my type.” Jake’s fingers brushed against your chin, keeping it in place. He lifted your head slightly, eyes glued over to the way you wet your tongue. There was this tension gnawing away in the air, as if mumbling— who’s going to break it first?

And Sim Jaeyun’s eyes were tempting you in the most oddest way possible. But he wasn’t doing anything but edging and dragging this out, so why should you make such moves?

It goes on for a while, the endless suffering of trying to keep your cool, until Jake eventually breaks the ice, “You’re really just my type, you know?”

It swells your pride a bit, despite the gut feeling in your stomach telling you he’s pulled this certain script hundreds of times before. “How many times have you said this to other girls?”

Jake pursed his lips, “does it really matter?”

And you think about it for a moment— your entire situation with him. You know you’ve been playing with fire the entire time, adding fuel and gasoline each time you come here and flaunt your presence like some sort of prize. “No, it doesn’t. I’m just curious.”

“To answer your question, Y/N—” He diverts his touch away from your chin, “You’re the first one I’ve used this script on.”

~~~~~~

Heeseung left the booth with not a tattoo, but with a huge kiss mark on his left collar.

Oh, and his right collar, his neck, his— everywhere. You can faintly see the poor attempt at trying to brush and clean it off, but Kaiza painted her lips a enticing crimson red— that same color on the said man’s existence.

He looks at you with a smug grin, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here.”

“Did you really get a tattoo? Or did you just get laid?” You teased Heeseung, nudging him. He shook his head, “I got one at the back my neck, look.”

He shows you the colorful mark on the nape of his neck— a tiny music note, noticeable but not so much with a collar on. “It looks sick, you are absolutely welcome.”

“I may have gotten a bit of her lips, too.”

You roll your eyes, “Heeseung, I don’t really think you got just a bit?”

Heeseung laughs, opting not to answer your own question and leave you to wonder on your own. It didn’t matter for you, though. You had your own matters to ponder about.

You must be crazy.

Jake must be crazy.

But he was even more crazier, because how the fuck was it even possible for a human to kiss and makeout that good?

“I think I need a fucking drink.” Heeseung drags along as the two of you exited the shop with less enthusiam, putting his arm around your shoulder. “You literally told me you don’t drink, Hee.”

“That changes today, this calls for a celebration!”

You laugh, “a celebration for what? Getting your first kiss?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, sharing a frown. “I’ll have you know, that was not my first kiss.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You weren’t really having it, though. As far as you know, Heeseung’s lips were as virgin as the color white. He loved flirting, but he never really went to the point of actually kissing somebody.

“Middle school kiss is not considered, though.”

”Well fuck— then that was my first kiss.” He feigns defeat, throwing his arms in the air. You snort in response, “absolute amateur, and yeah, I’m down for a drink.”

“Heck yeah! See? You’d agree in the end anyways.”

“Only beause I need it too.

And you really do.

“Perfect. Same time, same club later. Wear something nicer.” Heeseung removes his arm from your shoulder, shrugging his. It was a bit of a routine, really. Clubbing, partying— since the unfortunate incident of your breakup, the idea of having fun hadn’t really crossed your mind for a few weeks due to keeping yourself cooped up in your room.

That was until, Heeseung introduced you to drinking and releasing your problems away in a certain club you now frequented. A dangerous and tempting hobby to wallow in, but hey, you’re still a pretty well maintained pre-med student with complete control over your identity.

So, it didn’t hurt that you you indulge yourself in the manner every once in a while.

Always with a guy, and always with Heeseung, that is.

“Are you telling me I look ugly in what I’m wearing right now?” it doesn’t take a second before Heeseung was snorting and patting your back harshly, enough to have you fling over and lose your balance.

“Don’t pull me with that shit, you know what I mean.”

“Whatever.”

And you know that Heeseung entirely meant going wasted tonight and getting laid.

~~~~~~

Contrary to what most people would assume about medical students— you are a bit of a troublemaker yourself.

Buried beneath textbooks of foundational sciences highlighted only five days of your week. For the remaining two days? You absolutely relished on going full out. Not so much as to drink liters of alcohol every weekend, but exploring wild things had grown to be a hobby of yours after your relationship ended.

Right now, it seemed the end of the week greeted you with clubbing and wasting away.

“Stay close to me as usual unless you like— double, triple check the dude, okay?”

This was one of Heeseung’s usual routines, keeping you in line and making sure you don’t get yourself into a little trouble. You nod as usual, grateful for the concern as you felt you might need it. With the way you dressed and exposed more than a half of your bare skin, perhaps hands were definitely going places towards your figure.

Heeseung and you enter after the bouncer checked your IDs, and you were immediately met with the booming music of Rihanna’s— We Found Love— coming in full volume.

“Perfect timing!” You shout to Heeseung’s ear, and he grins, responding, “Let’s get drinks first!”

The two of you entered through the mixed bodies and sweat, absolutely in love with the way everything just seemed to unveil and ungrasp here. No professors screaming at your ear, no missed deadlines, no piles of homework due the following day. This, was the life. The fucking paradise, really.

After much mingling with random strangers, you eventually reach the counter filled with alcohol, a random bartender shaking away the order of another. “What’re you getting?” Heeseung asks you through the loud noise, “Daiquiri!” You respond back.

Heeseung chuckles, “Feeling the summer spirit, ‘aye?!” copying the accent of a British man. You smacked him in the arm, “Shut up!”

Heeseung nears the bartender, claiming a drink of his own. He hands you your own drink, and you down it with much enthusiam, the cold sensation of the citrusy alcohol rushing through your throat and making shivers run down your spine. At this point, you sat at one of the high stools as Heeseung stood in front of you, relishing his old fashioned whiskey cocktail— like an old man.

”Gonna need like a few more drinks to have my feet jumping around.” Heeseung admits, you nod along. It isn’t necessarily fun doing anything sober, when you can be a little tipsy and on edge. Finishing the first drink with much ease, you soon followed by ordering a different beverage from the bartender. And another Daiquiri, and another, and another.

It was a process of going back in forth for drinks, with Heeseung somewhat forgetting his starement from earlier and drifting off to— well, god knows where, probably swaying his hips along to the music in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t mind though, enjoying a bit of the company you provided yourself, relishing the way you looked— the way you felt tonight.

Strangely enough, you felt odd. Not in a unfortunate sort of odd, but certainly a feeling that sent your senses in a bit of alert. You can’t help but feel that someone was watching you, taking in the way you sip your drink, or the way you cross your legs.

You scan your eyes across the room, squinting through the radiant party lights and trying your best to make do. You were, perhaps, just feeling a bit paranoid.

Shrugging, you chose to brush the feeling off, heading straight to the dance floor to get your mind away from whatever that was. The groove of the music made it easy for you to occupy your riddled mind, swaying your hips along the tune of the music and raising your arms up in the air. Yeah, that tattoo on your collarbone and ribcage definitely made you feel times sexier and more… Untamed?

“Careful there.” A voice chimed in, gripping you by the waist in an attempt to balance your figure. You mumble an apology back, though not really a hundred percent sorry, and grinding your behind on the random stranger instead. As in— full on grinding and rubbing it against their pelvis.

You were even giggling, repeating your apology a couple of times beneath your breath, but your body swaying around proved otherwise.

“Are you comfortable shaking your ass on random strangers?” The said voice whispered on your ear— all too familiar and recognizable on your part. You shrug your shoulders, shouting, “It’s a club! Let loose a little.”

And let loose you did, letting your body fall along the rhythm, disregarding the fact that a pair of arms were most likely on you. It goes on for a little while, the music changing for a little while and you danced around. One thing remained certain, that grip never left you at all.

Feeling rather curious and perhaps a bit annoyed as to why someone could be so possibly clingy in a club, you turn around and discovered the reason why.

Oh. Yeah.

You were glad you turned around.

Because what in the fucking parallel universe or plot is this? Discovering it had been Sim Jaeyun’s strong grip of arms keeping you close was one thing, seeing him this fucked out and wasted? It was another thing completely.

It looked like the alcohol consumed him partly, evident on the way his cheeks flushed and his hair felt like it had been raked way too many times. Time had gone slow motion for a bit, with Jake’s piercing eyes treading holes through yours— those same ass eyes he used during your first and second tattoo session, only this time, it seemed or felt like all control was gone.

Is it really?

That’s why the strong scent of something was familiar, that’s why there was this feeling that someone’s eyes were glued to you the entire time.

But Jake doesn’t speak, neither does he move. And when he sees he’s been discovered, he merely grins and nears your ear to whisper, “You wanna fuck?”

And your response?

“God, I’d love to.”

~~~~~~

Sim Jaeyun is anything but patient.

Frankly speaking, the moment he laid his eyes on you at the bar, all sense of self-control had dissipated and gone through the roof.

How was he supposed to control himself when he saw your skirt raked up exposing the curve of your ass? How was he supposed to remain calm when you were grinding that ass on him like it was your last dance?

God, if anything, you were lucky he opted not to tackle you the moment you entered that dance floor, swaying your hips around feeling all needy for attention. Sim Jaeyun hardly goes to the middle, deeming it as too crowded and overstimulating, but hell— the moment your heels clicked and took a step forward, he just knew he had to keep you close to him.

Partly because he doesn’t want any other creeps getting to you, and also because he really is fucking thirsty and hungry, too.

So when the small of your back harshly hits the bathroom wall, you don’t argue. When Sim Jaeyun’s lips crashed onto your neck, breathing and inhaling you in— you don’t argue.

Holy fuck. This was an entirely different scenario from days before.

“Nice to see you again, too.” you mumble through heaved breaths, Jake’s lips marking kisses all over your neck. He rakes a hand through your head, groaning as he did so. “Mmh. That was fucking torture.”

You laugh, “I didn’t know that person I was dancing on was you. What did you drink tonight?”

But if you were being honest?

You felt it was him.

It seemed Jake felt that too, parting from your neck for a moment to ghost his lips over yours, “really? Hmmm… Boulevardier.”

Oh, so that’s why.

And he gives you a gentle peck on the lips— like a lover’s kiss. He doesn’t dwell on it long though, resuming his business down your neck. “Can I touch you?” Jake asks for permission, as if he wasn’t already doing that by keeping both of your hands still up your head.

You giggle, feeling him bite down the sensitive skin. He absolutely reeked of alcohol, but Jake’s sense of control and stability was insane. “Been wanting to touch you the moment you got that fucking tattoo.” He admits truthfully, sneaking his other hand down your trembling legs.

It was hard to bite back a moan, to filter out your reaction, yet you pull yourself back, letting Jake do all the talking for now. “You know how sexy you looked in this dress?”

His fingers fully slips in, grazing the hem of your panties. Fuck. “How badly I wanted to just get this off of you?” in a split second, he pulls the underwear down, the cool air hitting your bare skin. The way you shivered underneath his grasp didn’t go unnoticed, and he laughed at the way you attempted to close your legs for some heat.

Jake prods one of his legs to keep yours open. And then? He dips down and he shit— he devours your bare pussy like a man starved for years. It must be the alcohol consuming you, because when in the hell did he get there?

But it didn’t matter now, for Jake was full on licking, slurping, nourishing your cunt.

Now you don’t hold yourself back, now you moaned out his name in full pride and glory. “Jake— fuck, I—”

The sounds were pornographic at best, with Jake’s tongue absolutely wrecking your arousal filled pussy, two of his hands gripped both cheeks of your ass as he spreads it open— as he spreads you open much wider. “Mmh, yeah— s’good.”

You grip his tousled hair, feeling your back slide down due to the immense pressure his mouth provided. But Jake wasn’t having any of that shit, lifting himself up for a second, wiping the remnants of your juices from his mouth. He carried you with ease over to the toilet chair, closing the lid as he unfurls your thighs once more.

He doesn’t eat you out this time, taking two of his long fingers, slipping in the same hole. “So wet babe— hell, it’s taking my fingers in so well. Shit.” Jake nears your fucked out face, letting his left hand caress your hair as he peppered kisses to your forehead. He must love kissing and making out because the amount of remnants his lips left on parts of your body was uncountable at this point.

Jake couldn’t really be blamed, though. It felt like you were a fragile little doll in his hands, even if you are anything but that. Such a precious little thing beneath his grasp, god— he felt himself go absolutely insane. He didn’t expect to see you here, over at the bar he frequented, but hell was he glad.

Jake continued to scissor you open, in out, in out, his fingers were completely disappearing and reappearing from the slick juices of your cunt. And he absolutely fucking loved it. His boner at this point was already uncontrollable, but he hadn’t really payed much attention to his own needs given that you were here. And you needed much attention.

Scratch that, he really just wanted a taste of you.

“Jake, you’re hard- fuck!” You moan when he hits a particular spot that had you rolling your eyes back. Jake chuckles, “Shh, baby it’s alright. I’ll let you deal with it later, yeah?” fingering that particular spot with much force and enthusiasm. Sim Jaeyun was a fucking menace— he was absolutely divine with the way he worked his fingers and prodded into your throbbing hole with ease.

“You see how well it takes my fingers in baby?” Jake babbles, keeping his eyes glued to his motions. “I fucking wonder how well you’ll take my throbbing dick.”

The way Jake spoke is something surprisingly different. You half-expected it, this particular image of him loving all the dirty talk when he gets his fair share of sex. But experiencing and witnessing it first hand is a different story altogether.

You stick your tongue out, oblivious to the way Jake stares in awe. The absolute fucking guilt of having fantasized about something like this during your first meeting with Jake had long disappeared. Somehow, you just knew Jake thought of this too.

It wasn’t hard to believe, given how he seemed to be so adamant on pleasuring you, praising you, all while his own boner and hard-on left him wincing every once in a while in pain. It hurts every time he sees your pussy clench and drench his fingers. He doesn’t know what came over him, you were just so sexy it hurt.

Taking matters into your own hands, you free your grip from his shoulders, swiftly grabbing hold of the belt of his pants and unbuckling it with shaky hands. “Damn- you want it?” Jake groans, momentarily stopping all sorts of pleasure on your cunt.

You barely muffle out a hum, pulling his pants down along with his boxers, his throbbing, leaking dick bouncing against your supple cheeks like a scene from a porn movie. Jake has had his fair share of porn movies, but nothing came close to the way you stroke and teased his skin and massaged his balls.

Jake straightens his posture, keeping his hands on your head as you minded your business on his already leaking cock. It smelled musky, slightly tangy and sweet like the alcohol that tainted his mouth minutes prior. Slowly, you took one languid lick at tip of his dick, then dragging that very same tongue down his length.

Down, down, down.

Until your muscles eventually reached his balls, the warmth of it soothing your face. You cupped it with both hands, relishing each and every part of Jake’s dick. You’ve thought of this before— Jake’s ridiculously long and girthy cock tracing itself on his dark pants. It was torture, you think every time.

Because Jake is big.

And it seemed his member’s only getting bigger everytime you touch or do so much as tease it.

Without much of a warning, Jake takes full control of your head and shoves his entire cock whole inside of your mouth. He just stuffs it inside your mouth, completely ignoring the fact that you were choking. “Fuuuck— yeah, take it in just like that.” he whined. Hearing Jake whine was enough of an indication and a button for you to bob your head up and down, down and up— fully intent on getting him to release those sounds just as much as he did with you.

“You know what you’re doing– shit. Taking me in so well…” He pats your head, retracting it for a second then slamming in with full force. You could hardly breathe, but you fucking loved the sensation you were feeling— the sensation you were fucking feeding Sim Jaeyun. This was all such a catch. Despite the slightly smelly and sticky feeling of having sex inside the bathroom of the bar, the thrill of possibly getting caught any time now has you more aroused than ever.

Hell, you only wished Jake locked the door before entering here.

“Mmh, don’t worry about the doors. I made sure I— fuck!” Jake threw his head back as the entirety of his cock reach unimaginable lengths down your throat. You kept your hands glued to the side of his thighs, looking up at him with such eyes. Jake felt his warm member twitch at the sight alone. So feeble, so adorable— so not mouthy with your snarky mouth stuffed with cock. His own cock. Jake caressed your cheeks, smiling as he did so, “I made sure I didn’t lock the doors. You want the thrill, don’t you?”

Frantic, you pat his thighs and tried to pull yourself away from him. Tried. Jake wasn’t having any of it, stern on keeping your head bobbing up and down his length. “The thrill of getting caught, yeah?”

You stopped fighting all sense of sanity, and instead, focusing on swallowing down Jake whole.

Who cares if you get caught anyways? What the fuck ever. This was worth taking the risk for.

It takes a little while more to get him to finally release and whimper out your name, “Oh- I’m cumming. Take it in, shit. Take it in—”

Jake’s spurts his white semen inside your velvety mouth, the warm bitter taste coating it. He keeps your head close, making sure you were taking in every ounce of his liquid. Sim Jaeyun felt stars circle his eyes— that was the best head he’s gotten in his lifetime.

“You’ve done this before?” He asks as you retract from his head and wipe the side of your mouth with the back of your hand. Shrugging, you nod, “had a boyfriend I used to do this to.” admitting the fact that this wasn’t your first time. Surprised, Jake smirks and rubs your lips gently. You still kneeled beneath you while he towered over you. “Oh? Why’s he your ex now?”

“For the record,” you stood up from your position, grasping Jake’s cock once more as you prepared for the finale. The next big thing. And gosh, you were thankful because he was immediately rock hard, absolutely unbothered with the way you sucked and teased him earlier. He must be enjoying this too. “He couldn’t eat me out very well, couldn’t place his dick inside here either.”

Jake halts your hand from going any further, his restriction now coming into play.

“As much as I’d really love to fuck you right now, Y/N–” he laughs, “it’s kind of smelly in here. My car, instead?”

And as impatient as you were, you nodded, because it was damn repugnant in this public bathroom.

~~~~~~

“I’ll go straight to the point, it’s making me so damn impatient.”

Exiting the club and slipping out from the mindless people was easy, after the alcohol had somewhat left your system from the tension that occured minutes prior, it felt like you were ready to take Jake in. As in— as a fucking whole with a big cock like that.

It seems he shared the same sentiment, immediately pulling you over the back seat and letting your back meet the plush mattress. It smelled divine inside his car, a mix of licorice and something woody at the same time. You know he uses the same scent on himself.

Jake immediately prods the hem of your already raked up tight skirt, clutching your worn out pussy and circling your clit with his thumb. Giggling, you pull his head closer to yours and kissed him. Jake gladly reciprocated the action, you feel his lower half fumbling about as he unfurls his pants.

Getting it back on was such a pain in the ass.

“You taste like candy, god- you’re making me go insane.” he then attacks your neck by riddling it with marks. One mark after another, each one more darker than the next. “Gonna fucking mark you mine, show that ex of yours what he’s missing out on.”

“Mmh, please do, Jakey…” the nickname felt foreign and new against your tongue. He must’ve loved this though, cause the second after, he was all up your lips and whispering random praises. Jake’s good at this— pampering you, peppering you, absolutely fucking needing you like it was his last. “You want that baby?”

He twirls his thumb and index finger at your clit. “Want me to show you who’s doing this better?”

And there was absolutely no question about it. In perhaps any other universe out there— he will and will always do shit better. But you nod, choosing to swell his ego and pride a bit. This causes Jake to smirk as you feel something wet and warm hit the opening of your cunt. “You on the pill?” he asks and you nod.

Something ignits within Jake, a sudden idea coiling in the back of his mind as he says, “I’ll paint your walls clean, that okay?”

And you?

You whine pathetically, “all yours, Jake… Just please put it in.”

Hell, if Heeseung or if your parents knew what in the fuck you were saying right now, you don’t think you’d honestly live through it. But in the spur of the moment, it all feels so sexy and so erotic. Nothing has ever felt so raw and shameless before. Not with your ex who could barely get you to cum, most of all not with anyone else.

Without a warning, Jake pressed his entire cock inside your unaware cunt. It was practically a given at this point that Jake was big. As in— humungous. You visibly winced, feeling each and every corner of your insides being stretched out from his cock alone. This wasn’t your first time having sex, but this is is your first time having a cock this big down your pussy, feeling just right like a puzzle piece.

“Shit, you’re squeezing me too much, baby…” Jake groans, feeling his hips go numb for a moment as he falls forward and kisses the nape of your neck. He caressed your waist, gently pecking your cheek. “Relax…” He tells you, and you do, welcoming his member after each and every breath. The comfort Jake offered made you chuckle a bit, a sense of ease allowing your tightness to loosen up a bit from the tension.

“I’ll move, yeah?” He whispers through tight breaths, as do you, clutching his bicep. Jake feels you ease in to his cock that protruded your entrance, and he slams it. Hard. Fast. Definite. Hitting the walls of your cervix so damn good.

You feel your ear go numb at the sensation, Jake faltered too, pressing some of his bodyweight on you as he mumbled curses, “Mhm, you’re squeezing me still— shit. I can’t last long with your pussy like this.” He drunkenly says.

Sim Jaeyun was fucking intoxicating.

Doing all this.

Speaking like this.

“God, Jake, you make me go- i-insane…”

Jake chuckled, “Do I baby?” kissing you once more in places he finds accessible, “do you like me being this deep on your little cunt?”

You nod.

“This feels so good, yeah? Bet you’ve been eyeing my cock too the moment you got your tattoo.”

Jake was practically moving on autopilot at this point, swaying his hips back and forth, and your fucked up pussy attempting to accomodate his fast movements.

And you agree.

Not only because it felt good.

But also because he was the one doing this to you.

This night might as well go on for forever.

Jake hits a particular spot down your squelching cunt, erupting the tiniest whimper from you. He grins, “this—” pushing his cock a little harder down that very same spot. “one?”

And you’re absolutely gone. Babbling his name, screaming for him to hit it farther down. And Sim Jaeyun fucking does, he pistoned his hips, eyes travelling down to the way you soak him in so good and refuse to let his cock leave your pussy, enveloping him in such a way that had him going dizzy.

It doesn’t take long before he was on the brink too, cursing as he licked your lips and gave you marks around your neck, not tattoos this time. “I’m coming baby- so close.”

“‘M too, Jakey— keep going.”

“Gonna paint you clean, okay?” he mumbled, “make this pussy mine yeah? You want that too right? You need this too?”

It felt like he was begging with the way he spoke, but it was so hot and so sexy that you can’t help but nod and agree with his fucked out statements. You tell him you’d want to be fucked like that, you tell him he can absolutely fucking paint your walls pure white with his cum.

The last thrust, and Sim Jaeyun loses all control and you feel his warm liquid spurting through your squirting cunt, each and every drop of it not going to waste as he made sure to keep his cock inside your throbbing hole.

He merely watches as he keeps his cock there, pouring all of his cum erotically.

The sweat was nothing compared to the bar earlier, the hot humid air in the car making you feel so sticky and warm all together. Jake pulls his member out of your pussy, wiping the excess and inserting it back to its rightful place— your hole. He smiles once he sees you shiver when his fingers delved in. But you were too tired, too worn out.

And without much of another word, the next thing you saw was black.

~~~~~~

Caramel. Vanilla. Coffee beans.

The scent of something stirs up your system awake. The perfect breakfast.

Suddenly, you were hit with something far, far greater. This did not feel like your sheets, and you never cooked or had breakfast around.

Swiftly, you opened your eyes to find yourself wrapped in a whirlwind of emotions. You weren’t naked, clothed in a shirt that was twice your size, and you were certainly not in your room, either. The remnants of last night scrambled through your brain, your head pounding like never before.

You remembered everything.

From Jake’s eyes glued to you the entire night, to his body connecting with yours.

It was abominable, but it was so perfect at the same time. You cringed at the fact that you were truly experiencing this, getting laid with your hot tattoo artist you met for a few days.

It’s stupid.

Really stupid.

You slap yourself in the cheek with far more force intended, cursing beneath your breath. Looking around, you saw how organized and clean Jake kept his room. Contrary to yours riddled with sticky notes and papers for reviewers, he had minimal stuff around (as do most men) with only a bed, bedside table, closet, and a large desk with his devices.

The room was relatively dim and dark, the design catering perfectly up to Jake’s taste. Then, the smell of bacon intrigued your nose.

It must be Jake, cooking something up.

You picked yourself up on your feet, only to discover that you physically can’t. Or at least, it was hard to do so given your legs felt so bruised and incapable from the sudden gush of pain hitting your thighs and your— yeah, well, down there.

“Fuck, was it that brutal?” you whisper to yourself, attempting to make way to the kitchen and navigating Jake’s space. You eventually made it there, only to find the culprit with his back turned on you, holding a pan and flipping the food around.

He had only his back turned but his sculpted shoulder blades was enough to make your knees buckle again. Jake hears the footsteps nearing his way, turning around to greet you with that same warm smile. So indifferent.

“You’re awake just in time.” He greets, putting the last piece of bacon down on the plate. He had pancakes, scrambled eggs, fruits, bacon, and a cup of hot coffee all prepared.

It kind of felt like he’s your boyfriend for a split second.

“I didn’t know where to drop you off last night, so I hope you don’t mind that you’re here.”

You shook your head, feeling ashamed with the situation at hand. For sure, your hair was disheveled, your makeup was all over the place, and your breath smelled like absolute ass. “I’m sorry for um… Causing so much trouble last night, that’s kind of rude of me.”

Jake shook his head, rubbing the nape of his neck. “No, I should be the one apologizing after all… That.”

Upon his last word, the two of you fell silent and numb. “I think we should talk about that.”

Jake immediately agrees, placing the pan on the sink. “We really should.”

You make your way over to the table after he insisted, getting you a plate of your own. The two of you ate in silence for a little while, the words hanging upon your tongue but never fully letting loose.

That was until Jake speaks up, breaking the ice. “What do you want to happen with this?”

You halt the piece of pancake you were just about to bite, “With what?”

Jake shrugs, putting his utensils down. “With this whole thing that happened between us. You remember it too, right?”

You did. The whole entire night. As clear as day.

“Just… Parts of it, I guess.”

Jake nods, though you can tell from the look on his eyes that he wasn’t having it. “Y/N, to be frank with you— I’m not looking for anything serious. I’ve told you that before, right? I don’t do girlfriends, just—”

“One night stands. You’ve mentioned, yeah.”

It wasn’t such a hard pill to swallow, really.

“Right. Just wish this didn’t get your hopes up on anything or what.”

You raise a brow, feeling rather pissed off at what he’d just said. You? Hanging on his thread? He was absolutely correct. But to hear it straight up from him was brutal and quite frankly, bruised your ego. “Trust me, I don’t get my hopes up over things like these–” you take a bite out of the bacon, “takes too much time and trouble.”

Jake grins, unaware of your bitterness towards the matter. Instead, he felt glad you supposedly feel the same way. “Glad we’re on the same wavelength. So, what’s your choice gonna be?”

“My choice?” Jake nods, “We can pretend this never happened or we can… Continue if you’d like.”

The way the word continue rolls off his tongue

felt odd. “Continue?” You clarify, “as in- you’d want to continue this fuck and run thing?”

It wouldn’t necessarily be forced in your end, but damn.

Jake shrugs. “Admit it, you and I both get a good fuck. It’s a win-win situation.”

Sim Jaeyun was more heartless than you’d thought of him to be. Then again, you half expected this to happen. “And? If we continue this… Whatever this is— where in the hell do we even draw the line?”

You bet you’ll catch feelings first.

“Catching feelings is where we draw the line. You know? Typical friends with benefits type of scenario.”

Typical friends with benefits type of scenario.

Something tells you Jake has pulled this exact script plenty of times before, like the lines he’d said over at the tattoo shop. Not necessarily programmed— but it was expected of him to say… That.

You ponder over his words.

And Jake merely eyes you.

You could refuse right now and tell him that— no, you absolutely cannot risk where he begins to draw the line because for you, crossing it was fatal trouble. You’re never one to catch feelings very quickly, but sooner or later, when this goes on, you know very will you will.

Jake is the epitome of everything your ex wasn’t.

The complete opposite.

Just your type.

So how in the world were you going to assure yourself you weren’t going to fall for him?

It was half and half, really.

But the moment you came back for your second tattoo, you knew full well what you were getting yourself into.

It was fucking dangerous.

And it was a risk you were more than willing to take.

“I mean, why not? Harmless hookups here and there wouldn’t be so bad.” it was more so of you trying to convince yourself rather than Jake. But the latter agreed to your sentiment, saying, “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Y/N.” the tiniest, but snarkiest grin appearing onto his features. “We’re playing with fire, and its dangerous.”

“So do I. But here I am anyway.”

~~~~~~

Following the rather… Eventful incident over at Jake’s place, he drops you off over to your place as an apology to what happened the previous nights. Checking your phone hours later, you find that Heeseung’s been riddling you with calls and endless drunk texts as to wherever the hell you’ve gone off to.

11:30 PM.

Seungie: where tf r u???

Seungie: …. im serious beuh UGH i canr do dis rn im dancinf w some randok gurl and she smeels like shit 💩

Seungie: kind of smellsnlike u lol

Seungie: lolololol

1 AM

Seungie: hope u fgot laid or smthn lol i gor scolwdwd by sunghoon dor reeking like alcogool hahaha 🤣🤣

Seungie: i feel SOOOO ELEVATED RIGHT NOWWWW!! WOOOOOO!

1:30 AM

Seungie: beatch how tf r u like u got laid THAT good to be ignoring my calls n shi???

Seungie: bruh

9:47 AM

Seungie: hey i just woke up, i got so wasted last night. lol ignore the weird ass messages

Seungie: Y/N are you okay? please reply omfg i’m sorry i wasn’t able to guard you properly last night

Seungie: not that it was my responsibility or what but

10:30 AM

Seungie: now i’m seriously getting worried, where the hell are you?

Seungie: please reply back, your location says you’re not at your home right now???

11:00 AM

You: Omg Hee, Cafe. In ten minutes. Get dressed. I have so much to fucking spill.

11:05 AM

Seungie: WHAT THE FUCK

Seungie: FINALLY I THOUGHT YOU GOT LIKE KIDNAPPED OR SOMETHING

Seungie: ALSO WHAT YOU CANT BE MAKING PLANS SO FAST

You: Just did.

Seungie: What are we wearing?

You: im in my pajamas bruh

Twenty minutes after your said conversation with a very worried Heeseung, you swiftly made your way over to the cafe you saw randomly on the way to work. It looked nice and aesthetically pleasing, a small run down coffee shop owned by a few college students.

Heeseung arrived shortly after, quite literally embracing you until you can’t breathe anymore. That’s how much he was worried and scared.

“I thought you got like kidnapped or something.”

He mumbles, apologizing for the way he swore to take responsibility of you, only to get lost in the crowd minutes after. “After promising me you’d like— guard me or something like that.” You roll your eyes, sitting down across from Heeseung. Your drinks arrived, and he looked somewhat guilty, eyes avoiding yours. “Got too lost with the ladies.”

“With the ladies my ass.”

“Enough of that, what the heck are you going to tell me anyways? Come on, give me some credit for being worried sick.”

Another roll of eyes came his way. You had to hand it to him, though. Thirty missed calls and like- a spam of messages throughout the night. Despite being wasted and all that, he really was worried.

“So… Remember Jake?”

“The hot tattoo artist you fawned over? Yeah. What about him?”

“I fucked him.”

“Your left middle finger or right?”

“No— as in— I fucked him.”

“Yeah, and I’m asking whether—“ and then, Heeseung stops. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” He was an edge away from spilling his coffee all over the place, standing abruptly. “You did— WHAT now?”

Stoic and composed, you sipped on your drink. “He was at the bar last night, we danced, we made out in the bathroom, and we… Did the thing in his car.”

“You are not serious right now.” Heeseung slowly sinks back to his seat, “You are absolutely not serious right now.” he was in total disbelief. You did not aid to his surprise though, shrugging your shoulders and leaning back against the wooden chair. “I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t. I literally feel like my heart is like pumping way more blood than it’s supposed to be.”

“There’s a term for that, medical student.”

“Sinus Tachycardia.”

“Thank you smarty pants— do you-” Heeseung shifts in his seat, “do you like regret what you’ve done? Also, are you on the pill and is he clean?”

His questions came gunshotting in.

“No. Yes, and yes.”

“Do you like him? Or do you just want to have fun with him? He’s attractive but he looks like he’s a playboy.”

You confirm Heeseung’s statement, saying, “he’s more than that. I bet he’s had like a hundred girls up in his alley before.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“It’s not that I don’t mind, it’s just that—”

Heeseung beats you to it, “It’s just that you want to play this game with him, am I right? He’s probably offering you the spot of like, I don’t know— fuck buddies or something.”

“You know what? That’s exactly what he said.” You point to him, gaping your mouth as if he’d just solve the biggest mystery in the world. Heeseung shrugs, “see? You absolutely wouldn’t mind getting fooled by this man. I cannot blame you though.”

“Right?” he sips on his drink dramatically, setting it down. Then, he crossed his legs over the other and meticulously intertwined his fingers like some sort of diva. A freaking dork stuck inside a hot body.

“You are getting yourself in a very sticky situation, missy.”

“Okay, you sound like my dad right now.”

“But you know full well I’m right.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

He pinched the bridge of his noise, still in that same poised manner, “it’s not the first time you’ve pulled this shit, so I guess go for it.”

“Wow, real supportive.” the two of you simultaneously roll your eyes at the back of your head, chuckling at the sudden coincidence as Heeseung spoke, “just be careful.”

“Can’t promise you that.”

“Of course you can’t.”

~~~~~~

The days following your unfortunate incident with Jake— you discerned one very unsettling thing.

You were well aware you go to the same university as him, as he mentioned previously. It always gnawed at the back of your head, but obviously, the department of his course differed and his line of field was over at the other building, not here. Never here.

So chances of bumping into him were low. Or so you thought.

But oddly enough, you’ve been seeing him more than usual. As in— he’s just always somehow appearing out of nowhere. Often with perhaps a friend named Sunghoon who you shared a class with at Anatomy and Physiology. Note that he shared a common mutual with Heeseung, much to your surprise.

A small world, you were beginning to think he was doing it on purpose, waiting for Sunghoon to finish his classes (you were on the same few class), and deliberately hanging by, leaning against that same wall with his arms crossed as if he hadn’t just done the most sinful thing days prior.

Like right now. Moments after you’ve left the lecture hall, you were half expecting this to happen. Sim Jaeyun, leaning against a pillar a few distances away from the room, headphones on his ear as he sucked on a lollipop. The sweet treat caught your attention, eyes observing the way his to gue swirled around the candy.

Wow, that’s so… Hot.

You knew Jake had a distinct sense of fashion, matching yours in a way that made it look like you dressed together. But god, seeing him with no contact made warm things appear down the pits of your stomach. It wasn’t helping you weren’t reaching out to him at all these past few days.

The man names Sunghoon eventually appeared from the door, nearing Jake and greeting him. He returned the favor, momentarily locking eyes with you— intentionally.

He grins.

You grin back.

His left hand holds the stick of the treat, swirling his tongue around the strawberry flavor.

And that absolutely does it for you.

~~~~~~

You’ve pictured yourself in this scenario plenty of times before.

It seemed it was going to become an occasional thing now.

You, wrapped in the silky sheets of Jake’s blankets, your body bare and exposed to his touch alone. He wasn’t touching you now, though, the scent of cherry flavored air unveiling from his mouth. You hardly knew he vaped, but now here you were, leaning against his bed’s frame, watching the way he neared the lip of the vape to his mouth, then releasing that breath of air so nonchalantly and unfazed.

Jake merely stared at the ceiling as you stared at him.

His chest flexed upon your cold fingers touching it, sculpting and tracing part of his well defined abs. He chuckles, “What? Another round so suddenly?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m just touching you, is that so wrong?” Jake shook his head, tilting his head over to your direction and releasing the cherry flavored air straight to your face. Normally, you’d consider it as rude, but when Jake does it, something about the deed felt so hot and attractive. “You’re not helping when you touch me like that.”

And once more, something builds up down the pits of your stomach.

Jake feels this. He knows. And he acts upon it, lifting his leg, raking it across as he hovered above you with ease.

He neared his head, lips ghosting over your plump lips.

“Let’s try something new, yeah?”

~~~~~~ It goes on for a month.

The routine goes as follows: You make some sort of eye contact with Jake at the hallway, when classes end, he either goes to your place or you go to his. An endless cycle of quite literally fucking and playing around.

A terrible habit you’ve garnered from Jake was the act of vaping. When he comes over, a guilty pleasure of yours was to puff from his pod, enjoying it as much as he did, especially when the flavors differed.

Sometimes it was cola, sometimes mint, sometimes even coffee flavored.

His vape was as addicting as him.

And it wasn’t long before Heeseung began to notice the particular change in habit. It’s not that you’ve fallen off of your arrangement of studying, going to work, and generally— being the goody-two-shoes you’ve always been. Something’s definitely shifted, though.

Seungie: lemme guess, ur sleeping w jake again

You: how’d u know. lol

Seungie: i can SMELL his disgusting ass vape from here, dont lie, ik you’ve been doing the same

You: am not.

Seungie: i literally smell you at work, no point in denying

You: …

You: okay fine. dont scold me.

Seungie: wasnt planning to, ur an adult i think u know what ure doing w ur life bae

Seungie: but just incase u need like advice, maybe pull out from your situation while its still early.

Seungie: your eyebags are so visible now, i feel like youre STRESSED with this man

You: kind of. he’s been keeping me up until god knows what time

Seungie: your quiz results?

You: still passing them.

Seungie: submissions?

You: still on time.

Seungie: okay. thats good, text me when u need something, ‘kay? i’m coming over to kaiza

You: okay so the two of you are at THAT stage now

Seungie: ;))

You: creepy.

The message ends there, you giggled like fool as Heeseung reacts to your message with a smirk. It seemed like you were not the only one moving things on your end.

However, unbeknownst to you, a frowning Jake hovered besde you, clutching his vape with much more force than intended. His hand grasped your phone swiftly, turning it off and placing it down your bedside table.

“Hey! What was that for!” You frown, attempting to reach for your phone only for Jake to have you pinned down with his strong and muscular arms. “I wasn’t informed your time spent with me would be shared by someone else.”

The latter part of his statement felt forced, strained even. You don’t fail to notice the way he grinds his teeth ever so slightly. “I was just texting Heeseung!” you counter, feeling the slightest hint of idea coming into play.

Jake rolled his eyes, rubbing your hands with his thumbs. His head stood a good distance away from you, but you could feel his willingness and urge to absolutely pound and devour you this very moment. Again. “And you’re with me right now.”

You couldn’t sense if he was just greedy or if he felt a bit of jealousy for the man. “I don’t think it’s right to be putting your attention on him—” Jake breathed in the scent of your nape, “rather than me?”

And the rest was practically history.

~~~~~~

It goes on for two months.

Jake’s made it clear anything personal will never get into matters like this.

And he’s done a pretty good job at keeping his word. The everlasting silence, glances, and hint everytime you passed each other down the hallway was enough of an indication that he wants this as much as you do. But never enough. You feel as though you’d want him so bad things may overflow, but for him— it felt like it was just alright. Never truly enough on his end.

Today marks the second month mark of your hookup with the man. He’d left your apartment just minutes prior with no word beforehand, during, or even after.

He really was just there to fuck the living shits out of you.

And it hurt too.

You thought as you stared at yourself through your bathroom’s mirror, fingers lightly grazing the hickeys he left splattered all around the neck, now turning purple. You’d have to wear a turtleneck to school tomorrow, but for now, you had bigger things to worry about. The marks were the least of your concern.

You don’t know what to make of it, don’t know what to assert of Jake’s actions towards you. He was crude when it came to sex, but the gentle touches were there. The aftercare was there. The love in his eyes at times felt like it was there. Everything a boyfriend should be doing, but he was not such.

And it hurt.

~~~~~~

The mark stretched on for three more months.

Eventually, the warm breeze had long dissipated and you were greeted with the winter snow. You had to start wrapping yourself up in multiple layers now as you went to work. As for your course, you had a few more months before you finished your pre-medical program. If granted the opportunity, your next stop would be to actually pursue the real deal.

Now?

The months felt like they were bearing more days by the second, too slow to halt at Christmas, the long awaited break simply being too slow.

An old record player sits idly atop the counter of the registrar.

The sound of ‘Come and Get Your Love’ by Redbone plays along, one of Heeseung’s personal picks for today’s tedious shift. He sways his body along the rhythm of the music to keep himself at bay from the intense heat the summer was bringing along.

He’s in a pretty good mood today, sipping a green apple flavored slushie despite the weather already being so cold.

“What got you so jumpy today?” You ask with a snort, shoving a box inside one if the counters. “Baby ‘cause you’re mine and you’re fine~” he does one of his obnoxiously good footworks, moonwalking owards you. Once face to face, he pulls something out from his pocket, showing you a picture of Kaiza.

“And you— look so divine!”

You roll your eyes, “Come and get your love!” swaying along with his antics despite not truly syncing with the beat. “Let me guess!” you say in between the music, “you asked her to be your girlfriend? And she said yes?”

“Correct! That’s why you gotta let me celebrate this.”

Another snort came down Heeseung’s way. He was always oddly energetic when something good happens, but you didn’t expect they’d move forward much better than expected. Way better than your stupid excuse of a relationship.

He sings along until the music is down, and eventually, he spoke, “I heard the engineering department is holding one of their annual music festivals again next Saturday.”

It was a particular Monday, the beginning of the weak already making you feel so weak.

“You down to go?”

“Yep. They got the best organized any department could have.”

Usually, each departments creates a festival or some sort of event all together as a final bang for the last semester. The engineering department upholds one of the best ones, if not the best— inviting big time artists and creating booths that are actually affordable and fun to buy from.

You attend the festival every year.

“You sure? For sure your ex is gonna be there.” Heeseung grabs classic vinyl record, placing it inside the player. Killing Me Softly.

Your ex, Doyun. The stupid fucker who cheated on you, happened to be one of the students in the very same department. He’s in a band, one of the overglorified ones at his department. A vocalist and a guitarist that’s simply too cocky for his own good.

You shrug, playing it off. “Not a big deal.” Hell, you might even see your sorry excuse of a best friend over at the festival. But it wasn’t anything to you now. If anything, it gave you all the more of a reason to not trust people.

Strumming my pain with his fingers,

Singing my life with his words.

“Heeseung, are you intentionally doing this right now?”

Heeseung grinned, “hey, the lyrics just happened to match up!”

You seriously want to skin this man alive.

“Ugh. Just organize the damn piles, please, before I hit you in the face.”

Killing me softly with his song.

Killing me softly… With his song.

~~~~~~

One of the things you realized during your whole agreement with Jake: you’ve never gotten his phone number.

You don’t know how in the world the two of you managed to keep a few months of hookup without communication, but it must be some sort of talent because you were only realizing it now.

Jake’s presence stopped showing up after your class to pick Sunghoon up for the rest of the week.

Last week, it was three days of the week; his usual.

Now, there was barely anything.

It was probably how you noticed the sudden absence of communication the two of you actually had in the real world. Simply being too engrossed in the bedroom to even think about texting. But somehow, it seemed to work so smoothly. The subtle glances, the cues— all of them were more than enough to act upon.

You watch as a mindless Sunghoon pops out of the class, walking along the hallway with no one by his side.

It was Friday now.

It seemed you weren’t going to get a glimpse of Jake anytime soon.

~~~~~~

The weekend was overbearing, spent on the couch munching away junk foods and watching your favorite seriouss— seriously hoping Jake would magically appear. Even if it meant him asking for sexual intercouse straight away.

Yet nothing came.

Monday came hitting again like a truck, and after a stressful class at one if your most disliked subjects— Physics, something td you it was a sign. A positive sign.

So when the bell rang and Sunghoon came out, you half-expected something. Anything to prove your jittering heart and brain.

But when you see nothing, all you do is heave out a sigh.

“Are you waiting for Jake?” Sunghoon spoke much to your surprise, strapping his bag to his back. Stunned, you turn around and said, “What?”

“I said are you waiting for Jake?”

You think about it for a second, whether or not this man is someone you could trust. Though eventually, “Ah— yeah. You know where he is?” you cave in. Sunghoon shrugs, “you’re the girl screaming his name out in his bedroom at twelve midnight am I right?”

God. You’ve never ran towards someone so fast, almost stumbling him back as you covered his mouth with your hand. What a ridiculously honest man! “You don’t say things like that in public!”

Sunghoon raised a brow, prying your hand off his mouth. “And I’ve told Jake plenty of times to keep the weird noises down especially during my quizzes and exams, but here we are.”

“What?”

Jake never told you that.

“You guys are roommates?”

Sunghoon nods his head, “Obviously? Besides, it’s already pretty obvious. You guys are fucking noisy as hell.” You can feel the frustration in Sunghoon’s voice, and you couldn’t really blame him, in all honesty. But had you known Sunghoon was there during your… Funny businesses, you would’ve kept things down.

Sheepishly, you scratch the nape of your neck and avoid his gaze. “Sorry, I— didn’t really know…”

Sunghon shrugs, “It’s a disturbance but whatever. I’ll ask again— are you looking for Jake?”

You nod.

You’ve never deemed Sunghoon to be so straight to the point and strict given that he always sat himself at the back of the class and hardly spoke. But it felt like you were being scolded by your father.

“If it answers your questions, I haven’t been seeing him much at the dorm as of late. He’s been going home much later than usual, not sure about his classes though I’m sure he still attends.”

You try and take in all of what he’s saying— in the fucking name of Jake!

“He might be preoccupied with things at his tattoo job or something, or like doing something odd like he usually does.”

Something odd?

“What odd thing exactly if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sunghoon shrugs, “hooking up with random girls, things like that.”

Oh.

The man seemed to sense your sudden change of mood, as he shifts around uncomfortably, piecing together what to say. “Just ask him yourself, it’d be better that way.”

There was silence.

Until Sunghoon exasperatedly sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “don’t tell me you don’t have his contact?”

Another silence.

“Ugh. I cannot believe this,” he pulls out his phone, opening his contacts and handing you the number written on his screen. You swiftly took your phone out albeit haphzardly, typing in the letters so fast your fingers began to shake a bit. Once done, Sunghoon puts the phone back in his pocket.

Though it kind of pained you to be gaining access of Jake’s phone number not from the man himself, but from his friend- you chose to disregard the pride for now.

“I’m done, that’s all the help I can do.” Sunghoon turns around, waving one of his hand up, “Oh and if you patch that up— please keep the moans down otherwise I’ll kick both your asses out.”

God fucking dammit.

~~~~~~

The number, if anything— it scares you to death.

You’ve been staring at it for god knows how many hours now, memorizing it at some point as you fumbled to send out a message.

What would Jake even think of you sending out a, ‘hey Jake, this is Y/N. I was hoping to know when we can hookup soon?’

Frankly speaking, on your end, it would sound possesive, obsessed even, given the fact that his number came from not Jake himself but from his friend.

Your fingers were inches away from touching the send button.

Until, eventually, it stopped.

Yeah. It wouldn’t make sense. You weren’t his girlfriend or anything.

~~~~~~

You were beginning to think nothing ever happened between the two of you.

The second week of December, the third month of your hookup is the mark, the remembrance that this, this is exactly where everything started.

Yet as abrupt as everything came to be, things ended way too soon the very same way.

That particular Wednesday, you visited the tattoo shop in hopes of getting a, ‘tattoo’ from none other than Jake.

Kaiza said he wasn’t there and refused to entertain anymore questions.

Came Friday and Heeseung was practically drilling holes into your back.

“Dude, you’ve been mopping around since the moment you entered, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N!” He snapped a finger in front of your face, bringing you back to harsh reality. You blinked, “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” reasoning it out. Heeseung wasn’t having any of it, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“I just know this is about Jake. What did he do this time?” You sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing. “This is stupid. Fucking stupid.”

“What is?”

The odd urge to spill everything came down, and before you knew it, you were telling Heeseung the whole story. How you expected for him to at least reach out, how he disappeared without so much of a trace, how you had to go to Sunghoon to ask about him, how you went to the tattoo shop.

Heeseung listened earnestly, and when you were done, it felt like he was some sort of philosopher, thinking way too passionately for an answer.

“Ending it while it was early would have been the best option.” He starts off saying, “but given your… Maybe desire for him I’d say it’s understandable.”

You nod. “But if Jake’s acting like that… Well, it’s best to let it go. You can’t be the one chasing him after swearing to yourself you’ll play his game. That looks desperate, right? And that is so not you.”

It really isn’t.

“You have to show him you’re capable of living without that— whole fuck buddies thing, because you do have a life outside of him.”

If there was anything unbearable about Heeseung, it was his capabilities to become so freaking annoying. But if there was anything that you loved about him, it’s the fact that he cares. He knows, and he actually understands whatever the hell’s going through your brain.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he asked, you gave him the signal. “Why is that when Doyun you know— did that shitty ass thing, it affected you but from what I saw, it never really phased you as an individual?”

He was talking about the fact that following your breakup with the said man, all it took for you was a single tissue box and a few hours to get over him. As well as a much needed bar session and a couple of drinks. Now? You weren’t even hell-bent on taking a trip down the bar to have fun anymore.

“I think you know what I mean with what I’m saying, right?”

You nod, thinking of some sort of response.

The word traced itself down the tip of your tongue, the scary one, the absolutely forbidden word that you aren’t supposed to mention.

It’s been kept there for so long, refusing to be acknowledged by you. Yet at the same time, it was way too obvious, way too transparent to see that—

“It’s because I actually like him. I like Sim Jaeyun.”

~~~~~~

Saturday felt like a huge burst of energy pulsing through.

You plowed through your morning shift at the record shop that morning with Heeseung, and that evening, the two of you made your way over to the department’s festival. You assured Heeseung to enjoy his time with Kaiza, given that it was thsir first experience together and that you didn’t want to be a cockblock.

But god, you wish you hadn’t insisted that now.

Mixed between different bodies of sweat and people, despite it being less worse than a club, god you felt overstimulated with everything. A particular band was playing something at the stage, while people jammed along and jumped to their hearts’ content.

It was a vibrant event, if anything. You do remember this event being way more fun when you used to have a boyfriend to share the moment with.

Eventually, a new band enters the stage as the previous one finished, with only the endless muttering and cheering of the people coming into play.

And you recognized the band all too well.

“What an evening everyone! We are— daybreakers!”

You recognized that voice way too soon, too.

The crowd cheered, it was clear they were the fan favorite. It was for a moment only, but you saw the way the vocalist— god forbid you mention the name— had glanced over your direction, fingers strumming his electric guitar.

He knew you were there.

“Today, we’ll be playing a couple of songs for you all!” he says, hyping the crowd up. The crowd takes his bait, his band strumming along the tune of what sounded like— She Will Be Loved.

“I’ve had you so many times but somehow I want more—”

Your ass.

”And she will be loved.”

Loved or cheated on?

The song finishes, the head of your stupid ex lulling back and strumming the last notes of the song. You can’t help but roll your eyes. At least he still had the passion and the talent for this.

“This next song, I’m dedication to the person I’ve loved the most but was stupid enough to lose.”

The audience shouts a handful of, ‘awws.’

"Someone I truly love and want back— if you’re out there in the crowd—” he sighs.

“Y/N, this song is for you and I want you back.”

A complete shift of genre— the song ‘I Want You Back’ by 1969 plays. Your mouth was agape like a fish, processing the situation at hand.

You could tell from your peripheral vision that people who knew you or at least were from your peripheral point of view turned their heads around to look for you. You know Doyun saw you around, why bother to even mention your name if he hadn’t? And you’d safely assume him and your best friend didn’t quite work out given the fact that she wasn’t anywhere near the stage.

Served them right.

But goddamn you hated this fucking spotlight, the endless cheering as this man sang.

“When I had you to myself, I didn’t want you around, those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.”

When Doyun looks over your direction, so does the crowd. Eventually, some were able to put a face to the name, with some even swaying around and calling it romantic.

Romantic your ass.

“Oh baby give me one more chance,” Doyun jumps down from the small stage, walking towards the center of the crowd. Like acting on command, the audience makes way for the man, “Won’t you please let me back in your heart?”

He stood before you now. Doyun, the same man you’ve come to love and cherish for years, serenading you with this song. It wasn’t romantic on your end, just purely laughable and pathetic even.

All the while, you pondered if Jake ever attended these events and if he was seeing this right now. God, you hope he wasn’t. You really, really, really do.

“Oh darlin’ I was blind to let you go, but now since I see you in his arms—” Doyun hands out a singlr rose, “Will you let me in again?”

Everyone chimed like it was their last performance on earth, like it was the very first serenade they’ve heard. If only they knew the boiling rage you had for this man, if only they knew how much he really acted off stage.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes locking onto his persistent ones.

Then, you took his microphone without permission, shouting—

“Fuck no.”

~~~~~~

Sunday was a lost of control for everything.

You went home that evening, the entire performance of a single man dampening your mood more than you’d like to admit. Heeseung bombarded you with messages, but you responded with a mere, ‘let’s talk about it next time, I’m exhausted’

And he seemed to take the hint, laying off for the rest of the night.

Sunday morning you find yourself up in your living room, contemplating whether or not you should text Jake and ask him how he’s doing or worst case— if he wants to hook up again.

But you don’t.

Sunday afternoon, by some odd circumstance, your feet dragged you along the heavy pavement and you find yourself back to square one— Tatts.

It was gettung unbearable by now. The lost of him without so much as a word or a simple hint to his disappearance or whereabouts. Jake just vanished, or at least, from your sight.

You enter the shop, the dark room hitting you as a welcome. It was a different person at the counter now, and much to your surprise, he gladly let you took Jake as the tattoo artist.

Jake.

Just thinking about his name and seeing him again made your head hurt but your heart excited at the same time. What was he thinking? What was he doing?

The man opened the curtains, only to see Jake like the second time you saw him— playing games on his phone with not so much as a care in the world. He didn’t see you yet, too preocuppied with his business as he spoke, “it’s a Sunday, why’s there a client–” then he looked up from his phone screen, only to halt his words and stare in utter shock.

You stared at him, not uttering a single word.

He stares back.

From anyone’s point of view, they’d assume he looked stoic and unfazed. But you know. You just know he was surprised to see you, just as much as you were.

“Ah. I see. Thanks.” Jake nods toward the man who left you with your business, and you hesitantly went inside his booth with clammy hands. With not so much as a word, Jake stood up and started doing his usual routine of preparing the things he needed. He was silent all the while, and you attempted to collect your thoughts until eventually, you spoke, “are you avoiding me?”

There was a pause, then he says, “avoiding you? Why would I do that?”

But his back was turned to you, and the way he spoke was monotone, devoid of emotion. “You haven’t been… Reaching out these past two weeks.”

“Is that something to be concerned about? Aren’t we just doing this for the fun of it?”

His words hit you like a truck coming in at full speed.

“Besides, what makes you think we’d be on that stage after a few good fuck sessions?” Jake turns to you. Through mixed emotions and albeit it being difficult, you tried and gauged his emotions and expressions.

“Not sure if you’re well aware but you really should be. We’re nothing more than mere hookup sessions.”

You feel a huge sting prick you through your chest, “then why aren’t you asking for a hookup these past few weeks?”

God, you felt and looked so desperate but it didn’t matter now.

Jake seethed, straightfroward, concise, and unattached— “because I simply don’t want to.”

He sat down at the small chair, you weren’t one to give it up easily. Given the fact that his head was down and he was absolutely avoiding making eye contact with you— the smallest hope for emotion or at least something more sparked within you.

“But I want to. What are we supposed to do when it’s me who wants it?”

Jake stays silent for a moment so you continue, “why is it that when you’re that one that wants it we should play along but when it’s me, it should be pushed aside?”

You turned to Jake, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt. “Why is it that when I ask for something you refuse?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“It’s not fair Jake! Then you should’ve told me in the first place this whole thing was one-sided. I would have never agreed then!”

The desperation in your tone was evident, pieces of emotion crumbling down like a tall wall. You wanted him to talk to you, tell you what’s wrong, tell you that this whole entire thing which was completely his idea is worth fighting for.

Because frankly speaking, you don’t want to fight for it anymore.

Jake merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he says, “what tattoo and where?”

God fucking dammit.

“Are you even listening to me Jake?!”

He doesn’t speak.

As frustration bubbles up in your throat, your fingers finally caved in as they touched Sim Jaeyun’s chin, tilting it up ever so slightly to finally see the expression hidden beneath his covered face.

Sim Jaeyun’s eyes— they were tainted with desperation and pain. His orbs glossed, indicating that he probably wants to cry or at least he tried not to.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Are you— are you okay?” you muster, but Jake was quick to remove your hands from him as he ruffled his golden hair in attempt to calm himself down. “I’m fucking fine.” he seethes.

“Jake, no you aren’t. You aren’t fine. Tell me what’s wrong—” he cuts you off harshly, “I told you, I’m fine. Stop it.”

“Please. Please just tell me."

“I can’t.” Jake choked through.

”But why?”

“I can’t tell you anything. We’re nothing, remember? Fucking nothing.”

And then, unbeknownst to you, the words spilled— “We don’t have to be. Why do we keep pretending like we’re nothing? I just like you Jake— I really like you.” you push a little louder, a little more desperate, “can’t we act up on those emotions?”

Every pent up emotion came crashing through, and oddly enough, you find yourself crying despite swearing you would never do so again in front of a man. But those two weeks felt like they were the longest weeks of your life, trapped between endless classes and just wanting to see Jake somehow.

Jake understands why you’re crying. Panicked, he took a tissue and handed it to you. You weren’t taking it, letting the tears free fall as you stared at him with determined eyes. Jake however, took matters into his own hands and started wiping the tears off your face, cooing and telling you to stop crying.

“Don’t cry like that.” He whispers, but his tone was contradicting. “Like what?”

“Like that. I can’t bear it. I fucking can’t– shit.”

“Bear what, Jake? Your dislike towards me? Your hatred? Please just tell me now cause—”

Without any word, Jake quickly shuts you up by kissing you. His head was way too fast, pressing his plump lips against yours in a passionate and desperate kiss. Your eyes were wide, but you kept your composure, closing your eyes and feeling the sensation at hand.

It was just a kiss, and as Jake pulled back with a breathless sigh, he kept his eyes glued to yours, and his fingers intertwined with the strands of your hair.

“I can’t bear this. God, I can’t bear you.”

“Why?”

“It’s because I fucking like you too, goddamit. I was scared to acknowledge that, I was scared I’d get attached too much and—”

You pressed your lips against his again, shutting him off this time.

Then, you pulled back, a huge grin on your features.

“We can try. We can try this time.”

~~~~~~

“Butter… Butter, where’s the damn butter.”

7:30 AM Monday morning, the sun’s rays spark through the curtains as you cooked breakfast for two with nothing but Jake’s t-shirt on you which was twice his size.

The morning after the huge bursts of emotion, once the two of you finally calmed down, one thing led to another and eventually, you find yourself in your apartment, preparing breakfast for you and him.

You swiftly cooked up just a simple meal for the two of you, eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Perhaps you’d see to it to tease him later of what this meal reminded him off.

The thought of it made you grin.

Everything felt like it was falling back to place with Jake finally in your arms, and no more denying of what you actually feel for him, and what he feels for you.

As you flip through another pancake, a pair of arms came wrapping around the small of your waist, enclosing you in a tight hug. Something heavy sits atop your shoulder, followed by small kisses leading up to the nape of your neck.

“Mmh. Good morning baby…” Jake greets with a raspy voice, still peppering kisses. You smile, taking the pancake off the pan and putting it on the plate. “Good morning.” you greet him.

Jake stays silent for a little while, keeping his eyes glued to your cooking and never once letting go of his arms on your waist. This feels… Homey, somehow. Like the two of you are a married couple experiencing an average day together.

“That’s what we ate when I asked you to be fuck budddies.” you laugh, nodding along. Guess it wasn’t too much of a tease for him, then. “Yes, I’m making it again as a remembrance.”

“Remembrance?” Jake whispers, and without warning, he easily slips his fingers beneath your– his t-shirt, his hands coming into contact with your bare stomach. He started rubbing circles, until eventually, he asked, “can I?”

With a nod, Jake pressed his large hands farther up your body, reaching the spot just below your boobs. He caressed that too, gauging your reaction. You bit your lip, trying to show that it wasn’t affecting you, but when Jake inches further and caressed your nipples this time, you couldn’t help but shift slightly.

“What— what’re you doing?” You ask, but Jake didn’t respond, twiddling your nipples with his fingertips all the more. Suddenly, you feel something prod your butt, something sharp and hard. “Jake are you hard?”

”Mmh. Sorry baby, can we solve this for a minute?”

He mutters beneath your breath, the growing hardnesd on his dick very evident, pressing against your barely covered area. “Aren’t you tired from last night?” you ask, though if anything, what you had last night was nothing compared to past hookups. Filled with love and passion— not being driven by lust and power is something you never knew you needed until now, and also something you never knew Jake was capable of giving.

“I’ve charged up plenty, what about you?”

You smile. “Mmh. I guess we can give one shot, I’ll just finish these up.” You say, but before you even had the chance to finish the last batch of food, Jake turns you around, turning off the power from the stove and pinning you slightly to the left where a counter resides. He traps you with both his arms, never separating his lips from your neck. “I’d rather have you as my breakfast, that okay?”

“It’s okay, but—” with not another word, Jake sucked on a particularly sensitive spot just below your neck. You couldn’t help but wince, fingers grazing his bicep as you attempted to keep yourself still. Jake parts from your neck, licking the bottom of his tongue and grinning at you innocently, “you’re so sweet, baby…”

His kisses travelled down from your neck to your collarbone, biting the the bone ever so slightly. It seemed he loves biting as much as he loves making out.

“Stop biting me…” you giggle, feeling all too ticklish with his touch. Jake smirked, biting that very same touch. “Like this baby?” you try and push him off, but Jake was far too strong, carrying you bridal style in a split second as he headed over to the couch.

Surprised, you hit him by the chest, “what’re you doing!”

Jake laughs, pecking the tip of your nose intimately. Then, he throws you gently at the couch, following suit and keeping his right leg at the edge of it, his left leg stabilizing him, and his arms locking you still. “Doing this.”

He dips his head down, intertwining your lips with his in a passionate kiss. He wasted no time letting his tongue roam your mouth— the hot, wet, smacking resonating around the room. Jake’s right hand find its way around the waistband of your shirt, lifting it up slightly to reveal your thin underwear. He quickly puts it aside, rubbing the clit gently.

You whimper beneath the kiss, parting from him slightly to huff and ruffle your fingers around his soft fluffy golden hair— so well taken of.

“Keep doing that, Jakey, mmh…”

Jake grins, rubbing the clit with much more pressure, “like this baby? Call me Jakey again one more time, yeah?”

So you do, whimpering his name like it was the most precious thing in the entire world. And perhaps it is.

Jake keeps his undivided attention on the way he pampers you, inserting his middle and ring finger in. You gape in surprise, disregarding the fact that your neighbors might hear the noise— but let them know for all you care.

“Don’t hold back, yeah?” Jake whispers, keeping his eyes glued to his fingers which scissored your throbbing cunt. God, you looked so fucking divine all splayed out for him like this. He keeps his pace relatively fast, your moans pouring out with each movement of his finger.

When you feel a particular coil boil down the pits of your stomach, Jake halts and licks his mouth clean. You whimper, complaining, “Why—"

But Jake quickly shuts you off with a kiss, pulling down his boxers as he did so and letting his already hard and erect cock spring free. He wastes no time, positioning his girthy length– the tip of it against your hole. “You ready?” he asks and once you nod, he slams it in full force.

The energy Jake had early in the morning is insane, pistoning his hips back and forth like it was the easiest thing to do in the entire world. He grips the edge of the sofa, keeping his movement stable in and out of your pussy. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, “Fuck— no, no, Jake!”

“W-what—” something squirts, hitting Jake’s abdomen. It was warm, liquidy, and as the rest of the juices coated his legs, your still throbbing cunt pulsed down and squeezed him. Jake couldn’t help but throw his head back, his hand reaching out to grasp and lock your hair within his fingertips. “Fuck, you didn’t tell me you could just do that.”

Jake kept his ballistic pace. “Yeah? Do that for me again, please? Hmm?”

He pulls his dick out in one languid movement, spinning you around so you kneeled at the couch, hands clutching the edge of the sofa tightly. Jake needs no further words, quickly inserting his cock inside your slippery cunt. He takes hold of your waist, leaning you back towards his chest.

Fuck. He’s good.

“Give me another one baby? Mmhhh— pretty please…” Jake was begging, but it didn’t feel desperate. Rather, it still felt like he was in full control, licking your neck and twisting his fingers down your clit all at the same time. He was eager, seeing you squirt all over him like a pretty little play toy.

Jake has never seen anything like it, god he’d kill the world just to see it again. You whimper, “I can’t— I—”

“You fucking can baby, come on, I’m close too.” He urged, hitting that same spot seconds prior, which caused you to moan and scream his name out as you orgasmed and gave him the squirt he’s been so longing for. The couch was dirtied, but Jake pays no particular mind, staring in awe at the way your pussy convulsed and the way you felt like putty around his hands.

“I’m close baby— I’m close…” Jake repeats like a broken record, the controlled movements becoming a bit more careless as he did so. Eventually, after a few more thrusts, Jake pulls out and let his cock squirt his juices down your back and to your ass.

He groans, palming the rest of the juices out while still keeping his other hand close and supported around your waist. You were exhausted, crashing down the dirtied sofa breathlessly.

Jake laughs, grabbing a piece of tissue to clean up the mess around your body.

“I’m sorry baby.” he apologizes, gently taking care of your body. You smile at him, holding his head and pecking his lips.

“You bastard.” you say as an offense.

But god, you loved him like this.

~~~~~~

Your first tattoo was a butterfly.

The second was the one Jake gave you.  The third was taking you a little bit more time to decide.

As you lay on your comfortable bed with Jake wrapping his arms around you (grace the heavens for having the apartment all to yourself as you were too embarrassed to even face Sunghoon’s too honest mouth after that interaction), you realize that perhaps now is the time to mark another piece of ink on your body.

“Hmm. Would this look good?” You ask him, you were suddenly reminded of this moment months prior, when you were in your bed, deciding on a tattoo after a much needed breakup.

Now, you had someone by your side.

Jake laughed, pointing at your inspiration’s crevices, “the edges look odd, it’ll bleed after a few days. Trust me.”

You roll your eyes, somewhat being annoyed with the way Jake is always so specific with his tattoos. It made sense, though. You never saw him with much in his sleeve or anywhere in his body, contrary to stereotypes about tattoo artist.

“What should I get then?”

“I have this brilliant idea,” Jake pops the lollipop off his mouth, leaning slightly towards you, “let’s get a matchy one.”

You grin, the idea not so half bad. “Where should we get it?”

“Hmm. Wrist? Thigh? You decide, it’s my first tattoo.”

Or maybe he’s never had a tattoo at all.

“Really?”

Jake deadpans, “you’ve seen me naked hundreds of times, you of all people would know, baby.”

You laugh, “I kind of assumed you got one in like your ass or something, I barely see that.”

“I can flash you right now—” Jake attemps to stand up, perhaps flash you his ass in full glory but you quickly stop him, “stop! Stop! I don’t wanna see your ass! Let’s get a matching tattoo!”

Jake snorts, popping the sweet treat right back to his lips. He’d stop vaping now days after you started this. You wouldn’t call it dating, as he never really asked you out, but it wasn’t entirely nothing either. Perhaps between the line of being his girl, and his friend?

At least he isn’t ghosting you anymore.

“I’ll decide on what to get, baby. Give me a few days.”

“Bet.”

~~~~~~

handsometattooartist: I’ll pick you up in a bit, wear something nice.

You: Wow, is this the day you finally ask me out?

handsometattooartist: Just trust me, okay?

You: Are you going to kidnap me?

handsometattooartist: Maybe ;)

You: Whatever lol, what tattoo are we getting?

handsometattooartist: Trust me on that too.

You: It better not be a dick.

handsometattooartist: Awh. Too bad.

You: I swear to god. Fine. You better ask me out after this.

You grin at your phone, Jake doesn’t reply after. Days after your tattoo planning with him, it seemed Jake was a little bit more busier than normal due to his finals and activities piling up.

He doesn’t fail to update you, neither does he fail to treat you like his girlfriend.

So naturally, the need of becoming officially his was growing each second. As you stand in front of your vanity, contemplating which attire would be appropriate for perhaps a possible date, you realize, that you may actually be very well getting what you want by now.

With the thougt in mind, you grin and hurriedly made your way to prepare.

~~~~~~

You opted to dress in something a little bit casual.

A pair of denim jeans and red halter top, and kitten-heels sandals. An outfit that gives you both comfort and style at the same time. Something a little out if your all black comfort zone.

Eventually, the doorbell rang and you excitedly ran to open it. There, you saw Jake in his full glory, dressed in pinstripe pants and a maroon short sleeved open collar shirt which coordinated with your outfit coincidentally. His hair looked cleaner, styled in a side part. (the urge to gobble him up is insane)

Hell, if you weren’t going after this, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.

“You’re copying me.” you quip, but Jake rolls his eyes, “no, you are. Copycat.”

He laughs, extending an arm towards you. You took it, letting him lead you towards his car. “You look really pretty.”

Grinning, you extend your gratitude, careful enough to not let him see the massive smile forming on your face.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He opens the car door for you, the two of you eventually reaching the tattoo shop as it was only a couple of minutes away from your apartment. Kaiza was on her day off today, spending her time with Heeseung. Who greeted you at the counter was another employee.

She pays no mind to Jake as the two of you entered the booth and hs start setting things up.

“Give me your wrist.”

You follow his instructions.

“You decided on the wrist, after all?”

Jake nods, “do you trust me?” eyeing you with his gaze that screamed to be a mix of encouragement and perhaps anticipation all at the same time. You smile,

“Of course I do.”

~~~~~~

The pricking of the needles was nothing new to you, but it still stung a little everytime it happens.

Minutes pass and eventually, Jake finishes his own to compare with yours.

It was not as distinguishable— scratch that, it really isn’t noticeable at all that the implication of the tattoo is to match with. You half expected something rather cliché, like half a heart on your wrist, and another on his.

Instead, what you got on your left wrist was the smallest hint of Daiquiri, particularly the same drink, same bottle, and even same shape of ice you’d drunk back at the club before you got to dirty business with Jake.

And his?

The one he drank— his glass of Boulevardier. The exact detail of both drinks coming into play as the ink patches itself into your skin. You stare at it for a moment. Well, you don’t hate it. It’s good, you just thought it’d be more… Obvious.

“You don’t like it?” Jake asks blunty, to which you shook your head, saying, “no! I think it’s great, the detail you put into it is insane. It’s just that… You know, doesn’t feel like we’re matching, does that make sense?”

Jake stares at the tattoo, then back to you, then back to the tattoo, before he says, “I think it matches our story just fine, you know? It looks nice, don’t have to be too obvious about it.”

The detail he put into it is nice, but you couldn’t help but ponder whether or not he wants to hide this, or perhaps this was just a Jake thing. You couldn’t really tell.

Jake sensed the way you shifted around a tiny bit, staring at the ink embedded into your skin. He grins, lifting your chin up to give you a small peck on the lips.

“Don’t overthink it. I’ve got more planned.”

Jake keeps your attention away from the tattoo, holding your hand and leading you out and back to his car. The car ride is silent, usually the noise would be filled in by the music Jake plays. But this time, it was utterly quiet.

“You wanna play some music? Or…"

Jake nods, letting you pick the music from his phone. As you scroll through his music playlist, a sudden notification pops up on his phone. In a group chat named— party planner.

Heeseung: jake u better hurry tf up u, me and kaiza drank all the liquor u’ve got lol

Kaiza: is ur rizz not rizzing today? why u so slow

You tried ignoring it, picking a random song from the playlist and setting the phone down. Why did they have a random group chat together? Most especially, why were you not included?

He was unusually jittery, tapping his fingers against his legs or shaking it. “Are you okay?” you ask him, Jake looks at you and nods. “Yeah, ‘s fine.” but the smile on his face was anything to go by. You choose not to press, opting not to ruin the day by riddling it with useless overthinking.

Eventually, after an hour of so, you were met with the outskirts of the city, a beach that situated itself in the midst of the hustling and bustling of the urban streets. He leads you out of the car, the sunset hitting the rays of his parked car perfectly.

It was quiet, not a lot of people go to such placed especially when the city is everything they’ve dreamed of. But away from all that— leads you to somewhere more tranquil and relaxed. You hardly visited the beach, almost forgetting how the sun’s existence aligned perfectly with the sea and how the sand was more white unlike any other, and how the sea crashed with ease.

Jake typed something in his phone swiftly as he did so, then turning his attention back to you. It felt like he was some sort of secret agent, making sure you couldn’t take a glimpse of the conversation.

“You ready?” he asks, extending his hand out. You took it carefully, the two of you walked away from the sidewalk and into the white sand, some of its remnants getting stuck between your toe. The sunset aligned perfectly, the cold wind washed against your skin as a sort of greeting.

And much to your surprise, Jake leads you to a small gazebo situated at the beach, decorated with tons of colorful lights. Petals of flowers riddled around the exterior as well as the wooden floor beneath, heart balloons decorated all around, and a small table for two at the very middle of the gazebo.

The table was clothed white, and on top of it, laid tons of food, particularly the ones you liked and enjoyed and what you’ve shared to Jake the most. Two drinks as well— a glass of Daiquiri and Boulevardier.

You were in total awe, too busy staring at the set up Jake had prepared to even notice that Jake had already helped you sit down. He chuckled at your gaping mouth, “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of… Beach dates.”

“Shit— you- you made all this?” you cover your mouth, still surprised. Jake shook his head, laughing. “I asked help from Kaiza and Heeseung, you must’ve seen the messages at the group chat earlier.”

Oh, so that’s what it was.

“I was restless the whole ride, Kaiza kept telling me Heeseung ate the whole entire food here as a joke. But it didn’t seem like a joke."

You laugh, “it would be something Heeseung would do, where are they now?”

“Probably frolicking around, who cares about them, yeah?” Jake quips, you laugh along with him. He really put a lot of effort into this. Jake hands you the glass of liquor, raising his own, “I figured since these were the two drinks we drank at the bar that time, we could toast to it.”

You raise your own drink, bumping it against his and swallowing it whole. The sweet, tangy, bitter taste hitting your throat, reminding you of that time at the bar. Jake then plates you some of the food he’d prepared, even the container and baskets had designs and cute little flowers riddled around it.

You took a bite out of the food, letting it accomodate your taste buds. “Wow— you even cooked this?”

Jake nods. He must’ve cooked all, it must’ve also taken a lot of time, effort, and money to be doing all this. You never deemed Sim Jaeyun to be much of a romantic, but now, here you were. Upon seeing your positive reaction, Jake smiled to himself and prepped his own food. “I know the tattoo may not be such a match as you’d hope for it to be, but for me, it’s kind of like a hidden code only the two of us would know.”

Only the two of you would know.

“And—” Jake holds your hand from across the table, kissing your knuckles gently. “I like it when our shared moments remain between us.”

You stay silent for a minute, basking in all of this and waiting for him to—

“We may not have started off in the best terms possible… And I was a complete jerk.”

“You are.”

“And you know how I work.”

“Sure as hell do.”

“But I’m not gonna let this go– I’m not letting you go so easily, Y/N.”

Jake stands up, inching closer to you.

He holds your shoulder close as you sat, his fingertips travelling to your supple cheeks. On instinct, your legs straightened to you leveled Jake’s gaze.

“Does this mean I get all the tattoos I want for free?”

Jake chuckles, pecking your forehead, your eyes, your nose— then finally, your lips.

“All the tattoo’s you’d want in the world."

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ END *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

#enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #fanfiction #enhypen fanfics #enhypen ot7 #kpop #enhypen fics #fanfic #jake x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen jake x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen sim jaeyun x reader

352 notes · View notes

chocochiffonnn · 3 months ago

Text

brighter days - park sunghoon 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ . Demigods series

Synopsis: Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son of Zeus, is admired and respected by everyone at halfblood camp, but he prefers to keep to himself and avoid the crowds. With his reserved and somewhat grumpy attitude, his peace is constantly interrupted by your relentless energy, the daughter of Apollo. Outgoing, cheerful, and full of life, you never miss an opportunity to approach Sunghoon, who knows you have a crush on him. However, his temper and desire to maintain his distance lead him to reject you time and time again. Despite his attempts to avoid you, Sunghoon begins to notice that, behind your spark and laughter, there is more than just a girl chasing him. As he struggles to maintain his wall of coldness, you, with your boundless light, are determined to break it, proving that even the coldest heart can be touched by the warmth of the sun.

Content: +18MDNI fem!reader x sunghoon, pjo au! zeus' son! sunghoon x apollos daughter! reader, grumpy x sunshine plot, smut, kind of enemies to lovers but not really, virgin! reader, fluffy ending, explicit sex.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, like and reblogs are appreciated !!

The clang of metal echoed across the training arena, rhythmic and sharp, slicing through the warm afternoon air like thunder before a storm. Camp Half-Blood buzzed with life in the distance, shouts from capture the flag, laughter near the strawberry fields, but here, near the sparring dummies, stood Park Sunghoon.

Broad shoulders tense, dark brows furrowed, and golden light catching on the sweat along his jawline, he looked like he was carved from Olympus itself. Each movement was flawless. Precise, deadly. He swung his celestial silver sword with a controlled rage that made the ground beneath him feel electric.

You watched him from behind the archery pavilion, propping your chin on your hand as you ignored the bow resting in your lap. The way he moved, like the storm he carried in his veins, untouchable, unbothered, beautiful, had your heart doing all sorts of embarrassing things.

“He’s gonna catch you staring again,” Taki, your brother muttered, nudging you.

“I hope he does,” you grinned, unashamed. “Maybe this time he’ll finally realize it’s love.”

Everyone at camp knew you had a thing for the forbidden son of Zeus. How could you not? Sunghoon wasn’t just a demigod—he was the demigod. Taken in at five after monsters nearly tore him apart outside the safety of camp borders. Trained harder than anyone, rose higher than any other camper. And at eighteen, while most of you were still sneaking out for midnight snacks, he was off saving Olympus on a solo quest that made the gods themselves tremble, some swore Ares himself had a battle with him and turned out coming out wounded. Because he was that strong, that fierce, that powerful. Others said his power was actually a curse, because he could never leave camp for more than a few hours, every monster, every enemy was after him, they wanted the most dangerous Demigod dead. And even with that, Sunghoon walked around so relaxed, so confident, it was like he wasn’t scared of anything in the world, and you admired him so much because of that.

He was just a dream.

And you? You were the complete opposite. Apollo’s favorite daughter, according to literally everyone. You could shoot an arrow through the wings of a fly at fifty feet, compose a haiku in ten seconds flat. You had tons of friends from all cabins, and some swore the sunshine followed you wherever you moved, or even better, that you were the sunshine. Always happy, always smiling, always talking to much and laughing with your whole chest. You trained a lot, you really did, after all you were like every other demigod, you wished for glory and power too, but still, you had enough energy to flirt shamelessly with Sunghoon in front of the entire camp. A girl can have hobbies, right?

He’d rejected you so many times, you’d lost count. He scowled, rolled his eyes, muttered things under his breath and turned on his heel before you could finish half a sentence. He was never super mean to you though, he just wasn’t like that, and you knew he found you extremely annoying, but he never really said it, because you knew he was good, he had a good heart beneath that cold facade.

Still, you chased him. Not just because he was handsome (though gods, was he. With his dark hair and his perfect skin and his thick eyebrows and that damn mole you so wanted to kiss), but because every time you looked into his stormy eyes, you swore you saw something flicker. Like lightning trying to break free from thunderclouds.

So yeah, maybe everyone thought you were wasting your time.

But you were the sun. And even the coldest storms couldn’t outrun the morning light forever.

Your eyes trailed down the line of his arm as he twisted to strike again, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with each perfect swing. It was like watching war poetry in motion. And okay, maybe you should’ve been practicing too, but what was a daughter of Apollo if not a shameless admirer of beauty?

You sighed dramatically. “He’s just so—”

“Grumpy?” your sibling offered, not even looking up from their quiver. “Emotionally unavailable? Terrified of human connection?”

“Hot,” you finished with a dreamy smile.

He snorted. “Tragic.”

But then, just as you were mid-swoon, Sunghoon paused. Not dramatically, not like a movie, just the smallest hitch in movement. His shoulders stiffened, his grip faltered. And then, ever so slightly, he turned his head.

Your heart stopped.

For a split second, your eyes met.

Oh, gods.

His gaze was unreadable, intense, stormy, laced with the kind of quiet warning that made your skin prick. You blinked, heart stammering. His eyes dropped to your bow, then flicked back up to your face like he was mentally calculating how much time you’d spent staring instead of training.

Then—

He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

You squeaked. Like actually squeaked. Heat flooded your face as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my gods,” you hissed under your breath. “He saw me. I looked like a total stalker.”

“You are a stalker,” Taki whispered with a grin.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning into your palms. “Why does he have to be so pretty when he’s annoyed?! That’s so unfair.”

When you dared peek through your fingers, Sunghoon had already turned away. Back to training. Back to pretending you didn’t exist.

But you saw it.

The tiniest twitch of his mouth.

A smirk.

And just like that, your day was made.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Sunghoon hated a lot of things.

He hated sunny days, because it was so hot and sweaty that he could barely stand being in his own skin. He hated dumb people. He hated loud music, because his ears were sensitive even if he was literally born from the god of lighting. He hated the camp t-shirt, because he also hated the color orange. He hated Ares children, because they were violent for literally no reason. He hated wars, hated problems, hated people hungry for power. Like every other demigod, like every other god. Like his own father.

Zeus.

The name sat like acid in his mouth. The god of gods. King of Olympus. The one whose power shook the skies. The one who should have been proud of him.

But he never was.

People at Camp Half-Blood whispered about Sunghoon like he was some kind of legend. The forbidden son. The lightning in human form. The boy who went on a solo quest at eighteen and returned with scars no one asked about. Everyone wanted to be around him, everyone respected and admired him, everyone looked at him as if he was the best warrior to ever exist, and probably he was, to the eyes of everybody.

But they didn’t know. They had no idea what that quest really was.

They thought it was glory, honor. A chance to prove himself.

But it wasn’t. It was a setup. A battlefield dressed up as a trial. Monsters he could handle—he’d been fighting them since he was five. But gods?

Even he couldn’t see that betrayal coming.

It was Zeus himself who tried to strike him down.

Not Cronus. Not some ancient titan rising from the depths.

His own father.

Because Sunghoon was too powerful, because thunder cracked when he screamed, because storms listened to him when he was angry, because the sky shook when he bled. Because he was born with a power not even himself could be able to control fully.

And gods didn’t like things they couldn’t control.

So Zeus tried to erase him. Sent him to die alone and made sure it looked like a test of strength. A rite of passage.

Sunghoon survived. Barely. He clinged onto life with blood and nails and teeth, and he ended up returning as a hero.

But something in him had died out there. Something soft. Something warm. The most painful and deadly betrayal he’d ever faced, permanent wounds that weren’t just physical, and the constant, eternal feeling of failure. For everyone else, he was a hero, but for himself, he was just the son that had a father who not only hadn't care about him his whole life, but also hated him. And that, that’s what truly killed every last drop of warm light inside of him.

Now all that was left was discipline, blade, and silence. He spent his days training, getting better, until his body physically couldn’t take it anymore, until the constant thoughts in his head went away. He enjoyed it, he really did. He liked his quiet life, and for most of the times, he could ignore he was the child of the storm.

Well, mostly. Because his quiet life was constantly interrupted by you.

Gods, you.

Y/N.

The golden girl. Apollo’s favorite. Laughter in human form. You were everything he didn’t understand, everything he didn’t trust.

Too bright. Too curious. Too persistent.

You talked too much. You asked too many questions. You walked around under the sunlight, bathing you like a second skin, you trained with a permanent smile in your lips, you joked around, you sang your favorite songs with your whole chest, you played the lyre with delicate fingers, you laughed too loud, you were shameless and energetic and annoying and…

And you smiled at him like he hadn’t been hardened by betrayal. Like you could fix him.

But you couldn’t. No one could.

Still…

Still, his eyes found your earlier today when you thought he wasn’t looking. Bow in hand, sunlight catching the highlights in your hair, that little furrow in your brow when you concentrated—

You were good. Insanely good. Your arrows moved like light itself—precise, fast, radiant.

You belonged to the sun. To music. To warmth. Everyone adored you, everyone liked you.

He had no business watching you the way he did.

But sometimes, he did anyway.

Until you opened your mouth.

Then it was over.

Because every word that came out of you was so… you. Bubbly, relentless, stubbornly optimistic. And he just didn’t know what to do with that kind of joy. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t understand how someone could be so untouched by the same kind of rot that lived inside him. How a daughter of a god could be like this, he even maybe felt envious.

So he rolled his eyes. He walked away. He told himself over and over that he couldn’t stand you.

But he still looked.

And that terrified him more than anything.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The first time you confessed to Sunghoon, you were ten.

It was a warm summer afternoon, and you were sweaty, grass-stained, hair messy and tangled, and absolutely, irrationally determined. Sunghoon, twelve years old and already taller than every other kid in the arena, was off by himself near the creek, sharpening a blade that was nearly the size of his torso. His face was serious. Focused. A tiny storm cloud in the body of a boy.

You marched up with a flower crown in your hand, one that you made with help from the Aprhodite girls, chest puffed out, heart thumping like a war drum.

“Hey!” you’d chirped, practically vibrating with excitement.

He glanced up, brows twitching just enough to show he was already tired of this conversation.

“What?” his tone was cold, too cold, but you still melted.

“I like you.” you just said, biting your lip, squirming in your heels.

There was a beat of silence. A frog croaked in the creek. Somewhere, a Hermes kid screamed about a beehive.

Sunghoon stared at you.

“...Okay?”

You beamed. Smiling widely, you handed him the flower crown, but he didn’t take it, just stared at it, for a few seconds, then your face, expression still very serious.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He blinked. Twice.

“No.”

You dropped your shoulders, your heart breaking just a little bit. But you weren’t done, he would be yours.

“Is it because I talk too much? I can shut up. Watch—” you slapped your hands over your mouth and made muffled noises of restraint.

He sighed, tired.

“It’s because i’m twelve.”

You lowered your hands, frowning. Then smiled again, the sunshine falling on your face.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance when you’re not twelve?”

Sunghoon stared at you like you were speaking Ancient Greek backwards. Then, without another word, he got up and walked away.

“Wait!” you’d called after him. “You forgot the flower crown!”

He didn’t look back.

But that night, when you snuck out to leave a daisy crown on his cabin doorstep, you swore you saw someone peek through the window.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun was at its peak, golden rays filtering through the trees, spreading warm light over Camp Half-Blood, it was a beautiful summer day. Sweat gleamed on your temple as you wiped your brow with the back of your hand, your hair braided falling over one of your shoulders, bow in your grip and a mischievous grin tugging at your lips.

Archery practice had officially ended fifteen minutes ago—but you were still there, refusing to leave until you landed the shot.

A single red apple rested delicately atop the training dummy’s helmet, mocking you like it wanted to be destroyed.

You squinted, lining up your shot. You were getting into that headspace again—where everything melted away and it was just you, your bow, and the sun humming beneath your skin like a second heartbeat.

Then you heard it.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Boots on gravel.

Your heartbeat tripped. You didn’t have to look, You’d memorized that sound ages ago.

Sunghoon.

You could feel his presence before you saw him—like a crackle of static in the air, like the world holding its breath. Like a grey cloud covered the ray of sunshine. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to keep your expression casual, but your pulse was skipping like a pebble across water.

There he was.

Stormcloud incarnate.

He was walking past the range, jaw clenched, shirt sticking to his back from training, a sword strapped across his back. His hair a little messy, a little wet from the sweat, he cleaned a few drops falling from his forehead, clearly annoyed by the heated day. And gods, did he look incredibly good in the sunlight. Like something carved from marble, kissed by thunderstorms and arrogance.

You knew you had no business liking someone like him.

But you did.

And you were nothing if not bold.

“Hey, Zeus-boy!” you called, loud enough for half the camp to hear.

He stopped mid-step, like he was contemplating whether to respond or keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear you. But after a heartbeat, he turned, his expression already dipped in exhaustion.

You beamed at him.

“I bet I can shoot that apple blindfolded.”

His eyes flicked to the dummy. Then to your bow. Then to your very cocky stance. Sughoon sighed, deeply, and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“You’ll miss,” he said flatly.

You tilted your head, smirking, confident.

“What’s the matter? Scared I might bruise that ego of yours?”

His eyes flicked, his posture straightened, his face completely serious, not a clue of even a little smile.

“Scared?” he scoffed. “More like dreading the noise you’ll make if you actually hit it.”

Your heart fluttered. Not that you’d ever admit that.

“So what you’re saying is… you don’t believe in me.”

“I believe you’ll shoot the dummy in the face.”

You suppressed a laugh, he was always like this, trying to underestimate you. Cocky boy.

“Harsh. But fair.” You grinned, already reaching into your quiver. “How about this—we make it interesting.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Define ‘interesting.’”

You looked at the sky, pretending to think, finger against your chin, and he breathed deep again, leg bouncing like he was losing his patience. Then, you smiled again, snapping your fingers.

“If I hit the apple, you admit I’m better than you at something. Just one thing. Anything. I don’t care if it’s archery or baking or making people laugh—your choice.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow.

“And if you miss?”

“I won’t talk to you for an entire week.”

He blinked. A few seconds passed, and your heart was still racing in your chest, he was thinking, of course, he would be happy of you leaving him alone for a few days, you weren’t that dumb to not know.

“…That’s the best offer I’ve heard all day.”

You smiled.

“Oh, so now you want me to miss.” You raised an eyebrow, your grin sharp. “But I won’t.”

He exhaled through his nose, looking up like he was praying for divine patience. Then, arms crossed over his chest, he said

“Fine. Hit the apple, sunshine. Impress me.”

Your heart leapt. Not because of the bet. Not even because you loved a challenge. But because he stayed. And he called you sunshine, even if it was obvious sarcasm, you still liked it.

You pulled the blindfold from your bag and slipped it over your eyes. The world went dark—but your body remembered everything: the position of the apple, the direction of the breeze, the way the sun pulsed on your skin like it was trying to guide you. You prayed to your father mentally, please, please dad, don’t let me miss this shot i promise you i will make you proud for the rest of my life…

You drew your arrow.

Breathed in deep.

Held, your bringes brushed the arch with a familiar force, you knew the movement, the position, the feeling by heart. It was running through your blood.

Released.

Crack.

A perfect, clean split. The apple burst apart in two pieces, toppling off the dummy’s helmet.

Someone nearby gasped. Someone else clapped. You tugged off the blindfold, a bright, victorious smile already on your lips.

You turned to Sunghoon.

He was staring. Not at the apple. At you.

His eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them. Not shock. Not irritation. Something softer. Like confusion wrapped in awe.

Just for a second.

And then—his face closed off. Same serious face as before.

“Lucky shot,” he said gruffly, turning away.

You blinked. Your smile faltered just a little.

“That wasn’t luck,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

“You always think it’s skill until you miss,” he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond—when someone bumped into your shoulder from behind, jostling your arm. The arrow in your hand slipped from your fingers and whipped through the air.

Thunk.

Right into the toe of Sunghoon’s boot.

Silence. A breeze rolled through the range. Your heart stopped beating in your chest, your whole face red with embarrasment, you begged to Hades to take you to the underworld in that exact moment. Of course you had to ruin it.

Sunghoon looked down slowly.

You froze, hands halfway raised like you could rewind time with enough desperation. Then he spoke, voice calm, low as always.

“…Are you trying to kill me?”

You widened your eyes, shaking your head.

“No! I—I swear that wasn’t my fault! I was bumped and—and—oh my gods, are you bleeding?!”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if I hit a toe vein or something I can totally fix it—”

“There’s no such thing as a toe vein.”

You moved closer before he could stop you, already kneeling to inspect the damage. He stepped back instinctively, and you almost fell on your face into the dirt.

“Y/N—”

“Hold still! Let me—oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s gonna bruise. You probably shouldn’t walk. Do you want me to carry you?”

He stared at you like you’d just asked him to marry you. You couldn’t even lift him anyway, he was much taller than you.

“I will ban you from this entire camp,” he said, voice tight.

You stood, brushing off your knees.

“Well, now you’re just being dramatic.”

He yanked the arrow from his boot and tossed it to the dirt with a low growl. Annoyed, a bit angry too, his brows frowned as he talked between his teeth.

“You’re lucky I don’t—”

“I’m always lucky,” you chirped. “It’s part of my charm.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalked away without another word.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest.

He’d looked at you.

Just for a moment, he looked like he saw you.

You glanced down at the arrow in the dirt. Picked it up gently. Held it in your palm like it meant something.

Then you turned and walked the opposite direction—still smiling.

Even if he didn’t admit it, even if he rolled his eyes and glared and walked away like you were the most annoying thing on Earth…

You saw the flicker.

And gods help you—you were going to make it burn.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The locker room was empty, save for the steady drip of water echoing from the showers. Sunghoon sat on the bench near the back, shirt discarded, cleaning the scrape on his shoulder with practiced, irritated hands. The skin was already bruising—a light, angry red smeared with dirt and blood from where the arrow had nicked him.

Stupid.

He wasn’t even supposed to be near the archery range today. He had just finished a brutal solo sparring session and wandered there for some damn reason—and that reason was currently embedded in his skin.

He hissed as the antiseptic hit raw flesh.

Your voice echoed in his mind.

He could still see the way you looked at him—wide-eyed, half-laughing, half-panicked, your hand fluttering uselessly near your mouth like you could wave the accident away. And then you’d giggled. Like it was funny.

He clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t cute. And it definitely wasn’t supposed to make his chest feel weird the way it did.

He threw the bloody cloth into the sink harder than necessary.

Why were you always there? Why did your voice carry across the training fields like it was trying to find him? Why did the other campers look at you like the sun walked when you did?

And why did he notice every damn time you smiled?

He didn’t even like you. Not really. You were loud, you talked too much, you stood too close. You said his name like it tasted sweet on your tongue, and he hated that he noticed the difference.

You were Apollo’s favorite. Everything about you was golden—your laugh, your smile, your damn aura.

Sunshine, he thought bitterly. All light and no sense of self-preservation. Not even sense of danger, it was like you went through life without realizing how dangerous it is for a demigod.

And yet… you could shoot with terrifying precision. You ran faster than half the Hermes cabin. You took hits without flinching. He’d watched you. Too many times.

More than he should have.

Pathetic, he told himself.

This wound wasn’t even that deep, and it didn’t hurt a lot either. He was used to the pain, to the blood, to the stings, his own father tried to kill him years ago.

He wasn’t mad about the arrow. Not really.

He was mad that the second he looked at you—just a glance, just one tiny slip—you’d smiled like it meant something. And worse, something in him had tightened. Not in fear, not in anger. But something softer.

He scrubbed at the wound harder, hissing through his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he was clenching it.

She’s a distraction.

Just like Zeus always said. “Distractions will ruin you. You were made to be more than human. So act like it.”

Sunghoon gritted his teeth. Wrapped the bandage tight. Stood up and grabbed his shirt again.

He didn’t need distractions. He didn’t need softness.

He needed distance. From you, from everyone.

But even as he walked out of the locker room, storm brewing in his chest, the faint echo of your laugh trailed behind him—sweet and sunny, like the warmth he swore he didn’t want.

And for a second—just one traitorous second—he wondered what it would be like to let it reach him.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

Birdsong had gone silent, wind stilled in the leaves. You and Sunghoon walked with an unspoken tension between you, your steps crunching over twigs and leaves as dusk swallowed the sky. You weren’t supposed to be out this far. But when Sunghoon snuck off with that stormy look in his eye, of course you followed.

Chiron had sent him to a little small quest just to check around camp, to see if there was any suspicious monster activity. And of course he’d say yes, always being so brave even though he knew the danger that would be waiting for him if he got outside for even 10 minutes.

You had just finished a small session of lyre practice, and your siblings wanted a few hours to rest, so you didn’t have much to do either, that’s why you went with him, even if he clearly was not very happy about that.

He didn’t even look back when he caught you trailing him. Just muttered, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You grinned, softly.

“Neither are you.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking.

It was almost funny—how predictable this little dance had become through the years. He brooded, you brightened. He snapped, you teased. He ran, you followed. It was like a little fun dynamic, one that you enjoyed, you liked his company even if he kept frowning his eyebrows and rolling his eyes and ignoring you. A little bit delusional, but you didn’t care.

But for some reason, tonight felt different. There was something electric in the air, like the sky was holding its breath.

You kept walking through the woods, the only sound being of your steps, your boots covered in mud, your arch clenched tight to your side. You weren’t scared, you had fought monsters before in small quests, but still, when the air turned colder, every hair in your body jumped, something was wrong.

And then it struck.

A blur of darkness. The smell of sulfur. The low, throaty growl of something ancient. You barely had time to register the hellhound before it lunged at Sunghoon from the trees. You widened your eyes, grabbing your arch, a small scream leaving your throat.

He moved fast—faster than anyone you’d ever seen. Blade drawn, lightning crackling at his knuckles. His first strike hit, but the second didn’t land. The beast was faster. Stronger. And it wanted him.

It slammed him into the ground with a sickening crack.

“Sunghoon!” you shouted, without thinking. And then you ran. Faster than you’d ever did before.

You were by his side in seconds, he was bleeding—his side torn open, breathing shallow. His sword lay feet away, knocked from his hand. The monster towered over him, muscles rippling, eyes glowing. It was ready to kill.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your arrow flew true—straight into its neck. It reeled back with a howl, giving you just enough time to get between it and Sunghoon. Bow discarded, you drew your dagger, heart pounding so hard it hurt. But you weren’t scared of the monster, you were scared of losing him.

“Get away from him,” you growled.

You fought like you were born to do it. Fast. Sharp. Precise. You moved around the monster with unrelenting speed, slashing, ducking, dodging, not stopping even when its claws grazed your arm. A gasp left your mouth, and you saw the blood starting to run, your delicate arm almost destroyed.

“You dirty ugly thing! That fucking hurt!” You screamed at it, and it responded with a loud growl that made the trees around you shake.

But you didn’t flinch, you passed your blade to your other arm and slammed it right into its face. Rage, because of the wound, because that thing was brave enough to touch him. And while you were alive, nobody had the right to hurt the man that you loved.

Sunghoon watched from the ground, stunned—more by you than the fight.

Because you weren’t just good.

You were exceptional.

And gods, you were furious. You didn’t stop until the hellhound collapsed, snarling, non-stopping, your hair sticking to your face as you moved around and fought with all your force.

One last strike before it dissolved into dust at your feet.

Your chest was heaving, your arm bleeding. But you were alive. The world felt a little hazy, your skin stang too much, the pain almost numbing.

But you didn’t care.

You turned to him immediately, dropping to your knees. “Sunghoon, are you okay? Are you—?”

He shoved your hand away as you reached for his wound. And you freezed, trying to smile like it was ok.

“I didn’t need your help.”

You blinked, breath catching.

“What?”

“I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t.” You gestured to the ground. “You were on your back, unarmed—”

“I had it,” he snapped, voice sharp and cold. “I didn’t ask you to jump in.”

You couldn’t believe it. He was always annoyed by you, a lot. But this was another level, you just saved his life, you just killed a monster for him, you just showed him how much you cared.

And he still didn’t see it. Or refused to see it.

“I wasn’t going to let it kill you,” you said, louder now, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. “Gods, what is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped back. “You think because you shoot sunshine out of your damn fingertips you can just insert yourself into everything? I’m not some project you get to fix. I don’t need your stupid golden glow or your pity or—” he paused, eyes narrowing, “whatever this crush is you think you’ve got going.”

You stared at him, and suddenly the pain from your arm wasn’t that bad, because something in your chest was heavier. Your shoulders dropped.

He said it so easily. Like it meant nothing.

“I wasn’t saving you because I have a crush,” you said, voice tight. “I saved you because I care. Because I didn’t want to see you die. Is that really so horrible?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood—slowly, painfully, pressing a hand to his side.

And then, in a voice like thunder under pressure:

“Just stay the fuck away from me. I mean it, once and for all.”

You flinched, actually flinched. His words sliced deeper than any monster’s claws. And for the first time… you didn’t push back.

You didn’t joke. You didn’t smile. Because suddenly reality hit you like a train, he really didn’t like you, not ever, not after all this years, not after proving yourself for him.

You just stood there, eyes wide and shining in the dying light, and whispered, “Okay.”

And then you turned.

And walked.

And didn’t look back.

Sunghoon stood there in the wreckage—blood on his side, dirt on his face, and something breaking deep in his chest. He watched the sun disappear with you.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, water glittering like it was mocking you. Like it knew.

You sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling just above the surface, heels knocking softly against the worn wood. Around you, Camp Half-Blood was alive with summer noise—laughter echoing from the climbing wall, the thud of swords from the arena, the occasional burst of campfire song drifting on the breeze.

But you felt like you were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quiet, somewhere hollow.

Your fingers twisted a daisy you’d picked, tearing it apart petal by petal.

“He loves me,” you mumbled, letting the petal float away on the water.

“He loves me not.”

Another petal.

“He loves me.”

Pause. Your throat tightened.

“He loves me not.”

You crushed the last petal between your fingers.

Why does it still hurt?

You hadn’t spoken to him in days. Not since the hellhound. Not since he bled on the forest floor and looked you in the eyes like you were the problem. Not since he told you to stay the fuck away like you hadn’t just saved his life.

And gods, you had. You did save him.

But he didn’t want saving.

Especially not from you.

And it wasn’t the rejection that stung — not really. You knew Sunghoon was all sharp edges and storm clouds, and you never expected softness from him. But what hurt was the way he acted like he didn’t want to be seen. Like your kindness was some kind of threat. Like he didn’t think he deserved to be helped, let alone loved.

You had your hand on his chest, pressing his wound, your fingers trembling and slick with his blood — and all he could say was I didn’t ask for this.”

You had laughed it off to everyone else. Joked like it didn’t matter. But now, alone with only the breeze and the lapping water to witness you—

“I don’t like him anymore,” you whispered, voice soft, uncertain.

Then louder.

“I don’t. I don’t like him. Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard and clenched your fists. “He doesn’t deserve it anyway. He’s mean. He’s impossible. He’s—he’s cold and rude and he hates when I talk and he probably hates when I breathe and—”

Your voice cracked.

And suddenly it was too much.

Your shoulders hunched forward, and the tears you’d been holding back for days slipped past your lashes, warm and silent. You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes like that would stop them. Like you could push the ache back in. Like you could pretend you weren’t breaking.

But you were.

Not because he rejected you. You were used to that, he had rejected you many times before, since the first time you confessed. But because for a second—just a second—you really thought he saw you.

All of you.

Your spark, your fire, your light. Your strength, that you were actually more than just a girl with a stupid, embarrassing crush.

And you thought maybe he didn’t hate it.

Maybe he even… liked it.

But he didn’t.

He hated it.

He hated you.

More tears fell, faster now, wetting your cheeks, dripping onto your knees. You hugged them to your chest and buried your face in your arms.

“I don’t like him,” you whispered again, broken this time. “I don’t. I don’t.”

But the lie didn’t hold. Not anymore.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sun had set hours ago, but the clouds still hovered low, thick and heavy in the dark sky like they were waiting for a reason to break open.

Sunghoon sat on the slanted roof of the Hermes cabin, legs stretched out, back leaning against the chimney. The air was cool—cooler than usual—but he didn’t feel it. Not because he was used to the cold. But because he was too wrapped up in the tight pull in his chest and the lingering sting of words he couldn’t unsay.

You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Not in training. Not at meals. Not even in passing. You just trained, talked to your friends, then stayed inside your cabin all day.

The absence of your gaze—it should’ve been a victory.

It wasn’t.

His jaw tightened as he glanced down at the campgrounds. Everything looked… normal. Someone from Hephaestus cabin was still tending to the garden torches. The Aprhodite kids were still braiding each others hair under the dim light of the sunset. Apollo’s kids—your siblings—were singing around the fire like they always did.

And you weren’t there.

He hadn’t seen your laugh in five days. He hadn’t heard your humming while walking past him, or seen your stupid bright smile you always wore when you were about to say something too fast, too loud, too you.

You were quiet now.

And all because of him.

“Good,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s good. She’s finally listening.”

He should feel at peace. This was good, this is what he’d been wanting for years, just distance from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he felt this… gnawing weight in his chest. Like guilt, but heavier. Like regret, but sharper. And under it all—fear.

The same fear that always haunted him.

Because this wasn’t just about you.

It never was.

It was about who he was. What he was. The son of Zeus.

The mistake.

The threat.

People called him a hero, a legend, a symbol. He was the boy who stopped Olympus from burning. The one who survived a solo quest against a Titan army. The one who stood under a blackened sky at eighteen and thought—for one second—he had done something worthy.

Until the sky turned against him.

Until he saw that lightning bolt twist in the clouds—not towards the enemy, but towards him.

He still remembered the sound it made. The sharp crack. The way the earth split just inches from where he stood. The voice that followed, low and cruel, echoing in the wind.

“You were never meant to live this long.”

He’d stood in the wreckage, skin burned, blood on his lips, and realized—

His father had sent the bolt.

His father wanted him gone.

Because he was too strong. Too unpredictable. Too much like a god.

Too dangerous.

Sunghoon blinked hard and looked up at the clouds. There was no thunder tonight, no sign of his father. Just the heavy stillness of a world that hadn’t changed. The world he so much hated, the world that he didn’t belong.

No one knew. Not the other campers. Not the counselors. Not even Chiron.

Sunghoon carried it alone.

And now? He’d hurt you.

You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into his chaos. You were light, warmth, all the things he wasn’t—and being near you felt like standing in the sun after years in the dark. And before, when you saved him from the monster without hesitation, without thinking about you first, just about him, just about his life. He couldn’t believe how you were that selfless, that warm-hearted.

But that was the problem.

Because eventually, even the sun burns.

And he was tired of fire.

So he said things he didn’t mean, he pushed you away like you were the threat. Like you were the one who might ruin him, not the other way around.

He told himself it was safer this way. You couldn’t get too close if he kept building the wall. You couldn’t look at him with those soft, hopeful eyes. Couldn’t touch his arm like you wanted to stay. Couldn’t see the cracks in him if he never let you close enough to look.

But now?

You were gone.

And he hated how much he noticed.

How quiet the world felt without your voice, even if he used to love his quiet life. How training didn’t feel like an escape anymore. How his victories felt hollow. How every time he shut his eyes, your beautiful face was there—angry, hurt, distant.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing out slow and heavy.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, barely audible.

But he didn’t believe it.

Not when he saw the way your shoulders trembled as she walked away. Not when he remembered the look in your pretty eyes—like he’d destroyed something you didn’t even know you were handing him.

I’m not him. I’m not my father.

But every time he pushed someone away… every time he chose silence over kindness… every time he used his power to isolate instead of protect—

He saw Zeus in the mirror.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The sky had been rentless for days.

Even without a prophecy, even without Chiron’s grim warnings, everyone felt it—that gut-wrenching tension in the air, like the gods themselves were holding their breath. The barrier at Camp Half-Blood had been flickering at the edges like a candle about to go out, and the atmosphere felt like it was pressing down on the campers’ chests. Tighter and tighter.

You had been quiet all day.

For once, not joking. Not smiling. Not chasing after a certain grumpy son of Zeus who hadn’t even looked in your direction since your last fight. Your body ached from training, but your heart ached more. And the silence in camp? It felt too heavy to carry alone.

You stood by the archery range, fingers gripping the polished wood of your bow, eyes scanning the shadows of the woods. Something was wrong, you could tell, but you didn’t quite put your finger on it.

The air felt different, heavy, like something really bad was about to happen. And the clouds were gray, the day so gloomy, about to rain.

You sighed before starting to walk towards your cabin, planning to stay in bed all day so you could avoid looking at Sunghoon.

But then—a snap.

A branch. Far too close. Far too intentional.

You turned just in time to see a ripple—like something slicing through the barrier. A tear. Then it broke. Ripped, as if by claws.

The air screamed. Your heart stopped in your chest, your eyes widened, your legs trembled.

A deafening roar shattered the silence, and then all at once, chaos descended.

Monsters. Not one. Dozens. Charging through the weakened barrier like hell had opened its gates. Hellhounds, cyclopes, dracaenae—dark, massive, frothing creatures spilling into camp like floodwater.

The storm broke overhead.

And it poured.

It was all too fast, all too blurry, like a nightmare come to life.

Campers screamed and scattered, grabbing weapons, dragging younger demigods to shelter. Magic flared through the sky—flashes of green, blue, orange—but the monsters were relentless. They came in waves, more than anyone had ever seen inside the borders.

You didn’t hesitate.

You sprinted towards the east ridge, losing arrows as you ran. Your eyes scanned for anyone injured, for anyone alone, for your siblings — but it was too fast. A hellhound lunged towards you, and you flipped out of its path, spinning mid-air to shoot an arrow clean through its eye.

Thud. Down. Another behind it. Then another.

It didn’t stop. They were too many, and you were running out of arrows, out of breath, but you kept going.

The ground was soaked with mud and blood, and you could barely see through the curtain of rain. You ducked as a spear flew past your head, rolled, and landed hard on your side.

That’s when you saw it.

A chimera. Twice the size of the one in the old training books. Foaming, frothing, fire curling from its lion mouth and venom dripping from its serpent tail. The demigod killer.

Your breath caught, panick starting to rise, but you didn’t let it take you over.

It charged.

You fired once, twice, three times—all hitting, but barely slowing it down. Your chest was heaving, the blood in your veins running fast. It barreled through a group of campers, swiping one aside like a rag doll.

And then its eyes locked onto you.

“Oh, no,” you breathed.

You tried to run—slipped, the grass was soaked.

The tail struck first, slicing across your side, sending you skidding across the wet ground. Your bow flew from your hands. Blood rushed from your ribs. Pain bloomed white-hot in her chest. You shut your eyes, screaming, your hands shaking against the open wound.

But you stood.

Gritting your teeth, clutching your side, you reached for a dagger and faced the monster head-on.

“I’m not done yet,” you whispered, even as your knees buckled.

It lunged, and you raised your blade, ready to strike.

But then—BOOM.

A thunderclap exploded above you, followed by a bolt of lightning that struck mere feet from the chimera. The impact sent the beast reeling.

From above, slicing through the rain like a blade, he came.

Sunghoon.

Drenched, furious, glowing with power. His sword flashed silver in the stormlight, and his eyes burned with a rage that seemed to come straight from the sky. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

He moved.

His blade danced in arcs—calculated, violent, beautiful. The chimera snapped its jaws, tail lashing, but Sunghoon dodged every strike with impossible grace. He struck again, slicing across its shoulder, then spun, slamming his boot into its head and sending it crashing to the ground.

But it rose again, roaring fire toward him.

He raised his hand—and lightning answered.

It struck the chimera square in the chest, setting its fur ablaze. It screamed once, then dropped, twitching in the mud. Dead.

Silence followed. Deafening. Campers stared from the tree line, breathless.

Sunghoon stood over the corpse like a war god—untouched but seething. He proved once again why he was the strongest warrior to ever exist.

And then you spoke, voice weak because of the pain, from both your wounds and your broken heart.

“Of course,” you groaned from where she was still on the ground, soaked, bloodied. “Here comes Zeus Jr.”

His head snapped toward you. Eyes narrowing, that same damn expression you once loved but you were starting to get tired of.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“No kidding,” you muttered, struggling to sit up.

He took a step closer.

“You should’ve stayed back.”

“I was back,” you shot, dragging yourself upright with the help of a tree. “It found me. I didn’t ask for a knight in electro-shining armor.”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, sword still on his hand.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Sure.”

The rain poured harder.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” you said, bitterly. For the first time talking to him in this tone “You’re not the only one who can fight.”

“I know,” he snapped.

You scoffed, but there was no fun in your face.

“Then why do you act like I’m weak?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!”

“Because you don’t belong in the middle of this!” he shouted suddenly, and you flinched, blinking. “Because if you get hurt, it’s not just about you anymore, it’s—fuck.”

He turned away, fists clenched, rain soaking his clothes, his dark hair, his beautiful face.

Your expression shifted.

“Then what is it about, Sunghoon?” you asked, stepping closer despite the blood dripping down your arm. “Why do you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy? Why do you act like I’m something to be afraid of?”

He didn’t answer. And you were furious.

“Why do you think you’re not allowed to be loved?”

Crack. Thunder rolled like a growl, and you flinched again, the sky reflecting Sunghoon’s expression.

He turned, eyes blazing.

“Because I’m a monster too!” he shouted, voice breaking. “Because I was born cursed. Because my father—the king of the gods—tried to kill me. Because every time I care about someone, the gods take it away. Because I saved Olympus and he still looked at me like I was wrong!”

You froze. Lightning split the sky behind him. A knot built in your throat, you couldn’t speak. This confession, it finally made sense to you. Why he was like that, why he pushed people away, why he was so focused only in training. And you realized too, Sunghoon wasn’t just brave because he was Zeus’ son, he was because he had no choice. Because deep down, where nobody saw him, he was actually really scared.

Of himself, of his lineage, of everything that his life meant.

You swallowed, opening your mouth but the words just didn’t come.

“I push you away because I don’t know how not to, Y/N,” he said, quieter now, throat tight. “Because I see everything I want in you, and I know I can’t have it.”

Silence. The rain softened just a little.

He couldn’t look at you, his gaze was on the ground, but you saw him. Not Park Sunghoon, the forbidden son, the strongest warrior, the child of the storm.

Just Sunghoon, the little boy you’d been in love with since you were ten, the little boy who had a cold wall around him, and he never let anyone in. The little boy who grew up alone, scared, and the little boy who’s own father tried to kill.

Then, softly, you said.

“You already have me,” you whispered.

And without thinking, you reached for him. You could barely walk, but you did anyways, fast, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time it wasn’t just because of a stupid crush, but for the immense affection you had for this man.

He flinched—but didn’t move.

And when your arms wrapped around him, something broke.

Not the sky.

Not the storm.

But him.

His sword dropped. His head fell to your shoulder. He grabbed you tight, as if he never wanted to let you go, or never wanted you to let him go.

And he let himself be held. For the first time ever.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

The storm had passed, but Camp Half-Blood still bore its scars.

The training fields were torn apart, trees splintered, the ground muddy and red. Campers moved in hushed voices, some bandaged, others limping, the weight of what had happened still lingering like a bruise beneath the skin.

No one died, thanks to the gods.

The golden glow of the Apollo cabin had always felt warm—comforting in a way that mirrored its occupants. Now, that same golden light bled through gauzy curtains and danced across your skin as you laid on your bed, propped up by a nest of pillows, half-wrapped in bandages. Your laughter, soft and airy, filled the space, a balm over the storm the camp had just endured.

Your siblings buzzed around you like hummingbirds, fussing over your hair, feeding you sweetened nectar, adjusting your blanket, whispering far too loudly about a certain brooding demigod who’d taken post at the far corner of the room.

“Is he still there?” Taki whispered—not quietly.

“He hasn’t blinked in twenty minutes,” another added, munching on a cracker.

“He literally dragged her out of a battlefield like some tragic hero in a war movie,” a third said dramatically, hand on heart.

You groaned, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“And yet, you’re blushing,” your sister teased.

“I’m injured!”

“Yeah, but not blind. He’s still standing right there.”

And he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Leaning silently against the far wall, arms crossed, a bruise blooming on his jaw, dark hair damp from the rain that still drizzled outside. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, exposing a long scratch that was half-scabbed and half-healed. Despite every opportunity, he hadn’t left since you were brought in—just stood guard like he didn’t know how to do anything else.

You glanced at him from beneath your lashes, a teasing smile playing at your lips. That same feeling in your chest, in your heart, that you’d had for him. It never went away.

“What can I say?” you murmured to your siblings, dramatically pressing a hand to your heart. “I’m so lucky.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward you.

He rolled them—visibly—but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A ghost of something softer. Maybe amusement. Maybe relief.

But he still owed you a conversation.

“Okay, out,” you said, waving your siblings away. “Shoo. Give a girl some space to die tragically in peace.”

One by one, your siblings peeled away with dramatic groans and cheeky winks, until the cabin settled into a golden silence, filled only by the hum of cicadas outside and the steady beat of your heart.

He looked at you again, serious, as always, but there was something different in his eyes this time, something warm.

Sunghoon hesitated before walking over. His steps were quiet. Measured.

You shifted as he sat carefully on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his knees, posture rigid like he was still braced for a battle that hadn’t come yet.

“You stayed,” you said softly, eyes flicking to his face.

“You got hurt,” he replied, his voice low.

“I didn’t need you to come.”

“I came anyway.”

That silenced you. For a moment.

Your fingers picked at a loose thread on her blanket.

“You haven’t said anything since.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, you could start with I’m glad you’re not dead,” you joked half-heartedly.

He didn’t smile. But his jaw worked, like the words were stuck somewhere between his throat and his chest.

“I am glad,” he said, quieter this time.

You blinked.

Something inside you—tight and aching—twisted. You thought about his words from before, how he crashed out as if he’d been carrying with the heavy weight of what happened for years, how he’d been suffering alone.

“…Sunghoon?”

He didn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhaled deeply, and then… he started speaking. Slowly. Like he was trying to figure out how to make himself real for the first time in years.

“When I was five, the monsters wouldn’t stop. My mom said it was like I had a target painted on me. They were relentless.” His voice was flat. Detached. “She brought me here to keep me alive. Dropped me off and i never saw her again.”

You didn’t move. You barely breathed. You just let him talk, a bulge starting to built inside your chest.

“When I turned eighteen, the gods sent me on a solo quest. Olympus was on the verge of war. I stopped it. Somehow.” He swallowed. “They called me a hero. Said I saved everything. But…”

He looked at you then.

And you saw it.

The storm that lived inside his eyes.

“…My father was there. Zeus. He watched. He… waited. And then he tried to kill me.”

Sunghoon’s voice shook for the first time. “He said I was too powerful. That I could become a threat. Said it would be easier to eliminate the possibility.”

Your eyes filled with tears. “Oh, gods…”

“No one knows.” He shook his head. “Not Chiron. Not the other gods. I never told anyone. What would it matter? I lived. That should be enough.”

“It’s not,” you whispered fiercely. “It’s not enough.”

He looked away again.

“After that, I stopped trying to feel. I train. I fight. I do what they ask. Because if even my own father thinks I’m dangerous… maybe he’s right. Maybe if I let my guard down for a second, I’ll turn into him.”

You reached forward, your hand trembling, and touched his fingers.

He let you hold them, not flinching, not avoiding you like all of these years, just letting himself be real with you, letting you give him of some of your warm.

“Sunghoon… you’re nothing like him.”

His eyes met yours. His voice cracked. “Then why do I hurt people?”

“You don’t mean to.”

“I hurt you.”

You smiled through your tears, a shaky laugh bubbling from your lips.

“Yeah. Well. I kinda deserved it. I’ve been annoying you since I was ten.”

His mouth twitched again. This time, for real. You saw him smile for the first time, and it was the most beautiful sight ever. Your heart fluttered inside of you.

“You haven’t changed.”

“And you’re still grumpy.”

You stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered on your cheek, thumb catching a falling tear. Your skin jumped, his hand was cold, too cold, but it felt good, sweet, gentle and you leaned to his touch, his eyes sparkling.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, voice almost pleading.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up.” You sniffled. “You just trauma-dumped on me, i have feelings.”

He laughed quietly. A little broken. A little healed. But it was the most gorgeous sound ever, you wanted it imprinted in your mind forever. You realized that, maybe you were in love fully of this man, nothing he’d do would ever make you hate him.

Not after he told you his deepest secret, not after he saved your life, not after he opened with you.

You looked at him again, in silence, and his gaze never left yours. It wasn’t a cold look anymore—it was warm and bright, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. The kind of warmth you’d always believed lived somewhere inside him, hidden beneath layers of scars and silence. And now, it was there. Open. Soft. Yours.

The breath caught in your throat. Every moment that had led to this—every time you’d chased after him with a smile, every time he pushed you away with gritted teeth—suddenly made sense. It was all leading here. To this quiet, breathless second.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or greedy, or anything like the heat that had been simmering between you for so long. It was slow—almost reverent. Like he was tasting sunlight for the first time. Like he was terrified it might burn him, but he wanted it anyway. His lips were soft but certain, moving against yours with a quiet desperation he’d never let himself show. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if grounding himself in the reality of you.

You melted into him, hands sliding up his chest, fingertips trembling. A soft noise escaped your throat, half a gasp, half a sob, and he responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of your breaths, quick and shallow, his heavier, more labored. Your bodies were still pressed close together, but everything had changed.

Sunghoon was hovering over you, eyes dark and searching. The way his fingers brushed across your skin was reverent, like he was afraid of breaking something if he moved too quickly. And yet, the way you smiled at him, your hands drifting over his chest, made him feel like everything about this was exactly what he needed.

You were still catching your breath, lips tingling, heart stammering in your chest. You searched his face—his storm-dark eyes, the way his jaw flexed like he was trying to hold back everything he felt. But you could see it now. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his in a softer kiss this time, almost shy despite everything. And he chased it. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, anchoring you as his mouth moved with more intent. A low sound escaped from deep in his throat, and you felt it everywhere—your spine, your stomach, the tips of your fingers.

He pressed you gently back onto the bed, following you down, lips never leaving yours. Your hands found the edge of his shirt, fisting the fabric as you tugged him closer. There was no more hesitation now—only want, only need, and the comfort of finally being seen.

When you parted for air, you were breathless, cheeks flushed. “Sunghoon…”

And when you shifted, pulling him just a little closer, he froze.

“You’re still hurt,” he rasped, pulling back slightly, his hand flattening over your bandaged side.

“So are you,” you replied.

“That’s not the same.”

“I’m fine.”

“You almost died.”

“And you didn’t leave.”

His jaw tensed. You reached up and pressed your fingers to his cheek, drawing his attention back to you.

“I want this,” you said quietly, honestly. “I want you. Not just the hero. Not the demigod. Just you.”

His walls nearly went up again. You saw it—the flinch in his eyes, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was about to retreat. But then, slowly, he exhaled. Let himself be seen. Let your words settle into the softest part of him.

“…Stay still,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you again.”

Your heart stuttered. “Then what was—?”

He kissed you before you could finish. Gentle. Deeper. Slow like the sky opening after a long storm. His hands found your waist, easing you back into the pillows, careful of your wounds, but not afraid to touch touch now. You opened beneath him, heat sparking low in your belly, breath hitching as your bodies aligned, as your hands dragged across the slope of his shoulders, his back, his chest.

He kissed your collarbone, then lower, taking his time. Every touch, every kiss felt like a promise—not just of desire, but of something more. Something real. His fingertips grazed the hem of your shirt, and he paused again, looking up at you with something deeper than just want.

“Are you sure?”

You just nodded, biting your lip, your heart pounding with so much force.

“I’ve been waiting for this. I…I saved myself, for you.”

It took him a full second to register your words.

Then another to believe them.

And when they did, they hit like a tidal wave. His hands tightened in the sheets, his breath stalling in his throat as he stared down at you with something between awe and desperation.

“You…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m barely holding on here,” he growled, dragging a hand down his face. “Because if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to stop pretending I can control myself around you.”

You shifted beneath him, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck.

“Then don’t.”

That undid him.

With a strained sound, he kissed you again—deeper this time. Like he was drowning in you. Like everything he’d kept buried for years had broken through the surface and surged forward with no intention of retreating. His body pressed closer, mouth warm and hungry on yours, the air between you thick with heat and emotion.

The air between you grew hotter, heavier. He groaned softly as your nails scratched lightly down his back, and you felt him shiver, his body flush against yours now, every hard line of him pressing into your softness. He lifted your shirt over your shoulders, carefully, his touch cold but gentle, and you whimpered when his hands trailed down your torso, slow, but needy. You were left in the lacy white fabric of your bra, and he looked at you like trying to memorise every inch, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You're so beautiful" his voice came in a weak whisper, and you bit your lip, blushing.

His touch wandered more freely now, fingers tracing the delicate lace before gently sliding the strap off your shoulder. He kissed the skin he revealed, soft and slow, and you shivered. Sunghoon’s hands finally found their way beneath the lace, warm palms cupping your breasts with a reverence that made you gasp. His thumbs brushed your nipples and your back arched off the mattress instinctively, pressing yourself harder into him, into his touch, into the heat that coiled between your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a low growl against your skin as he kissed down your throat, teeth grazing gently. “You’re driving me insane.”

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you.

“Told you I was dangerous.”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire and something deeper—something raw. “You’ve been playing with fire since the day I met you.”

“And look at you,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. “Finally letting yourself burn.”

He groaned, then kissed you again, no hesitation, no restraint. His mouth was hungry on yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that made your toes curl. His hips rolled against yours and you felt him—hard, needy—pressing right where you ached most.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, legs falling open to cradle his hips.

He gritted his teeth, one hand sliding down your stomach and unbuttoning your jeans with one swift motion. You felt like you were dreaming, you had been thinking about this moment for years, and it was finally happening. It wasn't just lust, it was something more, something that you felt inside of you, like you belonged to him.

You helped him shove the denim down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, flushed and breathless beneath him. His hand brushed over the damp heat between your thighs and his breath caught.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Is that all for me?”

You bit your lip, teasing even now.

“Guess I have a type. Grumpy, sword-wielding sons of Zeus.”

He looked at you with disbelief, but then he laughed. His laugh was low, strained, as he hooked a finger in the side of your underwear and pulled it down slowly, watching the way you squirmed beneath his gaze.

“Keep joking like that and I’m not going to last.”

You smirked, a little shy, a little wrecked.

“Then maybe stop teasing me and do something about it.”

That was all it took.

He slid two fingers into you without warning, and your head fell back with a choked moan. His movements were slow but deep, curling just right, hitting that spot that made your thighs tremble. Your pussy clenched around his digits as if it had been waiting for this moment too, soaked walls pushing him in, and he bit his lip watching his fingers glisten with your arousal, thrusting them, still gentle, but with skill, wet sounds starting to build.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered against your throat, pressing kisses to your collarbone, then lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple and you gasped, his body grinding against yours. “So fucking perfect.”

“More,” you gasped, hips moving against his hand. “Please, Sunghoon—need you.”

He sucked your nipple softly, soaking it with his saliva, and he twitched his wrist, his movements becoming faster, more purposeful. The wet sound of his fingers thrusting into you filled the air between your ragged breaths, you clung to him like a lifeline, the heat blooming under your skin, spreading like wildfire.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair as he moved between worship and hunger—his lips dragging from your chest to your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Then his thumb found your clit, slow, torturing circles that made you whine and rock your hips against him again, as he curled his fingers and brushed your g-spot.

Then, with shaky hands, you found the hem of his shirt, and slid it out of his body, throwing it on the floor. Your gaze trailed with sparkly eyes, he was a real life god, you were sure about that. His pale, glistening skin, the line of his abs, the muscles on his arms, and the perfect v-line in his hips, you moaned again, because it was the most beautiful sight ever. You took your time touching him, your warm, delicate fingers running through his torso. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, each slight tremor in his body feeding the dizzy heat growing inside you. He was still working his fingers inside you, coaxing out every soft gasp and whimper from your lips, but now he was shaking too—not from exertion, but from holding back.

"You really are the man of my dreams." A small smile painted on your lips, and he smirked softly, kissing you again.

He kissed you like he was learning every part of you—the pace, the sighs, the way your mouth moved against his. His tongue swept gently along your lower lip before slipping inside, claiming you all over again.

You whimpered into his mouth as his free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing just under your eye with surprising tenderness.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he murmured against your lips. “Every inch of you.”

Your hands moved lower, tracing the lines of his torso, the sharp dip of his waist, until they reached the waistband of his pants. You hesitated for a heartbeat, eyes flicking up to his.

He nodded once, barely, but his gaze was molten—like he was begging.

You pushed them down slowly, revealing more of him, inch by inch, your fingers brushing over the firm muscle of his thighs. He was trembling now, barely holding himself back. His breath came rough and shaky, and he watched your every movement like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever witnessed. His length was hard and throbbing under his boxers, and you wasted no time in stroking him with your palm, slow, but still needy, your mouth watered, and he hissed between his teeth, hips bucking against your touch.

“You’re perfect,” you said, voice shaking. “So perfect it scares me.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

Everything about him—his scent, his skin, the sound of his voice murmuring your name against your throat—was imprinting into your senses. You never wanted to forget a single second.

And when he finally slid his fingers out of you, slow and slick, you gasped again, your walls fluttering around nothing, and he brought them to his lips, eyes locked with yours as he tasted you. A low groan slipped from his throat.

“You taste like fucking heaven.”

You blushed, overwhelmed, by the pleasure, by the lust, but also by his gaze, he looked even more ruined than you. You turned your face to hide your blush, but he caught your chin gently, guiding you to look back at him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Don’t look away.”

His words settled deep in your chest, and you felt it—how everything in this moment had shifted. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just longing. It was years of tension, of biting words and lingering stares, soft smiles and silent hopes—finally unraveling.

Then he straightened just a bit, knees against the mattress of your small bed, and he slid his boxers down, a gasp left your throat, and you squirmed at the sight. His cock was thick, hard, veins popping under the skin, red tip leaking, glistening, and not being cheesy, but it really was the most beautiful, not that you'd seen a lot, anyways. The thought made you chuckle, and you covered your face again, he looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you seriously laughing right now?" his tone was something between annoyed, horny and amused, and you laughed again, biting your lip.

"I'm sorry, i'm sorry! I was just thinking that you have a really beautiful dick"

He blinked, clearly not expecting that, and for a moment, his expression was priceless—caught between pride and disbelief. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned over you, arms braced on either side of your head. He grabbed your thigh, strong, but not violent, and wrapped it around his waist, spreading you just for him, and you felt it again, your needy, leaking pussy clenching around nothing. But not for so long, because he grabbed himself by the base, leaning against your entrance but not pulling in yet, just rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, and you whined, arching your back.

"Beautiful, huh?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing now, brushing his nose lightly against your cheek. "You’re unbelievable."

You gasped, cheeks flushed, your body burning with anticipation and need.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m yours.”

And the way he looked at you in that moment—like you were both his salvation and his undoing—told you that no matter what came next, he was already too far gone to turn back.

With that, he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside, and your breath hitched—eyes fluttering shut at the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness.

You gasped when he filled you completely, the stretch stealing your breath, a rush of overwhelming sensation blooming deep in your core. He was so big, and your body trembled from the way he held you — so tightly, so completely, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. And gods, he was warm — inside and out — melting away the ache that had lodged in your chest for years.

You blinked up at him, vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized had welled in your eyes. Not from pain — no, not at all — but from everything. Every laugh you’d chased him down for, every time he’d brushed you off with that grumpy scowl, every moment you told yourself it didn’t matter that he didn’t want you… and now, here he was. Inside you. Holding you like you mattered. Looking at you like you were everything.

He groaned low and long, grabbing you by your hips with one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, kissing you, hot breath and spit and tongue, and you moaned against his lips when he thrusted just a little bit, holding himself back because he didn't want to hurt you, not anymore.

You gasped when he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours, his arms trembling from the effort of holding back.

“Breathe,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face. His forehead pressed to yours. “Just feel me.”

You did. Gods, you felt everything.

The way he filled you, stretched you, moved with you. Every slow roll of his hips made your legs shake, made you cling tighter to him, every vein stimulating your sensitive walls, how he throbbed inside of you. You never imagined he could be this gentle, this attentive—like every part of him was focused solely on you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice rough but soft, one hand trailing down your side, soothing over your skin.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip, blinking up at him with glassy eyes.

“No, just… full. So full.”

Sunghoon cursed under his breath, pulling out a fraction and thrusting back in. Your back arched and you whimpered, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist. He was so deep, so thick inside of you, stretching you, the whole world around you disappeared, and the air was so hot, your heart pounding inside of your chest, your body full of pleasure.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured against your ear, voice filled with lust and affection “feels like you were made for me.”

The words hit you harder than they should’ve, and a helpless sound escaped your lips—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His rhythm faltered for a second.

“Are you crying?” he asked, panicked.

You laughed through the tears, arms still around him.

"This is like the climax of my crush ok, don't judge me."

Sunghoon groaned and kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sweeping into your mouth and stealing your breath. His thrusts picked up speed, the heat between your bodies climbing, burning. He was fully fucking you now, still gentle, but needier, messier, his hips rolled into you with strength, making him go deep inside of you, and your walls swallowed his cock, wetness dripping between your legs until they soaked the sheets under you.

Your fingers slid through his hair, nails lightly raking across his scalp, and the way he groaned into your mouth made you moan in return. He was losing control — unraveling with you.

His thrusts deepened, and his hand found your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles that sent you tumbling over the edge.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips, his movements growing more desperate, more erratic. “And I’m so fucking lucky you didn’t give up on me.”

“I never would,” you panted, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you deeper, harder. “I never could.”

He shifted, adjusting your hips, grabbing one of your thighs and pulling it over his shoulder, and suddenly he hit that spot—the one that made your eyes roll back, the one that made your legs tremble violently around him.

“There?” he asked, lips ghosting your throat.

“Yes,” you cried, breath hitching.

He kept his rhythm, each thrust precise and devastating. Your moans filled the room, blending with the sound of skin on skin, the ragged pull of your breaths. The pleasure built higher, stronger, until your body was strung so tight it was hard to think.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair. “Sunghoon—please—”

“Let go,” he whispered, staring into your eyes like he could see right through you, forehead against yours, voice broken “Come for me.”

His hand slid between you, rubbing your clit fast, messy, and you cried out, clutching him tightly, your body shaking with the intensity of it — a blinding, all-consuming wave that crashed over you and didn’t let go. The orgasm hit you, and your walls clenched around him, pulling him with you, and he groaned against your shoulder as he followed you over the edge, shuddering with each deep pulse inside you.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched as your body tightened around him, and the sound of your moans—soft, breathless, utterly overwhelmed—pushed him over the edge. His hands gripped your hips, holding you flush against him as he spilled into you with a low, broken groan, the kind pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, warm seed filling you up so good. His whole body trembled with the release, muscles taut, jaw clenched, forehead still pressed to yours like he needed to feel every part of you as he unraveled.

It wasn’t just physical. It was everything he’d kept bottled up—every wall he’d built, every fear he’d buried. They all crumbled in that moment, coming out in the way he whispered your name against your skin, reverent and raw. His heartbeat thundered against yours, syncing with yours in the quiet aftermath, breathless and heavy.

He didn’t move right away. Just held you. As if he was afraid the moment would slip away, like it wasn’t real.

You brushed your hand through his damp hair, both of you still flushed and dazed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something dangerously close to peace. Then, with a slow movement, he pulled out, and you whined softly, feeling his cum drip from your core.

But he stayed there, against your chest, just feeling your heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse, like he didn’t know what to say but needed to say something.

You smiled, kissing his head.

“You mean aside from the fact that I’ve just lived every single fantasy I’ve had since I hit puberty? Yeah. I’m thriving.”

He groaned. “Gods, you really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath—soft and rare—and pulled the blanket higher over your bodies.

“Remind me why I like you again?”

“Because I’m charming. And hot. And because I’m the best archer in camp.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.

“Delusional.”

“Mm, and yet here we are,” you whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “You, in my arms after you confessed your tragic backstory and fucked me senseless.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

And despite everything—his fears, his walls, the storm still brewing outside—Sunghoon held you close and let himself smile, because somehow, with you, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

You weren’t training today. Just watching.

You stood at the edge of the sparring circle with your chin in your hands, resting your elbows on the wooden fence, eyes fixed on him.

Sunghoon.

Your boyfriend.

The son of Zeus, war hero of camp, and—more recently—absolute heart-stealer.

He was currently fighting two Ares kids at once like it was child’s play, sword glinting in the sun, movements precise and confident, like he didn’t even have to think. His dark hair was tied up messily, loose strands falling into his eyes, his jaw locked in concentration—but he wasn’t scowling anymore. There was something lighter about him now. The storm inside him had settled, quieted.

And gods, you were staring.

Again.

Just like that day weeks ago. The same spot. The same boy.

But everything had changed.

Someone nudged your arm.

“You’ve been watching him for like… fifteen minutes straight,” one of your Apollo siblings whispered beside you.

“I’m admiring my boyfriend,” you whispered back dramatically.

“He hasn’t even looked over here—wait—nope, there he goes.”

Your heart skipped.

Because it was true.

Sunghoon had just looked up mid-swing, knocked an Ares kid flat on his ass with his sword’s blunt end, and locked eyes with you. You expected the usual eye-roll. Maybe a sigh or a sarcastic shake of his head.

But instead, he smirked.

Smirked.

And then he called out across the sparring field with his deep, rough voice loud enough for half of Camp Half-Blood to hear:

“You gonna keep staring at me like that, or are you finally gonna come over here and kiss your boyfriend?”

You blinked.

The training field went silent for like two whole seconds before everyone exploded into chaos.

Teasing whistles. “Get it, Y/N!” someone from Hermes cabin yelled. Chiron turned around so fast it looked like he was rethinking letting you both stay in camp. Your siblings screamed like they were in the stands of the Hunger Games. Even the Ares kids were impressed.

You covered your face with your hands, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Oh my gods.”

Sunghoon just stood there, smug and sweaty and stupidly hot, sword resting on his shoulder like the cocky menace he was.

And you?

You jumped the fence and ran to him.

When you crashed into his chest and kissed him—breathless, laughing, in front of everyone—he kissed you back with everything he had, arms wrapping tight around your waist, forehead pressed to yours afterward like it was just the two of you in the world.

“You’re so annoying,” you whispered, smiling.

“I learned from the best.”

“You love me.”

He looked at you like the storm had never touched him. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “I really do.”

So yeah, maybe your annoying crush for the forbidden son of Zeus finally, finally was reciprocated.

thank you for reading as always <3 hope you guys liked it, i didn’t proofread so sorry for the possible mistakes, i’ll fix them later !!

taglist: @gulicore @bussolares @vixialuvs @berryloveseunghan @lilifiedeans @m1kkso @usuallyunlikelyfox @jayjw16enxp @starfallia @bellsjakesgf @zuwishii @cutehoons02 @immelissaaa @nyxtwixx @kayjiguki @emisluvr @k1ttyjwon @cherrymaria58 @koizekomi @crysieberry @add-this-to-that @ii-mimii @luumiinaa @firstclassjaylee @elicheel @vintaegegirl @petalsofink @mariegibeau @tunafishyfishylike @kristynaaah @stercul1a

680 notes · View notes