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heeseungshim · 9 days ago

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˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧!

➜ summary: you just moved into a new building, right across from three loud guys. two said sorry and the third couldn’t care less.

pairing: pshx f!reader,wc: 14k words , genre: enemies to lovers ish, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing

The elevator doors swung open, and soon you stepped out into the third floor hallway. You looked like you were moving in, which in your defense…you were. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, arms hugging a stack of takeout containers and a cactus you had that had pricked you far too many times, but that didn’t matter. You were finally on your own.

Unit 3B. That was you now.

Your keys jingled in your palm as you found the door, nudged it open with one knee, and stepped into the apartment you’d stared at for months on rental listings. It wasn’t huge, but it had a little kitchen with enough space for your mum’s rice cooker, and a balcony that caught the sun in the morning. You spun around in the centre of the room, grinning, almost knocking the cactus you had just placed on the counter in the process.

And by nightfall, the place felt like yours. Your fairy lights were strung up across your living room. Your fridge held exactly a bottle of soda, some tuna you had eaten an hour ago and a bag of unwashed grapes. You lit a vanilla candle, the one your best friend, Jungwon, made you promise to use so you'd remember him… even while being so far apart. But Jungwon hated travelling, so in his mind, you'd basically moved to another continent.

Jungwon dramatically declared, “You’re practically moving to another country.”

“Jungwon, I’m literally a two-hour train ride away.”

“That’s basically Europe.”

You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.

Still, you were glad you’d made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you… of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hoped…a future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should be—

“DUDE!!!”

A scream ripped through your wall.

It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, “THAT WAS INSANE!” followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.

You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed “HE’S OFFSIDE, YOU DUMB—” loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.

You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.

The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.

“Hi,” you said, tight smile. “Sorry to bother you, but… would you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve got a test tomorrow and it’s kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.”

The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.”

Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. “Didn’t realise it was that loud. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Are you new here?” the first one asked.

You nodded. “I just moved in today, actually.”

“Oh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?”

“Damn, we’re not getting her kimchi anymore, that’s for sure.”

“We gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.”

The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. “Oh right! I’m Jake! It’s great to meet you! I’m sorry it happened under… unfortunate circumstances. But we’ll be quieter!”

“I’m Jay, by the way,” the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.

You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.

You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you weren’t even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.

Cool. So he hates you. That’s cool with you.

The third guy didn’t say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.

“Uh, thanks,” you said, lips tight, already backing away.

You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.

Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.

You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. You frowned.

And that was literally… how war started.

The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:

“Dear 3C, I’ve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.”

You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.

And the next day:

“Dear 3C, I can’t sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.”

You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone.

For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe they’d actually listened.

Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.

Alright. So it was personal now.

You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasn’t that late. You weren’t unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.

You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.

The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.

“Were… we being loud again?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Ya think?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’m so sorry. It’s Sunghoon. He keeps saying it’s not that loud and we were mid-tournament and—”

“Tell Sunghoon that his ego’s not the only thing echoing through these walls,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to study.”

Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, “God, she’s so annoying. We were literally whispering.”

You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didn’t even pause the game this time.

You didn’t know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.

“Tell this Sunghoon guy…his whispering sounds like a screeching cat,” you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.

“Tell her she’s overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,” Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice.

You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. “Well, tell him, his shirt doesn’t match his fucking pants.”

Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.

And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, “Well, tell her… those slippers are the best thing she’s worn all week.”

You stopped.

Jake sucked in a breath.

You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Tell him he wouldn’t know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.”

Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile you’d ever seen.

“Tell her–”

Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you can’t even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.”

You slammed your door shut.

War was back on.

The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.

You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.

“Dear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.”

You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.

That night? For the first time…? Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.

But then you opened your front door.

There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“Dear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. – 3C.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Narrate your life out loud?” you muttered. “That’s literally called thinking.”

You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.

“Dear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."

That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.

“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, I think your notes are hilarious. Jake’s been collecting them. I think he’s making a scrapbook.”

You blinked. “Is this a joke or something?”

Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No! Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing.”

Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. “Also, your handwriting’s really neat.”

You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. “You want some… uh… spaghetti? I made it this morning.”

“Spaghetti?” Jay tilted his head.

You nodded. “Yeah. I usually experiment with food. I’m…uh…in culinary school.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you’re like… a chef?”

“Trying to be.,” you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.

They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.

“That’s so cool,” Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. “I burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.”

Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. “Dude, check it out! She plays the guitar.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. “It’s just for fun. I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure you’re great,” Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti he’d somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didn’t remember offering.

You blinked at him. “Did you just—?”

“Plate was right there,” he said through a mouthful. “I took it as a sign.”

Jay nodded solemnly. “She feeds us and plays guitar. She’s better than Mrs. Kim already.”

You sighed and closed the door behind them. “I’m starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.”

In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. “I think so too.”

“We can be loud,” Jay added, helping himself to another serving.

“Have you thought of… not being loud?”

“We do,” Jay said. “But then we get loud again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Guys, some of us have school and—”

“We have school too,” Jake chimed in, mouth full.

“Okay… some of us care about sleep.”

Jay perked up. “That’s why we got you this.”

He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.

You squinted at it. “What’s this?”

“They’re sleep buds,” he said proudly. “They go in your ears and play white noise and, like… ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.”

You stared at the box, then at them.

“Instead of compromising, you got me gear?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep… through us.”

Jay gave you a thumbs-up. “It’s called adaptation.”

You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You didn’t know whether to kick them out or thank them.

So you just sighed, defeated. “You guys are the weirdest neighbours I’ve ever had.”

Jake beamed. “Aww. You’re the weirdest too.”

And somehow… the next day… they were back.

You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.

“What’s for lunch today, boss?” he asked, already halfway through the doorway.

You blinked. “How’d you know I made something?”

“We could smell it,” Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. “Smells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.”

“Uh… I made chowder?”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I love chowder.”

Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. “What kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait… do people put pumpkin in chowder?”

You stared at them, ladle in hand.

“Corn,” you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.

Then the day after that… they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.

“No fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. It’s so soft. How— how’d you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?”

“It’s Wagyu, Jake.” You corrected.

“Wagyu~” He sang.

Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. “Can I havefth thefth reshepee?”

You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. “Do you guys ever eat in your own apartment?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Not when you cook like this.”

Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. “This is technically your fault. You fed us once. That’s basically a binding contract. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Jake?”

Jake nodded, mouth full. “Mhmff. Whatever he said.”

You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.”

Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. “Yes, chef.”

You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.

This wasn’t how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.

But maybe… with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadn’t seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirs…

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.

It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.

Usually, by now, there’d be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didn’t let it bother you. You took it as a win.

The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.

You should’ve felt peaceful.

But tonight, something tugged at your chest.

You missed Jungwon. You missed your mom’s mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot he’d already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.

Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they weren’t yours. They weren’t part of your before. They didn’t know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.

And even though you thought you’d settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.

Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud — just like you always did.

“It’s fine. You’ll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you won’t feel as lonely,” you said softly as you misted the leaves. “You’ll be stronger. You’re gonna get used to this. You can do it.”

But the lie caught in your throat.

Because you were crying already.

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldn’t keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.

Jungwon answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?” he asked, casual as ever.

“Won…” you breathed out.

There was a pause. Then: “Are you crying?”

“No?”

“I can hear you sniffling, you shit.”

“It’s just—” your voice cracked. “It’s hard. I’m alone all the time. I’ve got no friends. I’ve got no one to talk to. I’m alone, Won.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know…”

There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. “But think about it this way, okay? You’re barely in your first month. You’re gonna get used to it. You’re gonna find people. You’re gonna build something here. It just takes time.”

You bit your lip. “You’ll visit if you can, right?”

“I’ll visit,” he promised. “Even if it takes two bloody hours.”

“But you hate traveling.”

“For you, I’d suffer.”

You sniffled. “You’re just saying that so I’ll hang up.”

“You’re right because I’m exhausted from basketball. But also… I love you.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”

“Chin up. You’re talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”

“I know.” You exhaled slowly. “Goodnight, Wonnie.”

“Night.”

You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.

Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then he’d heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.

And for the first time, Sunghoon didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.

He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.

He understood more than you thought.

And somewhere between your tears and Jungwon’s voice, he changed his mind about you.

The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you weren’t about to question it.

You were grateful, to say the least.

Because for the past week, you’d been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an “independent bachelorette” sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you weren’t one of those girlies after all…y’know the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.

It was Saturday. You’d spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterday��s hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.

Three knocks echoed at the door.

You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.

Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.

“Uh.” The voice was hesitant. Familiar.

You squinted.

Sunghoon.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.

“There was a mix-up with the mail,” he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.

“Oh.” You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. “Thanks.”

There was a pause, “I can see your puffy eyes through the gap.”

You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. “You just have to be a smartass about everything, don’t you?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there.

“…Are Jake and Jay home?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

His expression twitched, almost amused. “Why? Trying to steal my best friends again or—”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I was just wondering. It’s been… quiet this whole week.”

“They went home to visit their families.”

Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.

“You didn’t go?” you asked softly.

“Can’t,” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.

“Well,” Sunghoon said slowly, “if you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.

You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or… sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. You’d only had three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Are you… being nice to me?”

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”

And with that, he turned and walked back.

You finally got up.

There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.

Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.

By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but you’d pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.

You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.

You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands “blessed by Gordon Ramsay” like everything you touched turned into comfort food. You’d swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before you’d even sat down.

You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.

Your eyes drifted to the door.

Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? You’d never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet… that one line of his kept replaying in your head, “If you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

So maybe…maybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now… you hesitated. You weren’t here to complain. You weren’t here to yell. And that made it harder.

And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.

Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like he’d styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.

“What?” he said, voice dry.

You blinked, staring at him. You’d never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like he’d thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You weren’t blind. But seeing him now?

Sunghoon was actually… pretty handsome.

“I—uh—” you stammered.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Spit it out.”

“I—uh—I made some… stir-fried glass noodles,” you said, stumbling over every syllable. “And I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought… maybe it’d bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.”

You didn’t let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.

“Bye,” you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like you’d just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.

You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.

Shit.

Was Sunghoon actually hot?

Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably should’ve.

Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someone’s food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?

But he’d seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing “LET’S FUCKING GO” after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.

Sunghoon didn’t get it.

And he didn’t particularly care to. Not then.

But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.

He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasn’t that he didn’t have family—he did. It just wasn’t… warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.

He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.

Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldn’t name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.

He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.

His eyes widened before he could even help it.

It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he would’ve paid for at that bar tonight.

He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.

He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door.

But it wasn’t really about you.

He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way he’d always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the least…controlled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didn’t filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.

It irritated him. It also… made him feel something.

And then there was that night on the balcony.

He hadn’t meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someone…maybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it should’ve.

Because he got it.

He felt it too.

Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didn’t come from sadness exactly…just the absence of warmth.

Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldn’t really place and who made him laugh even when he didn’t want to.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Someone who just… saw him.

He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasn’t usually impulsive. He didn’t do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.

He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their “emergency date plates.”. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.

He grabbed two.

And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked.

Your door creaked open a few seconds later.

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was you…awkward at the door.

And then it hit him.

He looked at you…like, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised he’d never actually seen you before.

You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.

Shit.

Were you actually—pretty?

Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.

Damn it.

You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.

And besides…someone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.

He cleared his throat.

“I, uh…” He held up the plates slightly. “I thought maybe… you could join me?”

He wasn’t good at this. But his voice was steady.

“Only if you want to,” he added, quickly. “I just figured. Y’know. Glass noodles taste better on… plates that aren’t plastic.”

His eyes met yours.

He was trying.

And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.

Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. You’d reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasn’t what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldn’t tell, because for the first five minutes, you didn’t look at each other.

The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.

“So,” you said.

“So,” he said.

You paused.

“You first.”

“No, you—”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. “I—uh—I just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.”

You blinked. “Okay.” You nodded slowly. “You’re… shockingly formal when you’re not pissed.”

“I—” Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. “I was never pissed.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“I was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?”

“I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you said, tilting your head. “But put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid o’clock to learn how to make a soufflé or whatever, and meanwhile, I’m treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.”

He gave a small shrug. “Well, we haven’t done it in a while.”

“And I’m grateful,” you replied, lips twitching. “Truly.”

“We got a silence jar and everything,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A silence jar?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, we’ll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.”

You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. “That’s… honestly? A decent plan.”

“It can be,” he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Until everyone starts trying to play FIFA like it’s an ASMR video.”

“You guys actually whisper?” you asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. You told us to.”

“I didn’t think you would listen,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.

Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. “Well… they changed my mind, so.”

He didn’t say what he was really thinking.

That it wasn’t Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way you’d said I’m alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. He’d realised then maybe he wasn’t just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe he’d been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.

“So…” he said quietly, eyes on his plate, “why are you alone during the holidays anyway?”

“Couldn’t afford a train ticket,” you said eventually. “I mean—I could have, technically. But that’d mean I wouldn’t have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.”

Sunghoon winced. “Oof. That’s rough. Must suck.”

You gave a little shrug. “Yeah. It’s fine though.”

He knew it wasn’t.

There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.

“If you ever… feel like you need someone to talk to,” he started, voice casual, “you could just knock. I have FIFA.”

You snorted. “Oh, like I’d willingly join that mess.”

“It’s actually really fun.”

“How fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?”

“It is!” he defended, turning fully toward you.

You raised a brow. “I tried once with my friend and it was so boring.”

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t playing it right,” he insisted, already standing up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“I’m not playing FIFA with you.”

“Come onnn,” he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.

“God, this is gonna be so stupid,” you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.

Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.

“Alright,” he said, sliding in beside you. “This is you—Team Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.”

You blinked. “So many buttons.”

“It’s easy! Just follow what I say.”

“Okay… so now I just—?” You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.

“No, no—move left. Left.”

“I am moving left!”

He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.

Then you screamed, “I DID IT! DID I DO IT?!”

He turned back just in time to see you score.

Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. “Yeah! That was it!”

You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. “Holy shit. I’m amazing.”

He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.

And you were cute. So fucking cute.

The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2–2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.

Then it happened.

You scored.

You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.

“I WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didn’t know whether to hold you back or not.

And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.

He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.

And all he could think was well that…he hadn’t planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.

God, he was so screwed.

The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.

You and Sunghoon didn’t talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet “hey” if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.

And then Jake and Jay came back.

And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.

“I missed your cooking while I was gone,” he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like he’d returned from war.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the week’s task. “Because for today’s assignment, I’m supposed to…” you paused. “Make a really mean chicken pot pie.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. “CHICKEN POT PIE?!”

Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.

“JAY! IT’S CHICKEN POT PIE!” he yelled like it was a fire drill.

From across the hall, Jay’s voice rang out. “WHAT?! NO WAY!”

And then—another voice joined them.

A quieter one.

“Chicken pot pie?”

You didn’t even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.

“Guys,” you said, elbow-deep in flour. “I can’t focus if you’re all staring at me like that.”

“We’re just excited,” Jake grinned, chin in his hands.

“Well don’t be. I’ve never made this before. It might taste like ass.”

“Your hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,” Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. “It’s impossible for it to taste like ass.”

You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. “Jungwon used to tell me that all the time.”

“Oh he did?” Jay echoed, voice teasing.

Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadn’t said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.

The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.

And the way he didn’t.

Sunghoon couldn’t explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.

And then he heard it again.

Jungwon.

Who the hell was Jungwon?

His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didn’t just drop without meaning.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think was—

Why the fuck did he care so much?

You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoon’s eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up.

His heart pounded harder than it should’ve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?

Except no.

He hadn’t planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself he’d stay in his apartment. He hadn’t even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? He’d chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.

But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.

God. He hated having a crush.

He didn’t even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.

“So, is Jungwon finally coming?”

This guy again.

Sunghoon’s head whipped toward Jake so fast it might’ve snapped his neck.

You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. “Yeah! He’s coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. He’s kinda excited to meet you.”

That smile. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.

He didn’t know who the hell Jungwon was.

But he already didn’t like him.

“He’s coming over?” Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.

“Yeah,” you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. “He’s staying at my place for the week he’s here.”

Staying at your place?

Sunghoon blinked.

He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasn’t one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except… there wasn’t even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.

No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.

Just one bed.

His chest tightened.

Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?

He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didn’t.

He wasn’t even involved with you. This shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother him.

But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.

You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the table…golden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.

Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like they’d rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.

One by one, their expressions lit up. Jake’s eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well… except Sunghoon. Of course.

He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didn’t show it like the others.

“So—” Jake started.

“Good,” Jay finished, already reaching for more.

Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.

“So?” you asked, staring at him.

He blinked. “What?”

“How is it?”

“It’s good,” he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.

Your smile dropped. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What? I just said it’s good.”

“No, you said ‘good’ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually it’s ‘It’s good,’ then a second bite. Right, boys?”

Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. “She’s right.”

“Totally right,” Jay added, already helping himself to more.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “You’re all being dramatic.”

You scoffed, insulted. “I guess you don’t want seconds then. Tch.”

You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didn’t look back.

Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didn’t know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.

The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward.

When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.

“Never move out,” Jake said into your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you get free food.”

“And precisely why we don’t want you to move out,” Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.

Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.

You turned, raising a brow. “Aren’t you leaving?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.

“The chicken pot pie was good. I think…” he exhaled, voice quieter, “I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It reminded me of home,” he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. “Not in the way where it’s about the taste or anything… it’s just… you cook like home. If that makes any sense.”

You hadn’t expected that.

Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.

He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.

It was raining.

It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.

You hated this.

You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.

Then the whole building shuddered.

The lights flickered.

And then everything went dark.

You screamed.

Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.

“Shit,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Shit shit shit.”

You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.

“The building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”

An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.

You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.

You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.

“No time to explain but I’m shitting bricks here,” you said all at once.

It wasn’t Jake or Jay.

It was Sunghoon.

His brows raised. “The thunderstorm?”

You nodded frantically. “Are Jake or Jay here?”

“They’re asleep.” He glanced behind him, then back at you. “But I could… stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.”

You hesitated.

Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.

You flinched. “Okay,” you breathed, defeated.

The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.

“Seems like you’re scared of the thunder,” he said gently.

“Well,” you sighed, voice tight. “I’ve been scared of it since I was younger. It just… gets to me.”

He nodded. “It’s okay.”

You noticed it then…the subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasn’t working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but he’d come in without anything but a hoodie.

Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.

“Uh…” he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was being pranked.

“Relax. I can see you shivering like a dog,” you muttered.

“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.

Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.

And then, in a whisper, he said, “You know…”

You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.

“I know I’m not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,” he said, eyes trained on the candle, “but… you don’t always have to find them for help.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m saying…” he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. “Never mind.”

“No, what? Just spit it out.”

He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I’m just saying… you could ask me for help too.”

You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.

“Oh,” you said softly.

There was a beat of silence. You weren’t really sure what to do with that. But you didn’t want to leave it hanging either.

“I’ll be sure to think of you the next time,” you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.

You felt him nod beside you.

You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you weren’t used to seeing him.

“Would you rather have a million dollars,” you said suddenly, “or have no problems in the world?”

He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A good one,” you replied, lips twitching. “So answer it.”

He scoffed a little under his breath. “Uh… maybe no problems in the world?”

“Smart answer. Why?”

He paused, “I think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldn’t be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldn’t waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesn’t matter.”

You blinked at him. That was… not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.

“Right,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.

He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. “Your turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?”

You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. “Hmm… that’s a toughie.”

Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. “Go back in time!”

“Why’s that?”

“So maybe I’d really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,” you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.

Sunghoon stayed quiet.

“You must really feel alone,” he said.

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no one’s listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not a mistake. I just… miss everything back home.”

“I get it,” he said after a second. “I was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that I’m here… yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and they’re great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everything’s fine and normal and still—I just feel… empty. And I don’t even know why.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.

You mumbled, “Well, yeah. But… I also don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean—I’m here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.”

He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re friends now?”

Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. “Are we not?”

He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. “I’m glad you think we are.”

“So,” you said, tilting your head, “does this mean you’ll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?”

Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. “You want nice? From me?”

“Yeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like that’s a reward I’ve earned by now.”

“You earned a participation medal at best.”

You laughed, nudging him with your knee. “Unbelievable.”

He was already looking at you again—closer this time.

“Hold on,” he said softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Before you could move, he leaned in.

His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadn’t felt from him before. You swallowed.

Neither of you moved.

Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappeared…inch by inch, breath by breath. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.

Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.

Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.

His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second.

The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.

Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, when—

Click.

The lights flickered on.

You both froze.

Your faces were still inches apart.

You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part… couldn’t believe you just kissed him like that.

You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.

His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless.

“I need to go back home,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.

You blinked. “Right. Of course!” you said quickly, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. No—totally.”

He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably… need a pillow or something.”

It took you a second.

Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.

“Oh.” Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they could’ve powered your apartment during the blackout.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, already halfway to your door.

And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.

It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You had…more than once. But each time, he’d give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.

Maybe he just wasn’t feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.

But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.

Jungwon was coming today.

You’d spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.

And then, there he was.

The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.

“WON!” you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.

“Hello, idiot,” he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.

The shout must’ve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.

They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.

You beamed. “Guys! It’s him!”

“The famous Jungwon,” Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.

“And you must be Jake and Jay,” Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.

Then came the third.

Sunghoon.

He didn’t move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. “You must be Sunghoon, then.”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What’s so funny?”

Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “She just… told me you were like this.”

“Like what?” Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.

Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. She just said you were cool,” he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoon’s ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadn’t done anything. Not really.

At least you didn’t think you had.

Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.

But Sunghoon?

He was frowning the entire time.

You couldn’t figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoon’s eye twitch.

You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.

His arms were still crossed.

And he didn’t look away.

Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. He’d known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didn’t know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.

“Dude,” Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. “You could’ve at least smiled.”

“I did,” Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.

Jay snorted. “That was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.”

“Why do I even have to be nice?” Sunghoon snapped. “I don’t know him.”

“Because your crush’s boyfriend just came into town,” Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast you’d think he got whiplash. “Boyfriend?”

Jay raised a brow. “Not denying the crush though.”

Sunghoon ignored him. “Let me ask you again. Boyfriend?”

Jake shrugged. “I mean… yeah, I guess?”

“What the fuck do you mean you guess?” Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “He can’t be her boyfriend.”

“But he is,” Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.

“No, he’s not. He can’t be. Because she and I…” he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. “…kissed. Three nights ago.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jake finally blurted.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.

“You can’t say nothing when you just said everything!” Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoon’s shoulders and shaking him.

“Tell us right now!” Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. “I—we—kissed. That’s it.”

Jay blinked. “You know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?”

Jake grinned. “Jungwon’s just her best friend.”

“We just wanted to see if you’d admit you liked her,” Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. “Which you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sunghoon argued weakly. “I just said we kissed.”

“Okay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,” Jake teased.

Jay smirked. “Say it. Say you like her.”

Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finally—quietly, begrudgingly—

“Okay. So what if I like her?”

Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each other’s arms excitedly.

“Oh my god, he admitted it,” Jay whispered dramatically.

Jake clutched his chest. “It’s happening.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you keep acting like this, I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Okay, okay.” Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll behave.”

“BUT I’M SO EXCITED,” Jay squealed.

Jake smacked him on the shoulder. “Starting now.”

Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. “Sorry. That one slipped.”

Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. “I started liking her last month… when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I don’t know. I just… developed a crush on her.”

“That’s so cute,” Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.

“Seriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?”

Jake shrugged, still smiling. “I just didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend before me.”

Jay patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there, buddy.”

Jake tilted his head. “You think?”

“Yeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.”

Jake beamed. “That’s so kind.”

“Can we please get back to my problem for like a minute?” Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.

“Oh. Right.”

Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. “Look. We like her. She’s hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And let’s be real, you’ve never liked anyone. We’ve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? You’re like... a guy with actual feelings.”

“But now I’m losing to Jung… whatever his name is.” Sunghoon sighed.

“Jungwon,” Jake said. “And no, you’re not.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like him?” Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.

“Because,” Jay said, “if she did, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Unless she’s indecisive or confused or something. I don’t know.” Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was just… a moment. And he’s her person.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m telling you—just talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Jay added. “Before you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down… a part of him hoped they were right.

You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.

“I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. “We kissed—KISSED, Jungwon—and now he won’t even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, he—guess what—nods!”

Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. “Maybe he’s nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.”

“I do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like I’m the plague!” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Maybe…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re just a shit kisser.”

You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.

“Asshole.”

He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. “I’m just saying. Maybe you scared him off.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you with this blanket,” you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.

Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because you’re so unpredictable now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He snorted. “You used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?”

You blinked. “What about him?”

“You were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said ‘I like your lunchbox,’ then kissed his cheek and ran off.”

“Ah,” you said flatly, “the good old days. That girl’s dead now.”

“She’s not dead,” Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. “She’s just… overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesn’t like you—whatever. But if he does? You’re missing out just because you’re too chicken to tell him.”

You glared. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“I know.” He grinned. “It’s my worst trait.”

“I just—” you exhaled, flopping back beside him. “What if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?”

“Okay, counter-offer.” He sat up straighter. “You tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go ‘Hi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.’”

“You wouldn’t,” you hissed, swatting at his arm.

“Then do it yourself!” he laughed, dodging your attacks. “Before I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.”

God. Why did he always have to be right?

“Fine.”

Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.

And there he was.

Sunghoon.

You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.

You cleared your throat first. “Sunghoon.”

He blinked like he hadn’t already been staring. “What?”

You squinted. “Is that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?”

He paused. “Sorry.”

You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jake’s heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.

“Hoon,” Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, “we need more eggs.”

“Desperately,” Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. “Go to the store.”

Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. “Oh, and while you’re there, can you grab some ice cream too?”

You and Sunghoon looked at each other.

“What is happening right now,” you said flatly.

Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, “Don’t come back without snacks!”

The elevator stopped at your floor.

Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.

Then, finally, you broke it. “About that day—”

Sunghoon shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell Jungwon.”

You blinked. “What do you mean you won’t tell Jungwon?”

He looked away. “Well, aren’t you like… crushing on him? I wouldn’t want what we did to, you know… ruin your chances or something.”

Your entire face scrunched up. “Won and I? What? Ew. God, no. We’re friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.”

And just like that, Sunghoon felt like he’d been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available.

He couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“Why do you suddenly look so happy?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“We’ve hung out a couple of times and if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen you smile this—”

“Cut it out.” He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. “I’m just glad.”

“Glad about?”

“Glad that I didn’t ruin your chances,” he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadn’t just panicked thirty seconds ago.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. “Well… because I actually like this other guy.”

Sunghoon’s smile faltered.

“I haven’t known him that long,” you continued casually, “but he seems cool. I don’t really know much about him yet.”

“That’s… nice.” Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please don’t let her see that I’m grimacing, he begged internally.

“Yeah, he’s really tall. Really handsome, too.”

“That’s just…” he exhaled. “Great.”

“He doesn’t seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.”

“Seems like a swell fuckin’ guy,” he muttered bitterly.

“It’s a pity though,” you sighed dramatically, still watching him. “I wish I could get to know him better.”

“Well… anyone’s lucky to get to know you.” He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I am.”

You tilted your head. “Not to mention… he lives really close to me.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted to you. “He does?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.

“Like how close?”

You took a slow step toward him. “Like… just across the hall close.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That close.”

Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.

Then, out of nowhere—

“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said, dead serious, “but Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesn’t wash his hair as often as you think he does.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I sleep normal,” he added quickly. “I wash my hair. I do proper haircare—shampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.”

You stared.

“I can’t cook, but I’ll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.”

“Sunghoon.”

“And those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesn’t use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.”

“SUNGHOON!”

He looked at you, breathless. “What?”

You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, “It’s you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I like you.”

And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.

“Okay,” he said. “Cool. Okay. I—wow. Okay.”

You raised a brow. “That’s it?”

He nodded dumbly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just—holy shit. You like me.”

You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. “Yes. I like you.”

The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.

He looked at you again, still dazed. “Hold on, I kinda need a minute.”

You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.

“It’s been a minute,” you said.

“I know,” he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. “But you like me back, so I kinda need, like… a long minute.”

“Back?” You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. “So you like me too?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh… word vomit.”

“Well yeah,” you shrugged. “But I didn’t want to assume. Didn’t wanna be narcissistic.”

“I think even if you were,” he muttered, “I’d still think you were pretty cute.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Gross, I know,” he said quickly, face flushing. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

You laughed. “Yeah. But you kinda can’t take it back now.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to groan. “You’re cute. Ugh. I said it again.”

A MONTH LATER

Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.

“You’re not allowed to come,” Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.

“But—!” they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldn’t get to taste.

Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.

“Isn’t it funny,” Jake said, arms folded, “how we were the ones who befriended her first, and now we’re stuck with Burger King?”

“Life’s unfair, bud.”

Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. You’d decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But you’d managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.

Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like he’d taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“And you look absolutely handsome,” you grinned.

He walked over to the table and took in the spread. “Okay, what do we have?”

“I made the steaks, obviously, and then there’s the vegetable medley… and your favourite—mashed potatoes,” you giggled.

Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “How did I get so lucky?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know either.”

He laughed. “The guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and they’re over there with cold fries.”

“What?” you said, surprised. “I made them something too! Don’t worry.”

“You did?” he raised a brow.

“I had a feeling they’d be hungry if you were over here.”

“Babe, you didn’t have to do that. They’re grown men.”

“Yeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.”

“They’re spoiled by you.”

“And so are you.”

“True, but I’m your boyfriend. They’re just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.”

“I’ll be quick. I’ll just drop the dish off and come back.”

“No,” he said, standing. “I’ll do it. You stay here.”

He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna you’d tucked into the fridge. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“He walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.

Inside, Jay was mid-rant. “I just don’t get it. Sunghoon isn’t even that hot.”

“I mean, he is,” Jake added, “but she deserves better, you know?”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I can hear you two idiots.”

They both froze, turning around sheepishly. “We were just joking. We love you, man.”

He held up the dish. “And to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait—is that lasagna?”

“She felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Jay gasped. “Sunghoon, I don’t mean to be pushy, but please marry her.”

“I can’t,” Sunghoon muttered. “Not when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll back off. Just—can we have the lasagna?”

“And can you tell her we love her?”

“I am not telling my girlfriend you love her,” Sunghoon snapped. “I’ve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.”

“Wait,” Jake said suddenly, “you haven’t told her you love her yet?”

“It’s only been a month.”

“So… you don’t love her?”

“I do,” Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. “I just don’t want to come on too strong if she’s not ready.”

Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.

“What?” Sunghoon asked, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jake cleared his throat. “It’s just… she already said it.”

Sunghoon looked up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jake replied casually. “You texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, ‘God, I love him so much.’ Her words. Not mine.”

Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.

You loved him.

“So… you’re saying I should tell her?” he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,” Jay added, grinning.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “God, the two of you can be so annoying.”

“But you still love us,” Jay shrugged. “So what’s the point of complaining?”

He hated that Jay was right.

Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he should’ve.

And God, you looked so beautiful.

He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?

Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.

Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didn’t even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved you—God, it wasn’t something small. It wasn’t a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing he’d ever felt.

He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.

“Hoonie,” you interrupted gently, frowning. “You’re not listening.”

He blinked back into focus. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What?” you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining.

Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.

“I…I just–uh–feel…that,” His voice trailed off. “You look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.” He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.

You smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”

Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoon’s apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.

You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.

“Revive me!” Sunghoon yelled.

Jay shouted back, “I’m busy trying not to die, dumbass!”

Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.

“VICTORY!” Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.

You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS!” you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “THAT’S RIGHT, LOSERS!”

Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.

“You’re all bark, no bite!” you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. “Your character died fourteen times, Hoonie.”

“I let you win!” he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. “I was being a gentleman.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “Real chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.

You blinked. That was...odd.

You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.

“Hoon?” you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.

He jumped slightly, turning toward you. “You scared me.”

“You okay? You just left so sudden…”

“I—uh—yeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.”

You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Say what?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled with a shrug.

Your expression softened. “Are you mad at me?” You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. “Hoonie?”

“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…”

You stepped closer, teasing lightly, “Do you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and I’ll take it from there.”

That made him laugh.

“Come on,” you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. “I’m pretty sure I should’ve been a dancer instead of a chef.”

He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“Oh my god, I love you.”

You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.

“Did you just say you love me?” you asked, heart hammering.

His eyes widened in sheer panic. “No?”

“I heard it.”

“You misheard.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, practically vibrating. “You love me. You love me!”

“Fine!” he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. “I do! I love you, okay?”

You smiled, “You do?”

“Of course! I love the way you talk too fast when you’re excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when I’m with you, I don’t feel hollow anymore. You… you make me feel like I’m not empty.”

You grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s because you’re not.”

“I used to be,” he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. “I was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what you’ve done to me. This is all your fault.”

You scoffed, “My fault?”

“Yes! Who else could it be?” he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. “You walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now I’ve got feelings. Big ones.”

He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.

“I used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. It’s you. Loving you. That’s it.”

You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.

He blinked, dazed.

“You sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,” you murmured, forehead resting against his.

“I do it when I’m nervous,” Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.

“I find it cute,” you mumbled between kisses.

Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. “God,” kiss “I love you,” another kiss “so much.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.”

“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, “you ruined me.”

Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.

He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.

You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.

He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.

“I fucking love you,” he said again, like it wasn’t real until he repeated it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. “I love you too.”

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heeseungshim · 10 days ago

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𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 - 𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐 + 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛!

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜, 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋 𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕.

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚢.

𝚜𝚢𝚙𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘-𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔. 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚢 ”𝚊𝚌𝚝“ 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖...... 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝.

𝚠𝚌: 𝟷𝟽,𝟻𝟶𝟶𝚔

Herro? Hibachi Benihana teriyaki👀 I’m back yall…. I know it’s been ages but how is everyone? Anyways, sorry for any errors hope you like the new story! - 🐹

It’s like the universe was turning just to make your life a living hell cause why, out of all your co-workers, you and your most hated one were going on a business trip together to somewhere you can’t even remember cause the moment you heard you’d be paired together with him, you tuned out everything else wondering how you were going to be out of town for four whole days with your annoying co-worker.

Maybe you could just listen to music the whole way there, or maybe you could take a separate car or plane. However, the heck, you guys would be traveling. You don’t even know cause you couldn’t get over the fact you were traveling with him in the first place.

And all those sounded like much better ideas than what actually happened.

But for context as to why you had all these thoughts and feelings about said business trip.

From the outside looking in, most would think nothing of your guy's business trip together.

Just two co-workers doing their jobs respectively.

Though that’s correct, there’s layers to it, many layers.

And if they knew yours and heeseung’s dynamic, then they would understand your inner turmoil with this whole situation.

He always had something smart to say to you and always found a way to one-up you or get employee of the month, and you really feel like he only did it cause he knew how badly you’d fight for that title, but to him, it seemed as if it was a game for him to easily take something so precious away from you just to shove it back in your face later on.

You remember it like yesterday.

He sighed softly, kicking his feet up on his desk and placing his hands behind his head with a smile that said I’m about to be the biggest asshole on the planet right now. “Employee of the month again,” he watched as you placed your index fingers on your temples, trying to rub the slowly growing headache away before it could expand into a throbbing one all because of your horrible, horrible co-worker. “How many years in a row? Three? Was it? Yeah,” he nods to himself, looking down at his nails, blowing a warm breath on them, and polishing them on his freshly pressed white dress shirt.

That day, all you remember was his ugly voice and how, yet again, you were outworked by him.

Today at the office was no different. He was annoyingly personable and abnormally nice, extremely helpful, and knowledgeable. The only thing is when it comes to you.

He’d rub it in more and talk loud enough so you could hear everything, even his snide remarks about your performance. He’d say things like. “I pride myself on being on time,” you overheard him saying after you had showed up late one time in three years.

All week, he talked about his employee of the month award so you could be reminded that the only reason he won this year was because he did a few more assignments than you and had a perfect record.

The worst part is that everyone liked him too and thought he could do no wrong, but with you, he’d always slam stacks of files on your desk, ones that were meant for you to complete, like you couldn’t get them yourself. “All yours,” he’d say smugly while walking away with a smile and rolling up his dress shirt sleeves like he had just accomplished his mission of pissing you entirely off for the day.

You could only give him a fake smile once he returned back to his seat. You sighed, eyes rolling comically in the back of your head. No way in hell would you pretend you were the slightest bit okay with him.

How could you be when he’d always murmur little teasing remarks about you just a desk away while you tried to work?

“Looks like that coffee isn’t helping much,” he’d whisper, noticing how long it was taking you to complete something or the little yawns you’d let escape after only being at work for a few hours.

You’d glare at him, eyes tired, and he’d smile, putting his hands up in defense as if the look in your eyes could kill.

“Morning,” he’d greet politely, but there was nothing polite about it. He’d do it just to get a rise out of you, knowing it’d grind your gears hearing it from him.

“Good morning,” you reply with the brightest, fakest smile you could muster while turning on your computer.

“Must’ve not gotten much sleep last night. You look worn out,” he’d whisper, typing away on his keyboard beside you.

“Must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed today 'cause you’re being an asshole,” you remarked, all while focusing on your work. A habit you had to learn was multi-task cause if you were going to be next to him, you had to be able to talk and type.

“Little feisty this morning, and it’s only….. 5:04 am.” he checked his watch, a little smirk on his face from the early banter.

This was five days a week for you, eight hours a day, no break, only on the weekends, and now you’d have to be with him the whole five-hour drive plus the whole weekend you’d be doing business.

Sadly, that meant keeping in contact with him, so as soon as you were informed of said trip, you took down his business contact number.

Or tried to.

He gave you his personal number instead, saying something about how this was different than work and some other blah blah blah that you didn’t listen to.

You just took the number, and you’d delete it later. You weren’t going to fight him on it cause the less you had to talk to him, the better.

You were already annoyed about going, but imagine your surprise when your boss told you you’d be driving instead of flying since the distance wasn’t that long and it’d be cheaper. Like, who is he to decide? Five hours with heeseung is long, far too long, like a lifetime long.

After you and that dork heeseung exited the boss's office when everything had been finalized, he nudged your shoulder with his playfully. “Pack your bags, sweetheart. We’re going on vacation!” he cheered, doing a little happy dance on his way to collect his belongings, and you well….

Accepted your fate.

It’s only a few days, you tried to reassure yourself, but deep down, you knew this was going to be hell.

You walk away from him and into the break room to grab yourself a much-needed coffee. “Come on y/n, it’s not that bad. I hang out with him on the weekends. He’s a pretty fun guy,” your co-worker Jay says after you tell him the horrors that await you, and you feel like crying cause not even he gets it. Heeseung had everyone fooled, and they were too blinded by his playful nature and white smile to notice he had them wrapped around his finger.

“I wish I could go with you instead,” you pout, mixing the sugar in your coffee, and no matter how many packets you added, it still tasted bitter with the thought of your impending doom.

“Touché, I could use a getaway, but heeseung has far more experience under his belt, maybe in a few more years” he cheers his coffee cup with yours.

“I don’t know if I have a few more years left in me, Jay. Sitting next to him all day is exhausting. I might just resign,” you say as you sip your coffee, staring blankly into space.

“This really has a hold on you, huh?” You nod, and Jay comfortingly pats your shoulder. “Don’t think about it too much. Besides, you’ll have some free time to sightsee and do things alone, and I bet you could try some new restaurants.”

You smile for the first time since you left your boss's office. “That’s true. Thanks, Jay.”

“Take it easy, y/n. I’ll see you next week. Don’t sweat it, and try to have fun.”

“I’ll try. Bye, Jay.” he gives you a small wave on his way out, his words lifting the heavy feeling in your gut just a tad bit.

Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

💻

The next morning, you wake up bright and early, stretching out and looking at the clock. You still have a good few hours to pack and get ready.

You thought of doing it last night, but you were too tired. All is well though. You only needed stuff for the next few days.

Instead of preparing breakfast and showering like usual, you rub the sleep from your eyes, prioritizing work first and grabbing some suitcases out of your closet for the trip.

You were opening one of your suitcases when an alert went off on your phone.

Annoying co worker🙄: Pack some fancy dresses and some bikinis. It’s gonna be hot down there 🥵

You rolled your eyes. Why was he texting you like you were too dumb to know it was gonna be hot and what you should bring?

You almost feel like wearing a snowsuit and bringing a scarf just to be petty, but you don’t.

Instead, you reply.

You: thanks. Einstein didn’t know I needed you to tell me what to pack.

Annoying co worker🙄: I love it when you’re feisty like this 😳

You: 😒

You send back, and you just know he’s eating it up on the other side of the screen, that stupid smirk on his face.

So, instead of feeding into his nasty obsession with getting a rise out of you, you continue to pack your clothes, toiletries, and work essentials.

After that, you showered, did your morning routine, and brushed out your hair, letting it air dry before going to the kitchen to make breakfast. and. why, as soon as you put your egg against the corner of your pan to crack it open, your phone went off again.

Annoying co worker🙄: I’m here! Thought I’d show up early so we can get breakfast together before we head out on our little getaway ☺️

Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, they did cause getting back-to-back texts from heeseung in the morning felt like a cruel punishment, and once again, the Earth always had its ways of turning and bringing you the most disastrous parts of it.

Sighing to yourself, you put the egg back in its crate and get ready to leave. After all, you had everything packed already, so you were ready to go. You just needed to feed your cat before you left and text Jay.

You: Jay, the keys under the mat. She’s already eaten today, so just check up on her after work. Thanks again, I owe you.

Jay: No problem, y/n. I’ll make sure she’s spoiled. Have a safe trip!

Thankfully, working at your job has its perks. At least one of your co-workers was sane. Jay practically trained you, got you accustomed to the company, and made you feel at ease and welcomed. He even accompanied you to lunch to give you some extra protips and pointers.

From there, it was history. He was your work buddy and the only one you trusted to gossip to. You’ve gone out for drinks on occasion and got to know each other outside of work through a few hangouts. however, it never went past friends, and you were actually happy to have a guy friend who was nice and not because he wanted to get with you.

You’ve been good up till this point, which is why you trust him to keep an eye out for your furry baby.

You hearted his message, giving your cat a kiss goodbye. “See you next weekend, baby. Be good to Jay.”

You turned off the lights, grabbed your bags, and headed to the door.

Heeseung had his head down texting, and when you opened the door, he noticed you coming out right away. He quickly exited his car, rushing over to help you. “Here, let me.” he went to take the bags, but you held onto them, not wanting his help. “Please?”

“Only because it’s morning, and I’m not gonna fight over luggage.” You let go, letting him load it in.

“What did you bring your whole closet?!” He exclaims from the weight of your suitcase.

“Maybe,” you smirked. “And maybe you should hit the gym.”

“I think that was enough workout for the day. We’re only gone for a few days. Why did you bring so much?” he shuts the trunk, rounding to your side of the car, and opens the door for you.

“Heeseung, we haven’t even stepped in the car, and you’re already talking too much.” You got in the passenger side and shut the door yourself, even though he tried to do it for you.

He doesn’t seem at all phased by your snide remarks, taking them in stride as he gets back in the driver seat and clicks his belt in. “Seatbelt?” He asks just to make sure you’re safe. You grumble in response, watching as he types in directions on his phone and putting your seatbelt on.

“Dunkin'?” You ask when he puts in the direction to the nearest one.

“Yeah? There a problem?” He puts the car in drive, slowly backing out of the parking lot. You don’t say anything. You just let him take you to the destination.

The less talking, the better.

After he orders for you both at the speaker, he pulls forward, fishing out his card to pay, and you reach into your wallet for yours, giving it to him. “What do you want me to do with that?” He stares blankly at your card, not moving an inch to take it from you. His expression looked like he was disgusted that you were even trying to pay in the first place. Like, did you really think he’d make you pay?

“Take it. I’m not gonna have you telling the whole company I made you pay for my breakfast,” you groan.

He chuckles. “That would be highly unprofessional of me to tell them about what we do in private.”

“Your whole existence is unprofessio-“

“Ooh, it’s our turn!” he cuts you off, pulling forward to pay. The food and drinks come right after, and he grabs the items, thanking the person at the window and wishing them a nice day.

Surprisingly, the drive is quiet for the next few minutes until he puts in the hotel address you’d be staying at, starting the long journey. After setting his phone down, he reaches into the bag to grab his bagel, nearly swerving into the other lane in the process. “You’re not gonna get me killed over an over-buttered bagel.” You snatched the bag away from him, and he almost looked offended until you handed it to him, neatly wrapping it in a piece of parchment paper so he didn’t get his hands messy.

“What is this?” He smiles, taking his bagel from your hands. “What on God's green earth did I do to deserve the one and only y/n’s kindness?”

You scoffed at him. “Just eat.” You rubbed your forehead in frustration.

“Can I do anything else for you, my queen?” He jokes.

“Please shut up.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he hums, biting into his bagel.

Oh, this trip was gonna be a disaster.

It was mixed between his nonstop bickering and singing to every damn song that came on his playlist. You will admit he had good music taste, and his voice was really good. Too bad it was attached to him.

“Did you know that deers can actually swim? In fact, they are exceptional swimmers isn’t that coo-��

“Just drive.” You threw your head back, annoyed to the tenth degree. He’d been going on and on about different facts about animals since you passed the first cow.

“Sorry, I just thought it was cool. I didn’t know that until recently when I was on my phone, and it popped up something else that’s pretty cool, and I find interesting is……”

You tuned his voice out completely as he rambled off random facts about each animal he passed on the road.

When you finally started paying attention to him again, he was still talking. “…….And what’s even crazier is that there are 1,400 hundred different species of bats!”

How you went from deers to bats, you will never know, but one thing you do know is that you wished he would just stop talking. “Anyways, enough of me being a nerd,” he laughs softly. “There’s a rest stop coming up soon. Do you need a break? I could use one. My legs are cramping.”

“Sure,” you replied aloof.

Luckily, you got five minutes of peace, and then you guys arrived at the rest stop. “Okay, here we are,” he announced like a dad taking his kids on a road trip.

He shuts off the car. “I’m gonna fill up the tan-“ You got out and shut the door, not letting him finish. His voice was far too much, especially when you still had hours left until you guys arrived.

You went to the restroom quickly and then walked the aisle looking for a few snacks since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

You got all your items and took them to the checkout, paying and leaving your leftover change in the cup before leaving the store.

“None for me?” Heeseung pouted when you got back in the car with only one cup and one bag of chips. Without looking at him, you handed over an extra straw for him to share the big gulp with you.

“Ooh, this is romantic, isn’t it?” he says, opening the straw. “Long road trip with your co-worker who hates you but secretly wants to take care of you.” he pauses and takes a sip. “Hmm, isn’t it like enemies to lovers?”

“I hate you,” you mutter.

“See!? Now all that’s next is you have to fall in love with me, princess, and I get you a big fancy ring. We live happily ever after with cats, a big house, and babies.” his smile is so bright it’s almost concerning. He actually looked as if he was really imagining it, and that alone sounded like your worst nightmare. You’d rather take a mud bath with the pigs you passed on the way here than live the rest of your days with Lee heeseung.

“I wouldn’t marry you even if you were the last man on earth.”

“Ooh, that has a nice ring to it, but let’s switch it up. How about something like?” he hums, rubbing his chin in thought, and like a lightbulb goes off in his head, he snaps his fingers, turning to you with a smile still on his face, as if this was amusing to him. “I know!” He says excitedly. “Love you like the last man on Earth. That’s a good title starring y/n l/n and Lee heeseung, the two co-workers who hated each other but were drawn together by a business trip and fell in love along the way,” he giggled like actually giggled, and you hate that you thought for once he actually looked kinda cute. “Eww, even that’s making me want to gag. I could never be with you.” his face relaxed, his smile long gone, almost like just the thought of being with you ruined his entire mood.

“Same here, and what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You reply defensively.

“You’re grumpy and annoying,” he says matter-of-factly, grabbing a potato chip from your bag.

“Excuse you?” You gasped at his words. How was he making you the bad guy?

“I said what I said anyway. Put a sock in it. We have two hours left, and I need to focus and not fight about how you’re literally the worst co-worker ever.” he dusts his hands of the salt from the chips he’d eaten and grabs the steering wheel, ready to drive a few more hours.

“Oh, I’m the worst co-worker? That’s rich coming from you.” You fold your arms over your chest, feeling saltier than the chips you were eating.

“Here we go,” he sighed, turning up the music louder to drown your voice out. “Two more hours!” He shouts over you, stepping on the gas.

And if you didn’t already hate him after that, you definitely did.

💻

Luckily for you, some minutes down the road, you fell asleep, meaning you didn’t have to deal with that thing named heeseung. Somewhere along the ride, you woke up to a few soft pokes on your shoulders. “Y/n, we’re here,” heeseung whispered. “I’m gonna go get us checked in, and I’ll have them bring the bags up,” he informs you quietly, and you nod, stretching tiredly with a yawn.

You decide to enter a few moments after him to see why it was taking so long. You were still groggy, but you woke up fully when you heard the receptionist say something so preposterous. “What?” you blurt out.

She sighed, rolling her eyes and looking completely uninterested. “It says one room for y/n l/n and Lee heeseung.”

“Hmm, that can’t be right,” heeseung says, and you join him at the desk. “Could you maybe re-check?” He asked the clerk, who looked more than disinterested.“Alright,” heeseung sighed after getting the same answer.

“No, there must be a mistake here,” you chuckle incredulously. “There were supposed to be two separate rooms.” You look her in the eye, holding up two fingers.

“Lady, I already told your boyfriend that there is one room.” She pops her gum hand out, waiting for payment.

“My boyfrie- first of all, he’s not my boyfriend, and secondly, do your job. I have a reservation here for separate rooms.” You pointed your finger in her face this time, you weren’t one to argue, especially with an elderly woman, but it couldn’t go down like this.

“Look, lady, I don’t care what secret hook-up or affair you two have going on here, but leave me out of it. Here’s your key cards. Enjoy your stay,” she laughs heartily, popping her gum as she gives heeseung a knowing wink.

Heeseung’s eyes went wide as he stood there listening to this old lady telling him something that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Fine.” he snatched the key cards off the table, handing you one and putting his credit card back into his wallet.

He pulled out his phone, dialing the company as if they’d be open this hour. He only got the dial tone and then called his boss. “Hi, boss, there’s a mix. Up we’re at the hotel, and it says there’s only one room”

Heeseung went silent for a moment, then muttered a small thank you and then hung up. “This is absolute bullshit” he clenched his jaw. “Come on,” he groaned, dragging your bags down the hallway to the elevator. “One room,” he muttered agitatedly, mashing on the buttons.

“Well, that’s one way to ruin a trip,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, at least we finally agree on something,” he scoffed.

He walked you guys to room 206, and it was huge, nice, and expensive. From the looks of it, the room alone could almost make up for the fact that you were sharing it with him.

Key word almost.

“I’m showering first,” heeseung says, kicking off his shoes.

“Ladies first,” you argue back. “What happened to gentlemen?”

“Is the lady in the room with us?” He looks around, squinted his eyes like you weren’t sprawled out like a starfish on your bed

“What happened to chivalry?” You say dramatically.

“Stop being dramatic. I’ll only be a few minutes,” he says, loosening his watch and setting it on the lamp stand.

“Minutes? Make sure to wash down below,” you fanned your nose.

“Sexual harassment, I’m telling my boss.”

“You’ve harassed me this whole time, and I tell you to clean your musty balls, and it’s harassment?” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Again, I’m telling my boss,” he says, composed, not letting your words get to him.

“Tell him that you’re an asshole, too,” you fired back.

“And now you’re talking about my ass? Oh, I’m definitely telling.” You roll your eyes, and he smirks in victory. He turns to you, unbuttoning his shirt, and you look away cause you still value your eyesight. “Take your own advice and also a bath. You need a good soak 'cause the ride here was unbearable. Five hours of smelling the Pacific Ocean is brutal.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he shut the door before it could hit him, which made your blood temperature rise a bit higher than it already was.

You waited a solid fifteen minutes for him to come out, so much for a “few minutes.”

After he finally came out, you took a shower, washing the five-hour drive off you and washing the exhaustion from your face. The warm water felt nice on your sore muscles from the car ride here. You got out of the shower after rinsing off, and you ended your night with room service, ordering a steak with wine and a good night's sleep.

Thank goodness there were at least two beds.

One day down, many more to come

💻

The morning was a mess. You both scrambled to get ready, the usual banter gone because you two were running late, stuck in the horrible city traffic at every red light. Heeseung kept checking his watch, muttering quiet curses to himself. “Come on, the light is green!” He honked the horn as if that would help.

“Can’t believe this is our first business trip, and it’s a total bust,” you felt the need to say in this situation.

“Can you, like, not right now?” Heeseung replied, clearly annoyed.

“Hmm, interesting, 'cause when we’re at work, and I tell you to stop annoying me, you don’t, but oh, how the tables have turned,” you click your tongue comically.

“That’s different,” heeseung says in retaliation.

“Ooooooof course it is,” you say, exaggerating your words.

Before the tension can rise, the traffic gives you a big break and heeseung types in a different route to get there on time.

He pulls in front of the building just a few minutes later, turning off the engine. “Lucky I’m here. Otherwise, you’d be late.”

You ignore him and open the door, looking at yourself in the window’s reflection, making sure you’re presentable. “How do I look?” You ask him for what it’s worth.

“If you’re asking me, like roadkill with maggots and flies surrounding it, but if you’re asking someone else, you look like you’re ready to do business.” he just had to go the extra mile.

“Just had to take the long way to say I look good.” You shook your hand, flattening out your top.

“You and good cannot be used together, anyway. I’m looking handsome and professional as ever, aren’t I?” He asks you back, swiping a few pieces of hair into place.

“To me, you look like a trash can sitting in front of an abandoned building with graffiti on it, but to others, you look like you’re about to close a deal.” you give him an exaggerated smile and two thumbs up but knowing heeseung he takes no real offense to your words only uses them as fuel against you.

“Now, what’s exactly inside that trash can? Cause you can’t always judge a book by its cover.” he says while straightening out his tie.

“Just shut up. Now. Hurry up, pretty boy, and stop staring at yourself. We have five minutes.” You start walking into the building without him.

“Since when are you punctual?” He scurried after you, easily catching up.

“Since now,” you grab his wrist, dragging him into the building and quickly letting go once you get to the front door.

You’re greeted politely by the receptionist, offering you both a sweet smile while pointing you in the direction of the elevator.

You take a deep breath in the elevator, attempting to calm your nerves. You don’t know why you were so nervous to begin with cause it’d be no different than what you do now, but you just were.

“My heart is in my ass right now,” he says, cutting through the silence and trying to chip off the nerves, you snort, not expecting that from him, and that prompts him to laugh genuine laughter fills the small space of the elevator, your nerves decreasing just a bit from his attempt at humor.

Once the elevator stops, you both step out with confident strides and smiles on your faces.

Turns out you two were worried for no reason.

The meeting went perfectly. Ideas were pitched, deals were made, and overall, it was a huge success.

Luckily, heeseung was there to encourage you when you got a bit tripped up, and the same with him when he got a bit overwhelmed. Working on a trip with him was actually pleasant, far better than sitting next to him at your desk all day.

“You know, when you’re not being a dick, you’re actually quite smart,” you say on the ride home.

“That’s it, you’ve brought my dick into it, and now I’m going to HR, but thank you for the compliment? You’re not as dumb as I thought,” he chuckled.

“Geez, can’t take a compliment,” you sighed.

“And you can’t give one!” he shook his head. “Anyways, there’s a restaurant near our hotel that I want to try. Do you want to come with me to celebrate or not?”

“Not,” you rolled your eyes.

He pursed his lips, itching to say something smart mouth, but he let it go. “So what are you gonna do for dinner?”

“Like you care, just take me back to the hotel.” You looked at him weirdly, wondering why he even offered in the first place, probably just to annoy you.

“Never said I cared. It was a wonder I had,” he speaks up, turning up the ac

“Well, don’t wonder about me.” You ended it there, opting to look out the window, anything except looking at him.

“Wow,” he chuckled and shook his head, something he’d been doing a lot lately since he’s been around you.

He took you back to the hotel room, dropped you off, and took off again to go eat at the restaurant all by himself.

He waited ten minutes to be seated. The meal wasn’t even that good. The reviews hyped it up too much, and to top it off, people were offering to pay for his food because he could only surmise they felt sorry for him cause he was eating alone or they thought he got stood up.

Overall, the experience was a 2 out of 10, and he would not be going back, or maybe it was just a bust cause it didn’t go the way he’d planned.

“Thanks for making me look stupid,” he says once he’s back at the hotel, peeling off his suit jacket and watch along with his shoes.

“No need to thank me. You do it all by yourself,” you chimed, looking up from the book you were reading.

“Anyways, they brought me free food and dessert 'cause they thought I got stood up,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If you had just gone with me,” he mutters.

“You got free food, so stop complaining,” You said, setting your book aside and opting to scroll through your social media. You scroll and scroll, and then an incoming call pops up on your screen. It was from Jay, so you took it immediately. “Hey,” you spoke to Jay over the phone. “How’s it going?”

“Good, she’s just really energetic. She’s been playing with her mouse toy for the past hour. I think she just misses you and doesn’t know what to do,” he chuckled, waving the toy around, and you could hear the sound of the small bell on her toy jingling in the background.

“That sounds about right,” you laughed softly. “Thanks for the update. Well, we’ll be back in a few days, so hang in there.”

“Will do, see you then,” you share a quick bye and hang up your phone.

“Who was that?” Heeseung asked curiously.

“Your mom,” you replied.

“Oh yeah, and what did she say?” He humored you.

“Said that she regrets raising a son as horrible as you and that she’s sorry I have to put up with you,” you say as seriously as possible.

“Okay, that was kinda funny,” he chuckled, not expecting that. “But seriously, who was it?”

“It’s Jay. He’s watching my cat,” you replied, uninterested.

“Hmm, I didn’t know you had a cat,” he says.

“Well, now you do.” you focus on your phone again, ignoring heeseung.

With that, heeseung went to the bathroom, taking a much-needed shower.

Washing away the day, so far this trip wasn’t too bad at all, but he can’t say that it was going well either.

When he came back from his shower, you looked up and heard the door creak. His hair was wet, a white bath towel around his waist, and his chest was completely bare. “My eyes!” you covered your face with the book you were reading.

“Are blessed? I know. Look while you can cause you won’t get this opportunity ever again,” he says a bit too confidently for your liking.

“I like my eyesight, thank you very much.” Your eyes roam over the page you were reading, finding the paragraph you were on last.

“Suit yourself.” he went to the closet and put on a white graphic shirt, grabbing some boxers and some grey sweatpants to pair with it.

Once he got dressed, he got in bed, tucking himself under the blankets and scrolling on his phone to pass the time until he felt sleepy.

It was silent, him on his phone while you were immersed in your book, and then you heard the first droplets of rain fall down.

Oh no.

It was light, just a little sprinkle at first, and you decided to put your phone down. Hopefully, you’d be able to sleep through it, or maybe it’d let up before it turned into a full-blown storm.

But that was wishful thinking cause it got heavy really fast. You used your pillow, trying to cover your ears, but then came the thunder, and you jumped from the booming sound, heart racing in your chest.

It crackled again, and you covered your shuddering body with the blanket, hiding yourself from the storm, but it was pointless.

The storm continued, and heeseung seemed completely unphased as he dropped his phone on the nightstand and curled up to sleep.

The lightning struck again, and just before he closed his eyes, he saw you jump from under your covers. Thinking it was just a hypnic jerk, he pulled up his covers, tucking himself in to sleep, but then it happened once, then twice, and over and over again as he watched you attempting to get comfortable.

He closed his eyes, trying to drift off himself, but then he heard quiet little sniffles that sounded a lot like someone crying, and his eyes shot open immediately. “Y/n?” He called softly, and you didn’t answer. Assuming you didn’t hear him, he tried to call you again. “Hey y/n?”

You still don’t answer, too embarrassed to let him know you were crying over a stupid storm. You don’t know why you were so scared of storms, but you just were ever since you were a little kid.

He stood up quietly, walking over to you, and shook your shoulder, the soft touch making you jump. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Are you okay? Thought I heard you crying.” he rubbed his sleepy eyes.

“I'm fine,” you replied harshly and turned your back to him, yanking the blanket over your body.

“Okay,” He walked back over to his bed, grabbed another blanket, and folded it over for you.

It didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He had heard somewhere that weighted blankets could help people sleep through storms, so he laid it over you, hoping it might have the same effect. “Here, take my blanket. It might help.” he ran his fingers through his hair as you looked at him weirdly.

“Why are you giving it to me?” you mumble, and this really wasn’t the time to bicker, but given your guy's history, it was only reflex at this point.

“Cause as much as you like to believe I’m not a jerk,” he replies without his usual bite.

“Could’ve fooled me.” he rolled his eyes and walked back to the bed, hiding under the thin sheet since he’d given you his comforter.

Just when he was about to drift off to sleep, he heard you sniffling louder this time. “Y/n? Is it helping?”

“N-no,” your voice shook slightly.

“Here,” he stood up again, walking over to your bed. “Can I?” He peeled the sheets back, asking for permission to lay with you.

“No! Not in your wildest dreams,” you reply, hiccuping right after and pulling the blankets around you to keep him out.

“Just let me try to help. It’s three am we have to be up early, and if you sit here weeping all night, neither of us will be able to sleep cause you sound like a dying seal.” Of course, he just had to throw that insult in there, but you gave in nonetheless. “Please?”

You scoot over, making room for him to come inside your blanket fortress. “Come here,” he says gently, opening his arms for you, and you looked at him like he was crazy. “Come on, y/n, I’m tired,” he groans, and you can hear in his voice how tired he is, and you don’t want to be a burden.

“So what are you suggesting?” You asked, scooting closer, and he just rolled his eyes, wrapping a hand around your waist and dragging you to his chest, the scent of his body filling your nose immediately.

“How about this? If I do anything you’re uncomfortable with, tell me to stop, and I will. Now shush,” he concluded, too tired to have a full-blown conversation about your boundaries.

“Don’t try nothing funny,” you warned, even though you were in no position to make such threats.

“I won’t, I promise you. Just face me and try to relax.” You shifted in his hold, and he brought you even closer to his warm chest, and you hated how, as soon as you were cocooned in his hold, you immediately felt better. “Breathe in and out nice and slow for me.” he rubbed your back soothingly.

“Heeseung, this is weird,” you mutter against his chest, your voice tickling him, and you blame your sleepiness for why you’re even allowing this. The storm must’ve scared you out of your mind cause in no coherent state would you allow heeseung within ten feet of you outside of work, let alone to cuddle you.

“Only cause you’re making it weird. Now, close your eyes.” You did as you were told. “Listen to my heartbeat,” he hummed, closing his eyes as well. “Good,” he whispers, pulling the blankets over the both of you. “Focus on my breathing and match it with yours,” he instructed, and you followed along quickly. “There you go.” his hand never stopped rubbing soft circles on your back, but as the rain got louder, you clutched onto him tighter. “Poor thing,” he whispered low enough to where you didn’t hear him and decided to hum a song to you, hoping to tune out the rain as your tears dried on his shirt. Luckily, within a couple more minutes, you were fast asleep in his hold, and you felt warm and safe as exhaustion finally caught up to the both of you.

💻

You woke up first, and when you went to move, you felt heeseung clung onto you like a koala bear as he held you.

You stirred a bit, trying to wake him up so he could get off of you. “Good morning,” he mumbled, stretching and squeezing you in his strong arms.

“Morning,” he sighed in contentment, and you realized when he didn’t let go, he must not have been fully awake and in his right mind.

“Heeseung? We have to get ready,” you mumble, biting your lip and looking over at the clock.

“I know, I know, but you’re so warm, and I’m so comfortable I don’t wanna move,” he murmurs, warm breath against your neck. You gasp when you feel him snuggling up closer to you, and you figure he really must be out of it to be doing this and saying the things he’s saying. “Let’s just go back to sleep. It’s way too early.”

Technically, he was right. You guys still had four hours till the meeting.

So you went back to sleep in his arms for two hours, then three hours, four hours, and lastly, a whole five hours later was when you both woke up.

And since you both woke up so late, the event you two were supposed to go to had already started and you were both nowhere to be found.

Two days in a row, you guys were pushing the time, and today, you were actually late.

When you finally arrived, you received many glares from people whispering about you and heeseung being an inconvenience, which you thought was rude. But, luckily, it went well, and no one really took your guy's lateness too hard, but you could tell they were quietly judging you both.

After concluding the meeting, there was a company get-together. You had dinner with other workers who worked at the same company, just in different states. You talked and drank with them, and you mingled on your own, but as soon as you and heeseung got together again at the hotel.

That's when it all came out.

“Can’t believe you made us late,” he grumbles, yanking off his jacket and aggressively loosening his tie.

“Me made us late? Weren’t you the one that said we should sleep in? Cause you said you were, and I quote, “warm and comfortable,” you recalled.

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to sleep that long, and I wouldn’t have been so tired if you weren’t keeping me up all night,” he mumbles the last part, but you still hear it.

“Oh please, so it’s all my fault then?” You argue back.

“Yes, it is,” he says a little too calmly for your liking.

“Well, please forgive me for always ruining everything.” You threw your hands up in the air, taking off your heels.

“I will do no such thing 'cause you need to know how you are.” he clicks his tongue.

“What’s with your attitude? Why are you so pissy?” you say, wondering where this is coming from. You know you guys were late, but was it really that big of a deal?

“Because I have a reputation to uphold, you don’t, so you don’t care about being late. That’s why you’re never employee of the month, and now you’re trying to take me down with you,” he says just to get a rise out of you, and it works like it always does.

“Reputation? You’re just cranky and uptight all the time.” You go insult for insult, tossing your earrings on the nightstand.

“I wonder why,” and that just sets you right off the fact he was talking like it was all your fault and he could do no wrong.

“Probably cause you can’t get your dick wet” You don’t even know why you said it, but you were frustrated, and it seemed like something that would piss him off, and that seemed to get under his skin.

“What?” He asked, making sure he heard you right.

“I said maybe cause you can’t get your dick wet is why you run around frustrated all the time” You run a hand through your hair, sighing deeply.

He scoffed. “You would know all about that judging by your attitude. No one has touched you in years. If that’s what we’re basing it on, just shut up.” He shook his head.

You stood up to him, staring him right in the eye. “Make me Lee heeseung.” his breath hitched from your proximity, and he took your words literally, stepping forward and cupping your cheeks, eyes searching yours, and you couldn’t help but look at his lips, which was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against yours roughly.

Your hands tangled in his hair faster than you would have liked, but he was right. You hadn’t been touched in years, and even though it was heeseung, you weren’t about to say no.

He backs you against the wall, kissing you feverishly, hands sliding down to your waist and squeezing softly. You whimpered in his mouth, and he immediately stuck his tongue inside, licking into your mouth with his warm, skilled tongue.

You pulled at his hair, and he groaned softly, stepping closer to you and pressing himself on your body to feel you as close as he possibly could.

He moaned softly, slotting his leg between yours so you guys could rub against each other. “Ahh fuck” he leaned his head back, moaning some more as you shamelessly began rutting on his thigh.

You kissed along his jaw and neck, his bulge pressing directly into your side, the hardness making you gasp.

You pulled back from the kiss. Both of you guys breaths uneven as your lower bodies rutted together. “Gonna fuck all that frustration out of you.”

He stares deeply into your eyes, hands yanking your shirt above your head, your cleavage falling out. He reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra, freeing your beautiful breasts for his eyes with ease. He grabs them immediately, massaging them slowly and gently. “Wanna see you too” he doesn’t say anything cocky just takes his shirt off and lets you get a feel of him too.

“Fuck, need this off now,” he breathes out, fumbling with your dress pants, and you help him take them loose, he quickly works on his belt, undoing it and tossing it aside while you open the button on his pants and pull his zipper down.

The moment his pants are undone, you slip your hand inside, palming at his erection. “Fuck you’re so big,” he whines, feeling almost too sensitive to your touch. He rests his forehead against yours, looking down as you fondle his length, that felt so warm and hard in your hand.

He breathes out shakily, biting on his lip as he closes his eyes, softly bucking into your hand.

Astonished by his length, you play with it some more, teasing his tip through his boxers, and he sighs softly, wetness seeping through his underwear.

He quickly returns the favor, sticking his hand inside your pants. Rubbing your pussy over your underwear. “Is this okay?” He pushed them to the side, and you nodded, his fingers slipping past the material to play with your wetness rubbing along your wet slit.

“Me too,” he mutters, guiding your hand inside his boxers so you can feel each other skin on skin.

You close the gap between the two of you, kissing him first, leading it as you bite his bottom lip, opening his mouth so you can suck on his tongue.

You pushed off the wall, taking him by surprise and backing him up against the bed.

He sat down and grabbed the waist of your pants, pulling them down your ankles, and you stepped out of them easily. “Fuck” he groaned impatiently, squeezing your hips and leaning down to place kisses all over your stomach and abdomen, kissing your clothed heat, deeply inhaling your scent.

He looked up at you, lapping at your covered core, eyes full of desire as he kneaded your hips.

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, letting him lick you up, your legs almost giving out when you felt his warm skilled tongue flicking your clit.

Needing more of you, he grabbed the hem of your underwear, and you nodded without him even having to ask. He dropped those to the floor, too, and immediately started getting a taste of you, your sticky drippings falling on his awaiting tongue.

He pulled away reluctantly, but he wanted to get a better angle to eat you out, one that’d feel better for you, too. He stood from the bed and picked you up, placing you on it instead, and he immediately climbed in after you, grabbing your legs and putting them over his shoulders. Diving between your legs with no hesitation, he licked his way from your calf to your inner thigh and then where you needed him the most. “Tastes so good, getting harder with every lick, baby,” he hummed against your heat, his tongue teasing your pulsing clit.

He circled your hole with his finger, and you were completely out of it. The pleasure was too overwhelming for you, and he’d barely done anything. He gathered your arousal on his finger and then eased it in slow and deep. “Heeseung,” you breathe out, chest rising and falling, your heart pounding in your rib cage. “More,” you moaned, and he hummed against your pussy, listening to you and adding another one of his fingers, pumping your tight pussy open.

“So wet,” he breathed on your clit, then started sucking on it gently. Your hands found his hair running through it softly. “Taking it so good.” he pushed a third finger in you unexpectedly, and the moan you released was so loud, so sinful, but oh so pleasurable to his ears.

“Heeseung, I think I’m g- fuck” you whined.

Your words shock him, but he does his best not to show it. He didn’t know you’d cum that quick, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. “Cum on my tongue,” he rushed out, licking up and down on your clit, and you clenched so tightly your release washing over you in strong shockwaves.

“Heeseung,” you mewl, writhing on his long, thick fingers, your left hand gripping his hair, the other twisted in the sheets.

His eyes were closed, getting lost in the taste of you, his tongue lazily licking you through it as his fingers slowed down, giving you a break.

With his free hand, he pushed down his pants and boxers, finally freeing his throbbing dick.

He messily kicked them off the rest of the way and gently pulled his fingers out of you before he kneeled before you on the bed coating his cock with your wetness on his fingers.

He strokes himself, rubbing your natural lube on his hard cock along with his precum.

Your mouth was hung open at the sight. He felt big in your hand and looked even bigger. You were drooling at the sight of him. “Can-“Before you can even ask for permission, he gives it to you.

“Do whatever you want to me,” he says, desperately cock twitching in his hand.

You reach out to him, pulling him closer, and he follows your guidance hovering over you, his dick inches away from your face as you lay back on the pillows.

You grabbed his length, enamored by it, licking the side of his thick, veiny shaft. “Oh fuck” he shudders immediately, using the headboard for stability.

You wrap your lips around the tip, sucking off his salty precum, moaning around his length.

Lowering your hand to cup his balls, you take half his cock In your mouth, eyes rolling back as you take it deeper and deeper.

He ruts forward, trying to fit more inside, but he wills himself to stop, only to have you grip his hips and encourage him to lightly thrust in your mouth. “Oh g- y/n, it feels so fucking g-good” You stared at him, mouth full of his thick cock as he bucked his hips, face riddled with so much pleasure he almost looked as if he was in pain, but judging by the sounds he was making it was anything but that. “I c-can’t” he stilled his hips cock throbbing inside your mouth while you suckled on it and played with his tight balls. “Slower baby, please,” he groaned, veins bulging on the side of his neck as he tried to resist cumming too soon. The way he called you baby only made you take more of him in your mouth, nearly gagging on his full length.

You hummed around his cock, pushing him forward by his hips, leaving no choice but for him to get lodged deeper down your throat. “Fuck!” He huffed softly, his chest covered with sweat beads as he held off for dear life, feeling the way your throat contracted around him.

You gave him a small breather, pulling off his length and licking from his tip all the way down to the base, where you gently lapped at his full balls.

He swallows harshly, his throat bobbing as sweat cascades down his neck. “I’m gonna cum if you keep sucking me like that.”

“Please cum inside my mouth, heeseung” his cock twitched the second the words left your lips, and you loved the way he felt hot and pulsating against your tongue. The moment you took his sensitive length as deep as possible he erupted with a soft, shuddered whine, his shoulders tensing as he gripped the bedpost for all he was worth, his cock throbbing wildly inside your warm wet mouth as he spilled down your throat.

“Oh fuck shit y/n shit shit shit” he screwed his eyes shut, hips lightly jerking forward as he fucked your throat.

He stilled inside, too overwhelmed from the pleasure, panting heavily as he pulled out of your mouth, his dick involuntarily twitching at the sight of you swallowing his cum as you licked the corners of your lips clean.

He impatiently lowered himself on the bed, hovering over you. “Legs around me, baby,” he says with a heavy breath. You did as you were instructed immediately, your hole clenching and needing to be filled with him now.

He rested his cock on your entrance tapping his tip on your clit, listening to the quiet wet smacking sounds with every gentle tap. “I don’t have any condoms” he rolls his hips fucking his cock against your wet pussy.

“Do me raw, heeseung.” You trail your nails down his wide chest, and he grunts in pleasure.

“I’ll pull ou-“You pull him down by his neck, locking your lips with his, both of you tasting the remnants of each other.

“Just fuck me, cum in me, anything you want, just please give me your cock, heeseung. I need you so bad,” you breathed against his lips, and he moaned softly. You don’t know what came over you, but you felt like you’d go crazy without him inside you. You never wanted anything so bad before, and that should be concerning because you hate him, but at this moment, you couldn’t pull yourself to care. All that was on your brain was him, Lee heeseung.

“Fuck okay,” he whispers, grabbing his thick base and aligning himself with your hole pushing in softly his bulbous cock head, stretching you open. “Y/n,” he moaned into your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the feeling of him bottoming out. He felt so good inside you, exactly like you thought he would. “So full heeseung,” you cried out, walls clamping down around him.

“Yeah?” He rested his forehead on yours, taking a breather cause this was all too much for him. The feeling was so overwhelming. As much as he hated to admit it, he did need to get his dick wet, and right now proved it to be so, especially after he got hard immediately after cumming.

He reached for your hands, pressing them down into the pillow beside your head, and he laid his face next to your ear, whispering filthy things to you. “You feel so good and tight around me, so warm and creamy for me.”

“Fuck” That’s the only thing you could say as your eyes rolled back in your head, your body surrendering to him.

He thrust in and out slow at first, but soon his pace quickens after hearing you beg him for more. “filling this little hole so good, you love being stuffed like this, don’t you? Nice and full.”

“God heeseung yes! You’re so good.” You threw your bed back into the pillows.

His balls smacked against your ass quietly, his length fucking you balls deep, his base covered in a ring of your warm creamy arousal. “Fuck y/n, you feel so good on my dick,” he grunts in your ear softly.

“Ooh fuck heeseung right there don’t stop harder harder harder” you panted.

He did what he was told and went harder, deeper, hitting that spot like he knew just what your body liked. “Yeah, right there? Feels good doesn’t it? like the way my cock touches all the right spots in you that make you lose your mind?”

“Yes, oh heeseung, I’m gonna cum again,” you mewl, holding onto him to ground yourself, your legs wrapping tighter around him.

“Me t-too f-fuck you just feel t-too good, y/n,” he stutters. The feeling of your walls sucking him in made it hard for him to speak.

“I wanna cum on your cock, please,” you cried out, and he granted your wish hitting that spot over and over. He was so good you almost couldn’t take it.

“Do it, baby, cream on your co-worker's big cock. Show me how good you feel” he unclasped his hand with yours, slipping between your conjoined bodies and rubbing your clit to get you off first, which was only seconds later.

“Fuck heeseung!” You let go, the warmth dispersing throughout your body. You went slack, your mouth falling open in endless moans of your co-worker's name as you raked your nails down his sweaty back.

“That’s it. Keep squeezing on me fuck, just like that,” he mumbles out, voice going hoarse as he clasps your hand tighter.

He was getting ready to pull out, but with your free hand, you pulled him by his waist, begging him to stay and cum inside you. “Need your cum please, heeseung I need you so bad.”

“Y/n…” he tried to fight it using his brain and not his desire, but it was too late. You were too tempting to say no to. he cupped your cheek, brows knitted tightly as his hips stuttered against you, thrusting for everything he was worth before he came undone in you. “Fuck I’m cumming” he said in one shaky breath creaming your insides with his pearly white the second the word left his lips. “Oh fuck, y/n” Too lost for words, he leans in, kissing you deeply and passionately almost as he strokes your face softly, thrusting in you until your orgasms wind down.

He stays inside you, his left hand still clutching yours like it was the only thing grounding you two as you both catch your breaths.

Neither of you says anything, only breathing softly and stroking each other's wet skin. “You were right,” he chuckled hoarsely.

“So were you,” you laughed in the aftermath, breaths still uneven.

“Want me to clean you up, or you wanna stay like this for a while?” He offers, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Stay,” you mumbled, rubbing his back, and he repositioned you on his chest, his gentle touches never stopping for a moment.

“Okay,” he whispers softly.

After a few minutes, he notices you’re about to drift off on his chest, and he decides to clean you up, pulling out as gently as possible as he frees himself from your arms. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers and then goes to the bathroom, coming back with some wipes from his bag. “Here.” he smiles softly at your exhausted figure and wipes between your legs, cleaning you up delicately. Once he’s all done, he uses another wipe for himself and tosses it in the trash bin in the corner.

He got back into bed with you, and you thanked him shyly. “You’re welcome,” he says tenderly to keep the peaceful moment as he reaches out for you, and you snuggle up close to him, both of you drifting off to sleep after he gives you one final forehead kiss.

💻

In the morning, the whole atmosphere had shifted when heeseung woke up. He patted the bed in search of you, but you had already showered and were ready for the day. Heeseung stretched out, yawning softly and opening his eyes. “You’re up early,” he says, looking at the clock and then back at you with a fond smile on his face, his hair messy from sleep. “Guess I should get ready too. Don’t wanna be late like last time,” he joked and peeled the covers back, his body still naked from last night, and you looked away immediately.

Trying to forget about last night as soon as possible.

Heeseung was too tired to notice you weren’t paying attention to him earlier in the morning, but after his shower, he got his bearings about him, and then he definitely noticed. “So I was thinking to beat traffic, we should leave a little early. Have you eaten yet? If not, I’ll order room service and get you a coffee 'cause I know you always need one before work,” he laughs softly, putting his suit jacket on in the mirror. “Y/n?” He called when he noticed you weren’t saying anything back. “Something wrong?” He asks, seeing the troublesome look on your face.

“Can you just stop talking?” You replied agitatedly, and he flinched at your tone. He didn’t know what response he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Just shut up, and let’s go. I don’t need you doing anything for me.”

“Where is this coming from?” He says, brows furrowed, completely taken aback because you guys were doing good just last night. You cuddled, had sex, and for the first time acted civilly with one another, so what was wrong so suddenly? “Last night we were okay, and suddenly this?” He says, confused, fastening his watch to secure it around his wrist.

“What are you on about? This isn’t sudden. Just hurry up and get ready,” you replied, shoving some papers into your binder.

“Wait, is this about last night? Cause if that’s what it takes to calm you down, I really don’t mind giving it to you again,” he smirked, reaching his hand out for you, but you slapped it away. His brows creased, and now he was entirely confused.

You just cuddled him all night, and now you don’t even want him to touch you? What happened?

“Don’t touch me,” you said, and he knew this was definitely about last night, just not in the way he was thinking.

Cause you were begging for him last night like you needed him, and out of nowhere, you’re just completely disinterested in him.

“So……. We’re just not gonna talk about it then?” He asks gently, bringing up the subject.

“No, there’s nothing to talk about. It was in the moment and clearly was a mistake. Just forget about it,” you say, hoping to end the conversation there.

“A mistake?…” he shook his head and chuckled in disbelief. “Yeah, okay,” he scoffed. “Excuse me for bringing it up. Glad we both feel the same, though.”

After that, pen drop silence filled the room. He dropped the topic, and so did you.

The morning went by, and you both didn’t talk at all. It was unusually quiet for you two.

Normally, when you and him were together, you’d pray for a moment of silence, so this was new for you, but you had no complaints.

You drove silently to the destination. Today was just a breakfast for people in the city who have traveled for business, a little getaway just like heeseung had said.

Speaking of, you don’t know why last night even happened, and you regret it so much you have no idea what came over you and why you ever even allowed it to happen.

You just blamed it on the fact you hadn’t gotten any for a while and left it at that.

But it was a done deal now, and you weren’t going to bring it up again, so you hoped he didn’t either cause there was nothing to talk about.

When you arrived, you walked ahead of heeseung like you two didn’t come together and immediately started greeting people and socializing with them, talking about work mainly.

Heeseung tried to stay in your little circle and chat amongst the group of people you were talking with, but by the third glare you gave him, he took the hint and he wandered off with the excuse of getting a drink. He sat down at the bar area, keeping an eye on you, making sure he knew where you were at all times, feeling like he was obligated seeing how he was in charge of getting you home safely.

He chatted with others much like you, getting along easily. Something you and him both had in common was that people seemed to like you everywhere you went. with a different group heeseung had found a table to sit at while breakfast was being served. He left an open chair for you right beside him, but when he looked back where you were, you had already found a table with another group.

He caught sight of a guy holding out a chair for you, and you smiled, sitting down next to him instead.

Heeseung sighed softly, looking down at his lap and the seat next to him was left empty as he fidgeted with his fingers.

He can’t help but wonder why you were so different in the morning. He thought maybe the two of you had made some progress in the right direction, but apparently not, and he’d be lying if he said his feelings weren’t hurt when you told him having sex with him was a mistake.

He doesn’t even know why, but it did. He supposed it’s because somewhere in between the banter, he kinda took a liking to you. Who is he kidding? He’s always liked you. You just never gave him the time of day, but whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Looks like you were happy all cuddled up next to some random guy anyway.

Besides, you guys were just co-workers no need for him to feel any way or get attached.

But by nightfall, his jaw was clenched, his grip tight on the steering wheel, and he used someone cutting him off on the road as an excuse to let out some of his pent-up frustration. It was not his best idea, but he was just highly frustrated and annoyed with the situation between you and him right now. “Watch where the fuck you’re going!” He shouted angrily, honking on the horn for five seconds too long.

You jumped slightly at his voice, having not heard him like that before. You don’t know what happened cause you were barely around him the whole day, but after breakfast, he seemed really agitated, and you weren’t about to ask why.

When you two got back to the hotel, heeseung didn’t fight for first place to shower. He had no smart remarks, and you both went to bed in silence, no banter, no nothing, which was strange because he usually had a mouth full for you, but you assumed it was awkward because of last night.

Last night…..

You quickly took your mind off it, pretending you didn’t sleep with the man next to you as you drifted off to sleep.

💻

Apparently, today was a surprise event. Everyone was supposed to go out sightseeing and then to the beach, and it really did feel like a little mini vacation. You enjoyed this trip more than you thought you would, especially given the fact that heeseung accompanied you for the better half of it.

It was a short walk from your hotel, which you found out most of the other co-workers were also staying at, so it was convenient for everyone. You both got ready to go to the beach, and like heeseung mentioned, you wore a bikini.

He was wearing some swim trunks, his shirt off revealing his lean, tanned body, the one that was on top of you just a few nights ago.

You shook your head, ignoring that night to the best of your abilities. You finished getting ready and put some things in a bag to take with you, like a towel and some sunglasses, along with some sunscreen.

You left before heeseung. Thank goodness you didn’t need him to drive you there. You couldn’t take sitting next to him in silence while he was still acting weird.

When you walked down to the beach, you chatted and talked to some co-workers, the ones from last night. There were free drinks and food that you partook of, and for the rest of the evening, you laid out, for the most part, enjoying the sun on this wonderful summer day. It felt nice not being cooped up at work in front of your desk all day.

When you were relaxing on the beach, you noticed heeseung was sitting all by himself, just looking out into the water, tossing a few pebbles. A while later, he went for a swim and came back. Suddenly, you saw him leaving the beach with his towel in hand as he bid others goodbye, saying he didn’t feel well.

It was the truth that night was getting to him more than he’d like to admit, and now the trip had just turned sour. He was ready to do one more day of work and head home, not do useless activities with people he didn’t even know.

He went back to the hotel, killing time by watching TV and getting some work done ahead of time, trying to take his mind off of you and the dinner reservations that he had to cancel.

When you came back from the beach, he hated himself for staring, but you looked so good with your soft tan and your yellow two-piece that he could just slip off your bod- no, he shook his head. He couldn’t think of you like that, not after you said sleeping with him was a mistake.

After the beach, you went back to the hotel, took a shower, and washed up. You met a few girls at the beach, and they were all going out for drinks later and invited you along, so you went. You finished getting ready, and as you shut the door, heeseung didn’t utter a word, though he was curious where you were going. He didn’t ask. you were probably going out somewhere with that dude you sat with the other day anyway, and that thought just made his blood boil.

The while you were out, he could barely contain his frustration, and not being able to talk to you about what happened was just making it worse.

He did his best to calm himself down, deciding it’d be best for him to relax and wait for your return to make sure you got back safely before he went to bed.

By the time you came back, it was late, like twelve in the morning late, you weren’t expecting it, but heeseung was still awake, although as soon as you arrived, he shut off his desk lamp and went to sleep.

You took another quick shower after the club, changing into some comfortable clothes, and following heeseungs lead to dreamland. You know you’d regret drinking and staying up this late tomorrow.

💻

The next morning was the final meeting, and it went well, like all the others. It was still radio silence on both your ends, and you wondered what heeseung’s problem was, not that you were complaining cause, luckily, his mouth was finally shut, but you were curious why he changed so suddenly.

He was so excited for the trip, and now it seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Once you guys checked out, heeseung took your bags to the car. There was no bickering. You tried to argue, but he just loaded them in without a word and got into the car.

There was no music, no singing, no random facts about deer, and it was oddly quiet, but you were enjoying it.

About three hours through, he stopped at a gas station to refill the tank, and he bought some coffee for the both of you. He didn’t say anything, only put a styrofoam cup in the holder for you.

You didn’t touch yours, and neither did he touch his, not in the mood for coffee anymore after your blatant rejection of his offer.

Whatever.

The ride home seemed to drag on forever, but you two were finally back in town. He dropped you off at home, this time, not helping you with the bags or anything. He just drove off and didn’t say a word to you. “Still just an asshole,” you mutter when he drives away and walks up your steps entering your home and greeting your little kitty. “Hi, girl,” she meowed, and you smiled, happy to see her again after so long. “I had a hell of a week. How about you? Was Jay good to you?” She purred softly, rubbing her head all over you, and you took that as a yes. “Heeseung wasn’t good to me,” you pouted. “He’s a meanie and a big fat jerk.”

That morning, when you woke up, you watched heeseung as he slept in your arms, rubbing your fingers through his hair. You tried to think that maybe after you two engaged in that act, he had a change of feelings for you, but you quickly realized he wouldn’t. It was just a one-time thing at the moment that meant nothing to him, so you made it known you wanted nothing to do with him, and that was final.

And it kind of hurt cause that was actually nice, and the night where he held you close and sang to you while it rained. “Ugh,” you groaned, not thinking about it anymore. You had work tomorrow, and you weren’t about to wreck your brain over whatever the heck you were feeling for Lee heeseung.

💻

The next day at work, you avoided heeseung like the plague, but of course, he made his presence known. After last night when he dropped you off. He felt bad for the way he acted and letting his emotions get the best of him, so he wanted to at least make peace with you. You guys wouldn’t be friends or lovers, but maybe your bickering could make a comeback, and things could go back to the way they used to be. “A coffee for you with unhealthy amounts of sugar and cream.” he set it on your desk, and you just looked at it, not even thinking about drinking it. You pushed it off your desk and straight into the trash bin without even looking at him, completely missing the hurt look on his face.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think? It’s not like I spit in it,” he continued, trying to get a rise out of you like usual, but he wasn’t getting it. “What’s with you today?”

Nothing but silence as you stared at your computer screen, pretending he didn’t even exist.

He sat down next to you and turned on his computer, feeling a bit embarrassed by the way you just completely ignored him, so much for trying to get things to go back to the way they used to be.

💻

The following day, you were on your way to the break room to take your first break, and you heard your name coming from the lips of none other than heeseung, so you stopped to listen.

“Working next to her is insufferable.” You took a peak inside, and Jay was the person he was talking to.

“Hmm, mmm, why’s that?” Jay said, intrigued.

“She’s just annoying.” heeseung nodded to himself, drinking a coffee.

You rolled your eyes, sick of his nonsense, but you didn’t care to address it anymore. If he wanted to talk about you behind your back, so be it. You were done arguing with him.

This went on for days, and you’re not surprised. After all, it’s heeseung you’re talking about. He hasn’t given you a breather since you first got here.

You were at your desk, the stress getting to you as you worked feverishly to get all of your work done this week, and it was unusually draining for you. “Taking forever, you know you have a time limit, right?” Heeseung sat down next to you, a coffee in hand, as he smirked at you, attempting to rekindle your guy's cat-and-mouse relationship. He couldn’t date you. He knew that cause you didn’t like him back, but he still wanted you in his life as much as you could be, even if that meant you glaring at him and giving him the cold shoulder. He knows it's kinda pathetic on his part, but what can he do?

“Heeseung, can you just be fucking quiet?” You snapped finally. The work was piling up on you day by day, and you were at your limit with him and his constant teasing every day. You couldn’t contain it anymore.

He jumped lightly, startled by your voice. “I-I’m sorry, y/n, I was just….. joking,” he murmured softly, his face looking like a hurt puppy as he hid behind his little cubical wall.

He cleared his throat and tried to work again, but he took an early break going to the break room to clear his mind after you just practically chewed his head off.

Needing a better distraction, he took a deep breath and texted his friend Jay.

Hee🦌: I blew it with my girl 🫠

Jay🐈‍⬛: Finally, you admit she’s your girl also. How?

Hee🦌: I thought I made it obvious anyways. Long story short, I took the teasing too far, and I think she hates me now 😕

Jay🐈‍⬛:Come on, you guys have been at each other's throats for years. I’m sure there’s more to it than that.

Hee🦌: I hate that you’re right. It happened on the business trip. We cuddled, and we slept together. It was all just in the heat of the moment and happened so fast, and the next day, when I brought it up, she said being with me was a mistake, and she stopped talking to me and ignored me the rest of the trip and she just basically told me to fuck off🥲

Jay🐈‍⬛: Think we’re missing some context here.

Hee🦌: I know my mind is just so messed up right now. We can go out for dinner, and I’ll fill you in on that. I gotta get back to work. My break is up.

Jay🐈‍⬛: Sounds good, ttyl. Hang in there. It’s almost the weekend ;)

💻

The days that followed were long and boring, no bickering between you two, no nothing, and heeseung felt so bad for what he did yesterday, but he didn’t know how to fix it, and you wouldn’t even let him try.

You were currently at the printer, and it wasn’t working, and heeseung just happened to come in at the exact wrong time. “You need some help?” He offered, hoping this was maybe his opportunity to mend things with you, but that was too good to be true.

“Not from the likes of you,” you replied, and Jay came by just in time to break things up before they started.

“Let me.” Jay stepped in, helping you while heeseung faded into the background, walking back to his desk, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Thanks, Jay,” you murmured.

“Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the day, you successfully ignored heeseung, and it seemed like he had stopped trying to annoy you, which you were glad for. hopefully, he understood you wanted nothing to do with him. “What’s going on?” He mumbled across from you, his computer glitching, something that never happened to him before.

“Don’t you know you’re timed?” You mocked him, using the opportunity to talk to him the same way he does with you. “You’d think you’d know how to fix it Mr I know everything around here,”

This time he tuned you out, not in the mood cause he was timed, and now this bullshit had to happen, and he didn’t like how your words sounded so sincere. Before, you’d always joke around together, but now you sounded serious, and maybe you always were. Maybe he was just too blinded by his crush on you to see that you actually hated him for a long time now. “You know what? You’re right. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know anything, and I apparently don’t know when to stop either.” he shuts his laptop off, his voice sounding unusually soft as he abruptly grabbed his things, taking an early leave.

Something he’s never done before.

You sat there miffed for a minute, wondering what happened, but you still didn’t get the hint.

💻

Cause the next day, you were at it again.

“So when I do it, it’s not funny, but when you do it, it’s okay?” You asked after you’d just said some remark about his work performance, and he didn’t laugh, didn’t argue you back, he just…took it.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” he left it at that, taking a sip from his drink and ignoring you. There was no point in trying to be friends or banter back and forth anymore. You didn’t like him at all, and you made that very clear.

He liked you a lot, but he wasn’t desperate, and he wasn’t going to fight with you every day just for an ounce of your attention. If you didn’t like him, then that’s fine, but there was no point in talking to you anymore, especially if this was all it’s gonna be.

Gosh, he was somehow even more annoying now, like he was some goody two shoes, like you were the childish one that needed to grow up, and he was just doing his job.

You needed a break.

So that’s where you went, and it seemed like Jay was always on break when you needed him most.

“Something on your mind?” He asked, and you nodded your head.

“Nothing important, just heeseung being annoying per usual,” you sighed, taking a sip of coffee.

“What did he do now?” Jay inquired, eating a cinnamon roll.

“Nothing, that’s the thing. He’s acting like I don’t even exist like he’s some good guy now,” you groan just thinking about it.

“Shouldn’t you be happy?” Jay says after swallowing the last bite of his pastry.

“Yes, but he’s doing it to annoy me, and I hate that it’s working. I wish he’d just leave or transfer.”

“Y/n,” Jay whispered, trying to get you to stop talking when he saw heeseung come into the break room, but you just kept going.

“Like, why did I have to get paired with the most dreadful person here?” You noticed Jay had a strange look on his face, and he was no longer listening to you. “Jay?” You say, confused, but there is no response from him. You turn your body in the direction Jay is looking in, and you see Heeseung just awkwardly standing there.

“O-oh,” heeseung whispered softly. “Sorry for interrupting.” he cleared his throat and quietly left.

Jay gave you a look that said he was more than unimpressed.

“Don’t look at me like that. He started it,” you say, refusing to be the one who caused all this.

“And you finished it? Yeah, he may be annoying to you sometimes, but he’s still my friend, and when has his teasing ever gone further than just annoying banter? You’re treating him as if he’s evil,” Jay says, standing up for his long-time friend.

“You’re really taking his side, and you don’t know the half of it.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m not taking sides, y/n. This isn’t a game. You’re both my friends. I’m just saying you’re a little harsh with your words sometimes,” he tells you the truth.

“And heeseung isn’t?” You say not letting it go.

“Maybe if you gave him an ounce of your attention, he wouldn’t have had to resort to being annoying.”

“What?” You say, confused.

Jay sighed. He really shouldn’t be saying this, but heeseung didn’t have the guts to face you after everything, and rightfully so, but if he could make things right, then he would. He couldn’t see you guys like this much longer. “I’m gonna tell you something that’s going to blow your mind.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to speak cause it seemed important. “You know the business trip you just went on?” You nodded but didn’t say anything. “He… heeseung set that up.”

“What?” You say blankly, staring at him.

“Just listen, there’s a lot more. The one-room hotel that was him. He pretended like he got two rooms cause if he told you he only had one, he was scared you probably wouldn’t go with him, but he got two beds to make you comfortable. You coming on the business trip that was him too, he specifically requested you for his plus one and convinced our boss, and he allowed it, thinking it’d be a good idea for two of his best workers to represent the company. Hell y/n, he even asked to drive instead of flying cause he wanted to spend time with you alone and of course, the company allowed that cause it was cheaper” Jay paused giving you time to process. “The whole employee of the month thing, he was winning those on purpose to impress you because he knew how much you wanted to win, so he thought maybe if he won, you’d think highly of him.”

“So why don’t he just say that instead of rubbing it in my face?” You ask puzzled.

“Because you wouldn’t let him. Every time he speaks, you act like it’s the end of the world, and he was too nervous to approach you, so he did it in his own way. Yeah, he was annoying, but it was only to get you to talk to him cause you avoided him from the beginning. He was just too shy to be normal about it, so bickering was his way of getting your attention. His ways are a bit questionable, I’ll admit, but it worked until you basically treated him like shit,” Jay murmured, the last part sipping his coffee.

You rubbed your temples, trying to understand what was being said. This was a shocking revelation to you, one you couldn’t quite comprehend. This was all too much to process at one time.

“When the trip didn’t go as planned, he was so bummed out he even met up with me a few days ago to vent about it. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he even looked like he was about to cry when he told me you said being with him was a mistake.”

“Jay….” You mutter softly, feeling bad for everything that happened over the business trip. “But it wasn’t a mistake. I just…. I don’t know.”

“I know, I know.” Jay smiled softly, understanding your feelings. “Now do with that what you will, but that guy, he’s head over heels for you even if he won’t admit to himself he hasn’t been the same since he’s come back.”

Your feelings were hurt, but more importantly, you’d hurt his feelings more times than you can count, and you can’t believe he did all that for you, and now everything he did meant so much more. The coffee he bought you, carrying your suitcases, him buying you breakfast from Dunkin he must’ve known it was your favorite. Now that you think about it he even got your exact order without you even telling him to, the rambling about animals was all because he wanted to talk to you and spend time together, the sex and cuddles it was all real for him, no wonder his smile looked so genuine in the car when he talked about you two starring in a romance novel it’s because he was talking about you guys, not a novel.

No, no, no.

It all made sense now.

You had to apologize to him right now.

You sprinted out of the break room with the newfound knowledge, a pastry, and coffee for him in your hand, a peace offering, so to speak.

“Those two,” Jay could only chuckle, shaking his head and taking a sip of coffee as he watched you leave the break room in a hurry.

“Here you go,” you whispered, holding out the items for him to take.

You thought he’d toss it in the trash, and he wanted to just to be petty because that’s what you did to him, but he couldn’t help how warm his chest felt when you offered it to him cause no matter how you felt about him, he still liked you. “For me?” He asked, surprised, his eyes holding way too much emotion for you to look at him for longer than a few seconds.

“A peace offering”

“To peace,” he joked and took the coffee and pasty. He ate it in silence, and that was that. He didn’t speak to you anymore, only a cordial head nod, but that’s it, not even a thank you.

“Could you help me with this?” You asked later in the day, showing him something on your computer.

“Yeah,” he answered and fixed it in a few seconds. You didn’t really need help. You just used the opportunity to talk to him, but it was a dud because your words got stuck in your throat, which was weird because you’ve never been able to hold back words around heeseung, but that was before you knew he liked you and before you allowed yourself to admit that you liked him back.

You were pouty all day, and it didn’t take Jay long to notice, already sensing what was going on when he entered the break room. “Don’t worry, he’ll come around. He’s just upset right now,” he gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder.

“Are you sure?” Jay nodded, leaving you with your worrisome thoughts.

After Jay's words, you felt somewhat better. He was heeseung’s friend, after all, so he knew him better than you. It just seemed like he was too far out of your reach now, but you still tried, determined to make things up with him.

You hated how you ignored him from the start, and now the guilt was only doubled. Why couldn’t you just treat him right from the start? Why didn’t he just say something to you from the start?

Gosh, you just hoped there was still time for you to sort things out with him cause this felt terrible, and you could only imagine how you made him feel.

You had to fix this right now.

“Heeseung?” You said timidly, nervously, typing out random letters on your computer. You were waiting for lunchtime to roll around so you could invite him to sit with you.

“Yeah?” He muttered, not really looking at you, not because he hated you but because he wanted to stay at a safe distance. He can’t forget he overheard you say you wanted him to transfer, and if he was making your life that hard, then he’d do it, so he was not about to try to get closer to you and get his hopes up just to be let down in the end.

“Do you want to take a break with me?” You finally built the courage to ask.

“No, I'm busy. Thanks for the offer, though,” he says and focuses on his computer again, curious why you asked for him to accompany you, but ultimately, it didn’t matter cause he was leaving soon anyway.

“Oh, okay,” you mutter dejectedly and take a break alone, feeling frustrated cause he wouldn’t let you in. You supposed this was how he felt, and you suppose you deserve it after everything you’ve done to him, but it still felt terrible.

You were sitting down eating your turkey sandwich that didn’t taste as good as it usually does, probably because your last encounter with heeseung left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Did you hear heeseung is transferring?” You overheard one of your co-workers chatting in the break room, your head whipping in the direction of the two.

“Crazy, he’s been here forever. He’s one of our top workers,” another male voice says.

“What?” You blurted out after hearing the new information.

“Yeah, two weeks, and he’s going to another building,” he informed you.

Why the fuck were you just now hearing about this? Why didn’t Jay tell you? Why didn’t heeseung tell you?

You: Jay, why didn’t you tell me heeseung’s leaving?

You texted him immediately after you found out the news.

Jay: He didn’t even tell me?????!!!!

You barely take time to look at his reply, frantically shoving your phone back inside your pocket, going back to your desk, and sitting down next to him, thinking of a way to bring it up, but you don’t find any until it’s time for you both to clock out.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and he looked at you confused.

“What?” He answered, looking down at his wrist where you were holding him still.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” You stared up at him, hand still around his wrist as if that would stop him from transferring.

“Didn’t think you’d care. Besides, does it matter you want me gone anyway? you said it yourself.” His words hold a bite to them, just a little bit, but you can’t blame him.

“Yes, it does,” you reply softly.

“Why?” You release your hold on him, and he folds his arms over his chest, waiting for whatever it is you’re about to say.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, sitting him back down gently. “Cause I’m gonna miss you,” you mumbled, your voice wavering, but he heard it. “Not the bickering but your presence. I’m gonna miss working side by side with you and miss when you’re not here to drop all your knowledge on me,” you say, almost on the verge of tears from guilt and frustration.

“W-what?” He says, confused, wondering if you hit your head on a rock. “Did you hit your head y/n? Fever?” He raises his hand, trying to check your forehead, but you swat it away.

“No, Jay told me everything from start to finish, and I’m sorry for it all. I- I didn’t know.”

“Oh” was all he said, his face turning bright red. “Jay told you all that?” You nodded your head. “Well, he’s uhh, he’s a liar,” he blurted out, too shy and embarrassed to admit the truth to you out loud still.

“You don’t have to hide it from me anymore, heeseung. I actually think it’s cute that you went through all that just to spend time with me, and I’m sorry I ruined it,” you tell him sincerely.

“C-cute? You think I’m cute?” He whispered softly, failing to hold back his smile.

“Of course you are.” You pinched his cheek, and he felt like he was dreaming. How was this real? Was the girl he had a crush on for the past two years finally calling him cute? He’d only ever imagined a day like this would come in his dreams.

“I think you’re cute, too,” he replied in all seriousness, looking at you with those overly expressive brown eyes of his.

You laughed at his cuteness, so this was heeseung without the banter. This was heeseung when you allowed him to be himself around you and let him in.

No wonder people liked him so much.

“About that night,” you begin, but he steps in.

“You don’t have to mention it if I made you uncomfortable. I understand, and I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, it doesn’t. I just lied to myself and said it was a mistake. The thing is, I liked it a lot, too much, and I imagined what it’d be like to have you like that every day, but then I got upset thinking that you were just messing with me, and it wouldn’t turn into anything more, so I held my feelings down. but I can’t anymore. I don’t want you to leave” the first tear slipped down your cheek, and you’re happy everybody else had already left the office.

He touched your cheek, stroking your face with his thumb, swiping away a single tear. Your words alone made him tear up. “If you don’t want me to leave, I won’t. I was just going to get out of your hair. I know I disappointed you and acted stupidly, but I was just shy. It was easier pretending I didn’t like you than opening up cause I was so nervous you wouldn’t like me back, so I just used what tactic I could to get you to talk to me and teasing you was what worked, and I thought it was easier but it wasn’t this was way worse than just asking you out and in the process I think it hurt us both and I’m sorry for not just talking to you like a normal human being” he chuckled softly finally getting that weight off his chest after two years of longing.

“Me too, heeseung. I’m so sorry for hurting you and ruining your trip. I feel so bad.”

“Come here.” he stood up, and you joined him. “Give me a hug,” he said softly, and very quickly, you realized just how sweet he truly is. “Don’t feel bad. it was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.” he strokes your back softly. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured you, 'cause if things didn’t play out the way they did, you two might not be here right now, spilling your feelings for one another.

“So you’re staying?” You looked up at him, and he smiled at you.

“Hmm, of course, I’m staying. I’d be a fool to leave. I’m sorry for everything, y/n. I hope you can forgive me, and we can put this past us.” his eyes flick back and forth, searching yours for forgiveness.

“Of course, I forgive you, heeseung. I hope you can forgive me too. I’m sorry for being so rough around the edges,” you giggled.

“It’s my fault, really, and I forgive you, sweetheart,” he says, holding you tighter like he didn’t ever want to let go now that he had you in his arms again.

“Well, I think it’s actually my fault, you know on the first day when I ignored you?”

“Like it was yesterday,” heeseung laughs softly.

“The thing is, I was just nervous 'cause I liked you and didn’t know how to act, so I treated you that way so you’d leave me alone.” You took a peek up at him, and he gasped, a look of realization taking over his features.

“I have a confession to make, too. After you ignored me, I started teasing you 'cause I thought you didn’t like me, so I just did whatever to get your attention, and insulting your job performance worked,” he winced.

You broke out into a fit of laughter, and so did he. “I can’t believe this,” you say, baffled. “We’re so dumb, aren’t we? We could have been together this whole time.”

“Well, at least now we have a good plot,” heeseung jokes.

You held each other, swaying back and forth, and you almost forgot to mention the most important thing. “You were never a mistake. Thank you so much for those two beautiful nights, and if we ever go on a trip again, I promise to make it unforgettable.”

“I promise, too. Sorry, I got jealous and didn’t talk much. I was just hurt and trying to figure out what I felt.”

“Jealous?” Now, this was new info to you.

“I-I yeah,” he sighs, deciding to just tell the full truth. “That guy you sat with on the third day,” he grumbles.

Him? Really? That guy was insufferable. You only entertained him to be nice. You wished you could have sat next to anyone but him, but you supposed heeseung didn’t know that’s how you felt. “Baby, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You wrapped your hands around his neck, playing with the little hairs on his nape, and he smiled with relief. “So, did you ever figure out what you felt?”

“Like, I love you, and if you want, we could go out sometime. And I wasn’t kidding about that novel.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, but after a second, he realizes what he just spilled, his eyes widening comically. “I mean, I didn’t really mean to say all that. Like if you want, we can maybe go out on a date, but you work a lot, so it’s okay if you’re busy. You’re probably tired, and it’s too soon to say I love you. I was just playing around unless you love me too, then I wasn’t, but I-“

You watch him with fondness in your eyes, listening to how he scrambles to clean up his words, his eyes looking anywhere but yours, and he couldn’t get any cuter with his pink-tinted ears. You couldn’t help yourself any longer, and he seemed in need of help, so you cut him off with a kiss, and he melted into you like he was thumper and you were Miss Bunny. “I’d love that more than anything, heeseung,” you say against his lips, not ready to fully pull away from him yet.

“Me too,” he mutters shyly, and he just couldn’t contain himself placing a little kiss on your nose, and you smiled, hugging him even tighter.

“And heeseung?”

“Yeah?” He muttered breathlessly, lookikg like a fool in love.

“I didn’t know deers could swim.” At your words, his eyes light up even brighter.

“So you were listening? Boy, do I have a lot to tell you!” he says overjoyed.

You’d listen to him talk about anything. His voice was so sweet, he was so charming in a way like you’ve never experienced anyone before, and you’re glad you were able to work alongside him and glad to say he was your co-worker. You wished you had of allowed yourself to open up to him sooner than this and acknowledge him, but you were too caught up in the daily banter and being annoyed you never allowed yourself to delve into the feelings you had for him, but this wasn’t new it’s always been there since the time you got hired since the business trip up till this point.

You’re just happy you chose this job and even happier he chose you, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held now that both of your feelings were out in the air. “I love you too.” If his face wasn’t red before, it definitely was now, and you’d be the one teasing him every day after this cause, after all, he did tell you to love him like the last man on earth.

FIN

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 - 🐹

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heeseungshim · 13 days ago

Text

Bad Desire

Desire:Unleash Jake pt

*pairing: CEO vampire Park Sunghoon x human intern Girl

*trope: Enemies to lovers

*synopsis: Park Sunghoon’s wish was to never fall in love again after losing his soulmate. But what would happen if an intern barely 22 years old and, on top of that, human joined his Marketing department? You and he are light and darkness: you're fun and carefree, while he’s cynical and cold with everyone. But opposites attract, especially when he tastes your blood, which for him becomes both his cure and his sweetest poison. What will happen between a young woman fresh out of university and him—one of the most famous vampire CEOs in the world, 270 years old but with a human identity that says he’s 27?

*tags: Sunghoon at first is cynical and not at all friendly but slowly softens, love to tease, humor, blood, vampire bites, rebels vampires, talk about the death of Sunghoon’s soul mate, a lot of kisses and forges, the protagonist loves touching Sunghoon, needy Hoon, needy protagonist, masturbation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) cowgirl, +18, pet names (CEO,Hoon) (baby, little girl)

18k (💙)

The world had changed. Humans and vampires had been coexisting for decades; they worked side by side in corporate offices, attended the same universities, and exchanged hearts on dating apps. Some even found their soulmates on vampire-specific platforms like Love Alarm and yes, some of them even got married. All it took was compatible blood, the right chemistry... and making sure no one, in the heat of passion, sank their fangs too deep.

Some said the children of these unions were miracles: half-human, half-vampire, rare, mesmerizing, and often dangerous. Some were born fully vampires and those? The tabloids called them children of chaos. You, though, had never paid much attention to those stories, not until today.

It was your first day as a marketing and communications intern at Park International, one of the most powerful and mysterious companies in the mixed world: Founded and run by the feared and respected “brothers” though not by blood Park Jay and Park Sunghoon, two ancient vampires with deceptively youthful faces.

Officially, they were 27. Unofficially... Jay was 375. Sunghoon, 325. Vampire magazines called him "The Winter CEO." “Colder than a corpse, more beautiful than a curse.”

Sunghoon Park was the man everyone wanted as a future husband yet no one dared approach. His skin was pale like imperial porcelain, his feline eyes pierced through souls, and those scattered beauty marks across his face looked like cosmic signs meant to drive you insane. His black hair fell in rebellious strands over perfect eyebrows that moved with his thoughts. His body, always hidden beneath tailored dark suits, was athletic, composed, and threatening even when still, and every movement was calculated like a deadly dance but it wasn’t just his looks that inspired fear.

It was said he had fired 49 interns in just three years: Humans, vampires, and half-bloods; no one lasted more than two weeks under his supervision. Some had cried, others moved abroad. One rumor claimed a human fainted just because Sunghoon told him, "You're as boring as a bag of lukewarm blood."

And you? You were going to be intern number fifty, the one everyone assumed would meet the same fate or worse. Except there was one problem. You weren’t like the others, and your blood… wasn’t like theirs, you’d find out too late, maybe but the moment Sunghoon Park laid eyes on you in that icy office, lit by a single artificial light, something ancient would stir inside him and for the first time in centuries, his predator instincts would awaken.

Working for the Park Society has always been one of your dreams. One of those that feel unreachable until the moment you find yourself there, standing in front of the building you’d seen a hundred times in photos, in university internship brochures, and on TV. Now it towered among Seoul’s skyscrapers like a temple of glass and darkness. You stepped out of the subway with your heart beating a little faster, a mix of fear and excitement rippling across your skin like a shiver. You adjusted your jacket, tightened your grip on your bag, and looked up at the building. Park Society: Marketing, Communication, Design for both small and major businesses, and Advertising. It was every creative marketing student’s dream and future. You walked through the revolving doors and the first impact was… disorienting. Human employees moved quickly but seemed dazed, with bags under their eyes, oversized coffees in hand, ID badges always askew, and voices too loud. Vampires, on the other hand, were something else entirely: elegant, deadly in their poise, dressed in fabrics that looked like they were woven from darkness itself. Some were sipping blood from pocket-sized bottles like it was the most natural thing in the world. No one spoke. They walked, watched, subtly sniffed the air and a jolt of adrenaline hit your stomach. It wasn’t fear. It was electricity and you couldn’t wait to start working. You reached the turnstiles and swiped your badge, but nothing happened. The gate beeped again and again, refusing to open. You tried once more. Still nothing.

“Oh come on, don’t do this to me today…” you muttered, tapping the badge against the sensor. A vampire security guard: tall, blonde, and looking like she’d stepped straight out of a horror fashion film turned slowly toward you, staring as if you were a mosquito buzzing against her window. -No entry for little girls with faulty badges. Go home and watch your dramas,- she said with a cruel smile. You gave her a half-smile, trying to hide your nerves. “Well, if I had to go home every time technology hated me, I’d have been unemployed for months. But thanks for the warm welcome.”Then, in a softer tone the one you always used around vampires to avoid triggering any… lethal reactions you added, “I’m just the new intern, it’s my first day. I hope it’s not also my last, especially over a broken pass.” You gestured to the gate, hoping she’d open it, but the vampire raised an eyebrow and said nothing. You bit your lip to stop yourself from snapping. Just then, a human guy about your age walked up with a kind smile. He looked friendly, with slightly curly brown hair and a proudly crooked tie. His face reminded you of one of your classmates.

'Don’t mind Camilla. She’s the gatekeeper of hell. Your badge’s deactivated for the day's classic system glitch. You can come in with me.' He winked, scanned his badge, and the gate clicked open with a metallic sound. He gestured for you to follow. 'Welcome to Seoul’s chicest hell,' he said, watching you closely. “Thanks,” you said with a smile, already feeling a little more at ease. “Have you worked here long?” you asked as you crossed the massive lobby toward the elevators. 'Three months. Marketing department. You?' “Communication.” You took a deep breath, hoping you'd see him again, then added, “Under the supervision of the CEO… Park Sunghoon.” His smile faltered just a little, and he looked at you as if searching for the right words. 'Wow. You’re either brave… or clueless.'

He laughed, though it didn’t sound like a joke. The silence in the elevator that followed was filled only by the soft hum of background music. You were rising slowly very slowly toward the 25th floor: the CEO’s territory. 'If he fires you on your first day, come find me. I’ll buy you a coffee… or one of those blood bars vampires love, though I’m guessing you prefer more… human snacks.' You smiled, but deep down, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or shiver. When the elevator doors opened, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. You glanced at the black carpet, the smoked glass walls, and the air smelled of burnt wood, metal, and freshly spilled blood and at the end of the hallway, the silhouette of a man in a suit stood beyond a wall of glass. Him. Park Sunghoon and without even meeting his gaze, you already felt him beneath your skin.

The secretary seated at the desk in front of the large black glass door glanced up at you—quickly, professionally, but with a faintly amused glint in her eyes. She wore a dark tailored suit and blood-red lips drawn with perfect precision. Without even asking for your ID, she typed something into her computer.

“Name?” You studied her carefully, and if everyone on this floor was like her, they could devour you in a single bite. You said your name with a serious voice, and she replied,

'Oh. So you’re the one who applied to work under Park Sunghoon.' You nodded, and she picked up the phone with glossy black nails sharp, like dipped in ink and pressed a single button. 'CEO Park, the intern has arrived. Right on time, just like you said.'

Something twisted in your stomach, and then you heard a deep, velvety, razor-sharp voice come through the receiver: “Let her in.” The secretary gave you a knowing wink and a quick thumbs up. You smiled faintly. “Break a leg…” you muttered under your breath.

You smoothed your skirt, took a deep breath, and grabbed the handle. The door opened silently. And from that moment on, you had crossed the threshold of your most beautiful hell… though you didn’t know it yet.

The room was large, with glass walls overlooking all of Seoul—you could see the hills, and the Han River in the distance. It was minimally furnished: cold, elegant, perfectly tailored to its occupant. And seated behind a sleek black desk, was him: Park Sunghoon.

His face was bent over the file he was reading, his white shirt impeccably pressed, sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted forearms. When he heard the door close, he slowly lifted his gaze and it felt as if something cracked in the air. His eyes pierced through you, no emotion in them, only that ghostly amber shade, slightly feline, that read your soul in an instant. You tried to appear confident, to hide the way your heart was racing… especially in that vulnerable part of you. Even though your hands were sweating, you tucked them between your skirt and thighs, clasping them together with poise. You took two steps forward and introduced yourself:

“Nice to meet you. I'm your new intern. My name is—”

Before you could finish, you heard his hoarse voice the one you had learned to recognize from countless interviews and university videos. Your breath caught as he replied coldly.

“I know who you are,” he cut in with a flick of his hand, not raising his voice. “Degree in Communications and Marketing. Average résumé and you're already talking too much. I didn’t tell you to speak.” You froze mid-breath, your eyes widening slightly but you didn’t look away and that’s when he felt it—that faint irritation creeping into his body.

The moment you stepped in, it hit like a wave of heat in the middle of winter. Your blood and more than that, the scent of your skin was toxic to someone like him. There was too much sweetness in you, too much innocence and that scent… it was everything he should ignore: warmth, life, instinct.

“What the hell is in her blood?” The bite of self-control came instantly. It was a pull—ancient, dangerous, one he hadn’t felt in centuries and yet, there you were. Standing there, glowing, with the look of someone completely unaware they were walking a tightrope suspended over a den of predators and he was predator number one.

But you didn’t look down, you didn’t blush, you met his eyes with a gaze that was both insolent and curious and for the first time in decades, he felt something that wasn’t just thirst.

“Let’s see…” He picked up your résumé, fingers long and sharp gliding over it as if reading the file of a soon-to-be-judged victim.“You’ve worked with human agencies,” he said, looking back up. “Never dealt with vampires, right?”

“No. But I studied with vampire classmates, I know how to behave. I even took a course that was 80% half-bloods and vampires, so I’ve learned how to study and work with them.” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow dark and sharp like a blade an expression that made him look even more like a predator ready to strike.

“Studying is for kids. Working is something else entirely.” He stood up. He was tall too tall, even for your 170 cm. “Working with me... with a vampire CEO... isn’t for everyone.” He walked around you slowly not in a vulgar way, but like someone analyzing a problem… or a temptation.

“You know you’re the fiftieth intern to walk into this office?” He gave a half-smile. “My guess? Two weeks, and you’re gone.” You looked at him with a bold, cheeky smile you didn’t even know you had in you. “Two weeks, you say? We’ll see if you can get rid of me that easily... or if I’ll be intern number fifty-nine.” His eyes darkened slightly.

“You’re far too cheeky for an intern who’s never met me before.” His voice was low, emotionless, but the sharp tone cut through the air between you. You swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin slightly. “I’m just trying to make a good impression. I don’t want to be the fiftieth intern to quit.” You smiled—tense, but genuine. “...Or worse, the one who gets fired on the first day.”

The corner of his lips curved upward a smile, but one that felt more like a warning than approval. “You’re lucky today’s not one of my worst days.” He took a step closer.

“But if you do want to get me to fire you… you could always ask Mr. Park Jongseong instead. Maybe he’ll like me better!” You said it without thinking-half a joke, half a desperate way to say (I don’t want to end up blacklisted like all the others) but as soon as the name Jay hung in the air, the mood shifted.

Sunghoon looked at you with daggers. “Mr. Jay Park doesn’t handle marketing and communications. He’s in strategic operations. So... not your savior.”

“Shame.” You gave a small smile and rocked slightly on your heels, but inside, your heart was pounding, you had no idea how to handle someone like him and as Sunghoon’s eyes roamed over you, slow and calculated, you wondered if he could actually hear how anxious you were to be standing there in front of him.

Then, with a smooth motion, he took three sheets from the table and placed them in front of you.

“Three questions. Answer well, maybe you stay.”

“I’m listening,” you said, folding your hands over your legs.

“One: How would you present a product line for Ultra-Light-Sensitive Vampires at a human daytime event?”

You had already looked it up online and heard about the infamous trick questions Sunghoon was known for, so you answered confidently: “With soft visual communication, warm tones, and a storytelling approach centered on adaptability, highlighting the shared experience between vampires and humans. I’d partner with human ambassadors to break bias and invite high-profile state figures to legitimize the event.”

He gave a slight nod but didn’t say if it was the right answer.

“Two: How would you handle a social media crisis if a royal-status vampire; like myself was accused of biting a human hostess without consent at a press fair?”

“Media blackout for the first few hours. Then a joint statement from the Blood Bank and the Human-Vampire Council. Plus, an exclusive interview with the hostess, along with public compensation and a formal apology.”

He watched you closely, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Last one. What’s the first mistake a human intern makes in a company where 70% of the staff is a vampire?”

“Talking too much, maybe,” you said, eyes dropping slightly, half-ironic.

“Correct. Talking too much.” He grabbed a thick dossier over a hundred pages and dropped it in front of you with a thud. “You have one week. I want a draft of the rebranding revision plan on my desk every day, we’ll see if you can work.”

“It’ll be done.” Your voice was steady, even if your knees weren’t.“You’ll have a desk. Don’t expect this one.” He gestured to his own black, sleek, perfect. “It’ll be a tiny workstation, shared with twenty others. You’ll adapt.”

“I adapt well, Mr. Park,” you replied with a touch of sarcasm. “I’m human. It’s in my DNA.” For half a second, it looked like the corners of his mouth twitched. Just barely. “Go. The secretary will show you where to settle in.”

You were about to turn when a pen slowly slipped off the edge of his desk and fell at his feet. You bent down to pick it up, the movement is instinctive and that’s when it happened. As you bent down, your ponytail shifted to the side, revealing your neck bare, delicate, pulsing with a scent that was both sweet and impossibly clean, like fresh laundry.

Sunghoon held his breath. In the span of a heartbeat, his eyes darkened ever so slightly. His pupils stretched, and the slow rhythm of your heart, the flow of blood just beneath your skin was an irresistible pull. It was far too dangerous for his sanity to observe your skin from that close and he spoke before even realizing it.

“Don’t come into my office without a reason again.” His voice was flat again, but sharper, like a blade. “And... keep your hair down. I don’t want to see it tied ever again.” You straightened up instantly and looked at him, a little confused.

“…Alright.” You gave a slight bow, turned, and walked out composed, steady but the moment you were outside, your hands began to tremble. Back inside the office, Park Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment and for the first time in years, his fangs sharpened not because of blood.

Because of you.

It had been two weeks since you first stepped into the headquarters of the Park Society, and though each day felt like a test of endurance, you were still there: alive, whole, not fired and so far, Sunghoon hadn’t yelled at you or lashed out, which was already a major achievement. Maybe even a small miracle, considering the stats.

You’d made a few friends among your colleagues mostly humans, especially Jin, the guy who had helped you on your first day at the turnstiles. He had become a sort of support system for you, always ready with a joke, always a little too sweet, but in the end, he made you feel less alone.

Vampires were another story, they watched you in silence and rarely spoke, but it only took a single look to understand they were keeping tabs on you, and sometimes, between coffee breaks and meetings, someone would whisper:

Don’t make him angry.

Don’t provoke him.

Don’t hold his gaze too long… and above all, don’t fall for him.

As if that were something easy to avoid. Park Sunghoon had authority in his blood, power in his voice, control in every step, and yet, something in his eyes spoke of things you couldn’t quite decipher: something ancient and dangerous, something that wanted desperately to bite and never let go.

That day, there was an important meeting: the launch of a joint campaign between vampires and humans on a topic you were directly involved in Vampire Idols and their Gen Z and Alpha fans. It was your first official presentation, you wore a simple, elegant outfit, your hair down (as he had ordered), and you’d rehearsed all night.

The room was full: seven, eight people half human, half vampire seated around a long black marble table. When Sunghoon entered, silence fell like a switch being flipped. No one dared speak as he sat at the head of the table. You locked eyes with Jin across the room; he gave you a quiet thumbs up, reassuring.

Then Sunghoon turned he saw everything. He always saw too much, his gaze landed first on Jin, then on you… cold, unreadable, and behind his closed lips, his fangs twitched ever so slightly.

“Begin.”

He said it to you. No introduction, no preamble, just that so you took a breath and started. Your voice trembled just a littlebut you were prepared. You spoke about inclusion, about building more interaction between idols and fans both on stage and on social media. You spoke with passion, with emotion, with humanity. Some nodded, others looked skeptical, but Sunghoon…he stayed silent and that silence was unbearable. You wanted feedback, you wanted someone anyone to speak but he just watched you: Eyes locked on yours, cold and intense a tension wrapped itself around you, forcing you to speak each syllable with surgical precision and then it happened.

He pushed his chair back, eyes lifting from his tablet, and he stood up slowly, too slowly, and started walking toward you. One step at a time. You didn’t know why, but your entire body stiffened. Had you said something wrong? A word? A chart? A footnote?

He stopped behind you, too close and you swallowed hard. You felt his cold fingers brush slowly against your back as if to “correct” your posture… or maybe for something else. Maybe to feel, for the first time, the warmth your body gave off. A shiver ran through you, starting exactly where he’d touched you, a current shooting up your spine and he felt it.

Your vibration, your quickened pulse, the warmth of your blood, the living flesh and the scent of that blood he had spent two weeks trying and failing to ignore, every single day.

“There’s a mistake here,” he said, his voice sharp, but calm. “And… here, too. Be careful with wordplay. Double meanings can cost you a partnership.” You corrected it on the spot, your hands trembling just slightly.

His scent enveloped you a fragrance that whispered of elegance and wealth: mint, a trace of moss, and something sharp that clung to his skin and then, just like that, he turned back to the room.

“For a first draft, made by a freshly graduated little girl… it’s decent. We’ll consider it.” Neutral. Almost dismissive but to you, in that moment, it felt like a small triumph. The meeting resumed, and Sunghoon didn’t speak again but in his thoughts there was only you.

The presentation with Sunghoon had gone beyond expectations.

You had worked hard and slept little, and in the end, it had been worth it: you’d been put in charge of developing the entire campaign for the project between the fans and the vampire idols. Even him the cold vampire with icy eyes and razor-sharp teeth had said your work was “decent,” which, in his language, sounded almost like an award.

That evening, the office was silent, lights dimmed, keyboards already turned off. Just a few vampires still working, you glanced at the clock: 9:45 PM. You’d been buried for hours in graphs, drafts to revise, and social media ideas. You blinked slowly, exhausted.

"Maybe I’ll just die in here, in front of an Excel sheet... so romantic! While everyone else is out partying..." You grabbed your bag and headed toward the elevator. You pressed the button and sighed and that’s when you felt it. That scent: unmistakable, slightly spicy, yet fresh, dark, elegant and you turned your head slightly… and there he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Their shirt unbuttoned just enough, glasses resting casually on his nose, gaze sharp even in the shadows. He looked like he had just walked out of a gothic novel without even trying.

"Leaving already?" he asked, voice deep, gravelly and the tone hit you instantly: low, almost… hypnotic. "I’ve finished everything. Tomorrow I’ll correct the last few details." A slight smile curved the corner of his lips, it almost looked… human. "Diligent," he said. Then, a short pause. "At least you’ll die for a noble cause." You stifled a laugh but stepped into the elevator with him. His scent followed you, like an echo beneath your skin.

"Subway or taxi?" he asked, not looking at you. "Taxi. I feel safer." He nodded and said nothing else, until the 22nd floor. There was a sudden jolt a metallic screech echoed around you; the lights flickered and then everything stopped.

The elevator was stuck, your breath caught instantly, and your heartbeat pounded like a drum. The walls started to close in and your chest tightened, and your throat closed up.

You barely whispered, “No… no, no, no...” You pressed the alarm button multiple times no response, your body started to move in jerks, panic setting in fast, and tears welled in your eyes, he said nothing at first and just looked at you but he could hear it, your heart racing, blood pumping too fast. Then he took one step forward. Just one but it closed all the space between you. “Look at me.” His voice was different now.

Deeper, softer almost a whisper that slid right into your bloodstream.“You’re having a panic attack. There’s no danger, you’re with me, you’re safe, Y/n.” You shook your head, trembling, but he kept going like his words were weaving directly into your mind. “Breathe with me.” He held out his hands. You took them without thinking.

They were cold much larger than yours but steady. You had always noticed them: those long fingers, those elegant hands…and now, they felt like an anchor in chaos.

“Just like that... Good, breathe again, match my rhythm.” You looked into his eyes, they were darker than usual. Hypnotic. His voice filled you like warm light in a dark room and slowly, breath after breath, the panic began to fade. His thumb slightly chilled drew slow, careful circles over your skin and the way he calmed you with such a simple touch…frightened you more than the situation itself. You stared at him, heart still pounding but for entirely different reasons now.

“Now you know what it’s like, little one.” His voice dropped even lower.

“Fear, control. The need to trust someone. If you ever find yourself in a situation like this again, think of something beautiful… or someone. Even if they’re not with you, someone who could calm you down just by being there. Little by little, it’ll pass. Are you feeling better now?”His fingers pressed lightly against yours, and you nodded, your heartbeat was slowing, but your skin still burned a silent spark passed between you a low, dull vibration, like a call pulsing under the skin.

“What is this in your blood…” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“It’s... dangerous. Sweet. Warm.” He was looking at you with a hunger that wasn’t just for blood but he dimmed it. Or at least held it back, he didn’t want to scare you. You were already scared enough.

“Don’t ever stay alone in an elevator if you’re afraid.” You lifted your gaze. “I didn’t think you cared about my anxiety,” you whispered, as he kept touching you a faint, almost ironic smile curled on your lips. “I don’t care,” he replied flatly, “but if you faint and die here, I’ll have to hire another intern. And that’s annoying.” You laughed, still shaken, but lighter now. Then you dared to tease him, your mind a little clearer.

“And what if I didn’t have you to calm me down?” He leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours. “You won’t need anyone else,” he said. “I’ll be enough to calm you down… in any situation.” And for a second, it felt like your lips would meet almost, barely but then the elevator jerked, jolting you both.

You pulled back instinctively, not quite sure what he meant by that last line. “Let’s go,” he said softly but as you stepped out, your heart was still beating strangely, erratically and him… behind those glasses, he looked like he was trying to figure out whether it was your heart going wild or his control that was starting to break.

It had been three months since that first encounter, three months in which you had managed to stay, to work, to shine; even Sunghoon seemed… satisfied, or at least, he hadn’t fired you yet and for him, that was almost a declaration of love. Jin, the guy you’d met on your first day, would sometimes glance at you with a mix of irony and concern.

'I don’t know what you did to Park Sunghoon… but it’s obvious you’re different.' You’d laugh, even though your heart beat faster every time Sunghoon called you into his office. You liked challenging him, answering with sarcasm, lowering your lashes but holding his gaze, and… he seemed to tolerate it. No, he seemed to expect it.

It had been decades since he’d wanted to wake up and go to work, not to see the numbers always glowing green on the financial reports, but to see you. To hear your voice, to keep you close even if not directly under his eye. Just knowing you were there, and nowhere else, was enough but something had changed. Since he touched you in the elevator since his cold fingers had brushed your warm skin your dreams were no longer the same: Every night carried the same torment, feverish dreams.

Visions that left you breathless, skin damp, lips parted in an unspoken whisper. “Sunghoon…” His name on your lips as you twisted in the sheets and in those dreams…he wasn’t just your boss, he was the predator. The forbidden lover, the vampire who slipped into your room at night silent as a shadow while the moon spilled silver over your naked body.

You dreamed of him above you, hands on your thighs, fangs bared, mouth just a breath away from your neck, he spoke in that deep, hypnotic voice that made your stomach clench and then… the bite. Always the bite, always that moment when his teeth sank into your flesh, and you moaned from pleasure, yes but also from fear.

From the want that coiled and burned into a single, molten spasm. One night, you woke up screaming his name, heart pounding like you were being chased, you looked at the clock: 3:33. Always the same time, always the same vivid, erotic dream and you weren’t the only one. Sunghoon, in his office on the twenty-fifth floor, stood staring out the window, pupils dilated. There was nothing outside but your scent lingered.

On the pen you’d touched, on the pages of the report you’d signed, on the armrest of the chair where you had leaned back. He studied you in silence every time you entered, but for months now, his control had begun to crack.

Her blood is calling me, he thought.

It was sweet. Spiced. Like burnt honey. Like a curse hidden under sunlight and he who had stopped wanting centuries ago was starving. Starving for the feeling of sinking his fangs into something alive.

He found himself thinking of you when undressing, your name slipping between his teeth in an ancient tongue, fists clenched to keep from coming to find you, touching himself in the shower with fangs bared, whispering your name like a prayer and he dreamed of you. Yes, he did: Dreamed of you beneath him, naked, breathless, dreamed of your heartbeat racing under his palm, of your throat, the pulse of your skin tightening under the pass of his tongue.

“If I had her, even for one night, I’d never give her back.”

And it drove him insane because you were human, small, brilliant, reckless but something in your blood had tethered him, and in your eyes… there was light. Too much light. The light that blinded a creature made of shadow and control, one evening, after hours, you crossed paths with him in the hallway.

He was dressed in black, shirt unbuttoned, tie loosened-predatory elegance that made you hold your breath.

“You look tired,” he said softly, his voice like a whisper beneath the skin, watching you type at your computer.

“I work for you!" you replied, trying to smile, to hide the fact that every night he invaded your dreams in his truest form, as a vampire, fangs deep in your skin. He gave a faint smile one of those cold, cutting ones but something was stirring in his eyes.

“Sleeping poorly, intern?” he asked. You blushed. “A little…” you murmured.

“Too many thoughts?” he stepped closer. You held your breath he was too close. Too close.

“Too many dreams,” you whispered without thinking and his eyes gleamed.

“Be careful what you dream,” he said, slow and low, voice almost sensual, as it slipped beneath your skin. “Because sometimes dreams become calls… and certain creatures… they answer.” You turned away, a shiver crawling down your spine, you didn’t know if he was playing or warning you, you looked back at him, unsure.

“Don’t play with fire,” he added behind you, his voice darker now. “If I were you… I’d let it sleep.” But you couldn’t. Every night, it returned more vivid, more real. The blood dripping down your chest from your neck, his hands on your thighs, his lips on yours, stained with your blood and every morning, your skin woke up tense, your senses starving, his name still on your lips.

The corporate resort was hidden deep in the mountains outside Seoul, a luxurious, quiet place thick with tension, where most of the biggest brands eager to partner with K-pop groups made up of vampires came to hunt for talent. You had been working there for days for the elite summit, cut off from the world, and now it was 10:40 PM.

You, exhausted but still fighting, had opened your laptop in the private lounge, sinking into a sofa far too elegant for someone who had just worked twelve hours straight. Sunghoon, flawless as always in his black suit, sat not far away, his face carved into the shadows, his gaze lit by something you couldn’t quite read.

“Look at this,” you said, showing a video of a concert you loved idols dressed in custom-made faux leather from an up-and-coming Asian brand, tailored perfectly to vampire bodies. The music blasted from the speakers modern, free, alive. A rush of youth and passion filled the room as the screen showed seven vampires, each with a different style, singing in harmony to a track with rap undertones and a touch of romantic pop. He looked at you like you’d shown him a failed science experiment.

“What is this?” he said, staring at the seven performers on your screen with clear dismay. You rolled your eyes at the cynicism in his voice and held back a sigh. “It’s music. Real music. It speaks to us, to Gen Z-you know, people born 20 years ago, not just your aristocratic, emotionally extinct clients from 200 years back.” “Your generation listens to anything that screams and moves,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “You’re not too old to get it, right? I bet deep down you love music too. You should act like it and explore new ways like your young vampire does.”

You didn’t mention to Sunghoon that you’d been talking with the “baby vampire” in their group, Ni-Ki, who had a ton of crazy but brilliant ideas for the brand’s social strategy...

“I’ve watched empires fall, darling. Don’t tell me you’re talking about… Ni-Ki?” You raised your eyebrows. “Yes. He’s a vampire too, but younger. And he likes this. You know his ideas for social media are insane, and we’re getting massive engagement thanks to the way he’s merging human and vampire culture.”

His eyes darkened instantly. He hated hearing another man’s name coming from your mouth.

“Don’t mention Ni-Ki. Especially not around me.” You smiled and looked at him with that sharp, knowing gaze. “Are you jealous, CEO Park?” He stood up slowly, and every movement felt like a calculated threat as he walked toward you, the air tightening around his tall, predatory frame. “You… have no idea what you're waking up inside me,” he whispered, leaning over you and in a flash, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you up.

The laptop crashed to the floor with a dull thud. Your breath caught in your throat and your back hit the wall.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered.

He looked into your eyes those dark, ancient, hungry eyes your mind recognized every time you closed your eyes becauseyou dreamed of them constantly… “Stop me, Y/n… because if you don’t, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching you or kissing you.” You looked at him, lips slightly parted, but no sound came out and then he took your face in his hands and kissed you. It wasn’t like the kisses you used to give boys back in university for fun. This one tasted like claiming. His lips crashed onto your hot, fierce kiss that was wild and starving. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring, stealing your breath, while his hands pinned you in place, holding you tight against him.

His body pressed into yours cold, hard but at the same time radiating heat. Then you felt a small bite on your lower lip his sharp canine piercing it. Your blood trickled slowly across your tongue, but he was faster. He didn’t want to waste a single drop none for anyone but him. Because only he could worship you, only he could possess you. He drank your blood, your soul, your essence and let out a low moan like your taste was something he’d been craving for centuries. You gasped, feeling something deep and dark vibrate inside you, a desire that made your knees weak, the same one that always woke you up soaked in heat and need, haunted by dreams no, nightmares that always had one name: Sunghoon.

You reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling slightly on those soft dark strands sliding through your fingers. He growled.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, pulling back just enough to let you breathe.

“Then show me,” you whispered against his mouth, and he ran his fingers along your throat.

“Your heart’s beating too fast, darling… I can feel it everywhere.” He licked your lip slowly, savoring the last drop, and then moved down to kiss you again, kissing and licking your skin as he tasted the scent rising from your neck.

“Do you feel it? My control is breaking. For you. Only for you and that hasn’t happened in centuries,” he said, his voice laced with something like sorrow.

“Then let it break,” you whispered, breathless, your body burning. His hands moved lower, exploring the skin beneath your shirt, and his bites turned into kisses, and the kisses into promises. But everything still hung on the edge balancedbetween passion and danger. Between you… and the predator who, by now, had been obsessed with you for months.

Since that kiss, Sunghoon had changed or rather, he had returned to his natural state: cynical, distant, sharp like an ancient blade. When you brought him new ideas for marketing campaigns or social formats for young vampires, he replied with the same scornful sarcasm, arms crossed, chin slightly tilted down as he stood above every thought you dared to have, and yet… every project, every draft, every presentation was read, corrected, and annotated by him.

The next morning, a small smile tugged at your lips when you saw his notes edits on how to reshape your slides, andcomments where he told you it was good work. He was watching you, following your progress, listening in on meetings but always silently. That day, you’d walked into his office with yet another proposal in hand.

“New concept: young vampires, underground night events, hybrid playlists, Ni-Ki style but less...” “Are you planning to bring up that brat every two days?” he cut in, not even looking up from his screen. You crossed your arms. “It’s called targeting. You should know what that is… or are you too ancient to understand?”

He slowly lifted his eyes to you, scanned you from head to toe, and let out a low growl.

“Watch your tone, girl. You’re here to learn, not to play trend-hero. You’ve stayed because you’re good but with one snap of my fingers, I could fire you in an instant,” he said, gruffly. “And you’re here to be a CEO, not Dracula having a midlife crisis.”

You smiled, defiant, folding your arms over your sweater, and for just one second, you saw something in his eyes, the smallest flicker of a smile but he turned away, ice-cold. “Out. And next time, bring me something serious.”

That evening, in the lounge, Jin had sat down next to you. He was sweet, human, young, with an honest gaze, and had been flirting with you for months now but you felt nothing. Because your twisted mind only wanted to feel Sunghoon’s lips on yours again, his strong hands on your hips, or cupping your face.

“Are you free tomorrow night? There’s a wine tasting at a place just down the road…” he said, touching his hair, clearly trying not to look nervous. You laughed at how his cheeks turned pink he was cute, and he made you feel at ease.

Unlike… him. You didn’t notice right away that Sunghoon was there, in the shadows, standing still, silent, eyes fixed on the two of you. He had heard the entire conversation, and his fangs had already lengthened, and his hands had gone even colder and he would not let anyone take you away from him, especially not some human boy. Later, you received a message on your work phone. You already knew who it was from.

Office 74. Now. — S. You walked in moments later, confused, he’d seen you two hours ago.

What could he possibly want now?

But the moment you entered, his face hit you like a cold wave. He was standing near the window, hands behind his back, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

“You asked for me?” you said, staring at his perfect profile, speckled with small beauty marks that only made him look more like a vampire carved from myth. He turned. His eyes were fire beneath the ice, locked on you with terrifying precision. “Don’t let them touch you or ask you out. Ever again.” You stared at him, a little stunned by the words that had just left his mouth. “Wait… what did you just say?” He took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t let anyone get that close. Not to you.” You scoffed and almost laughed. “Why? Are you jealous? He just asked me for a drink or maybe you’re jealous because he’s human and can control himself. Or maybe...”

You didn’t finish a red the alarm shattered the air a blaring siren, followed by a cold voice: WARNING. UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE IN THE BUILDING. REBEL VAMPIRES DETECTED. CODE RED.

The sound was a nightmare to any human caught in a red zone invaded by rogue vampires. At university, it had happened only twice and both times, you’d been surrounded by others. Vampires but now, it was just you and him. Sunghoon grabbed your wrist immediately. His eyes had changed.

No longer human predator eyes, dark, wild. He pulled you tightly against him.

“Stay with me. Don’t move not one step away, and I swear nothing will happen to you,” he said, looking at you the same way he had the first time he saw you frightened, and only he had managed to calm you. “Sunghoon…” you whispered. “Silence.” His voice was an order, he pushed you against the wall, shielding you with his body, eyes fixed on the door. “If they touch you, I’ll tear them to pieces, if they even graze you, I’ll destroy them. You are..” But he didn’t finish because, at that moment, the faint scent of your blood still lingering on his lips from days ago made him lose control.

Just for an instant and you understood. It wasn’t just desire, it was obsession, fear of losing again, fear of losing his soulmate and this time, he would fight even to the death. The door creaked open with a sinister groan, and then you saw him.

The vampire who entered was nothing like Sunghoon, nothing like Jay, nothing like the others who wore suits and blended into the human world, not like the students you’d studied with. No. He was filthy. Beast-like.

His eyes were blood-red, and coagulated, and his hands… covered in something that looked like mud, flesh, and blood. The stench was unbearable, Sunghoon gripped your wrist tighter. His voice came low, icy, sharp like a ritual blade.

“Close your eyes. Now and don’t move. Trust me for once.” You obeyed. It was all you could do but you heard everything.

The vampire’s voice is slimy and cruel. <Well, well… what do we have here? A little girl with no vampire mark yet… what a sweet scent. So alive, so… soft. I’ll turn her, make her mine, and drain her ‘til the last drop.>

Your heart exploded in your chest, and your hand searched for Sunghoon’s arm in the dark. Then his voice. Cold. Rough. Right by your body.

“Take one step near her, and there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”

The vampire chuckled. <And who are you supposed to be? Her brother? Her guard? Humans are making everyone weak. Especially those who love them. Those who protect them…>

Then came a sound...a crash, a scream, another. None of it was Sunghoon’s. Then a dull, sickening thud. You opened your eyes just a sliver just enough to see him crouched over the monster, hands soaked in blood, eyes pitch-black, fangs bared. He was the predator a god of the hunt. The kind of vampire who hated rebels, the kind all his brothers especially Jake and Heeseung had sworn to eliminate but even he was wounded. His breath was ragged, one arm pressed to his side.

“Sunghoon?…” you asked in a low voice.

“Close your eyes!” he growled, turning toward you with a brutal expression but it wasn’t aimed at you, it was the blood, the fight, the beast within him. You collapsed to the floor, trembling, and he came to you, gripping your waist and pulling you up with a strength that defied the pain in his body.

“Out of here. Now.” You both left the room. The hallway was empty, but the air reeked of metal, adrenaline, and vampires. When you turned to look at him, you screamed. His face was streaked with blood, his shirt torn, deep wounds carved into his chest.

“Oh my God, Sunghoon! You’re hurt! You....” He silenced you with a hand over your mouth cold, but steady. “Stop shouting. I’m fine. It’s just blood.” “You don’t look fine! You need help!” Sunghoon looked down, then let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“Wounds don’t kill a centuries-old vampire. But stubborn little girls? Those are lethal.” He grabbed your arm and draped it over his shoulder. The contact was strange, intimate, warm, and cold all at once.

“Come on. Take me wherever you want, and I’ll let you play nurse… just don’t look at me like I’m dying, or I might bite you just to scare you.” You scoffed of course even now he had to act tough, you entered an emergency room: a survival station, with medical kits, blood bags, and bandages. You made him sit down, trying not to shake.

“Take off your shirt.” He looked at you with a sharp smirk. “Where are we going with this, intern? Not exactly professional behavior for a girl like you.” “Now’s not the time to be a jerk, Sunghoon! You’re covered in blood!”

He sighed and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a broad chest and a deep cut along his side. The dark blood still flowed, and you stared at his body.

“Holy shit…” you whispered as your eyes traced his toned chest, pale skin, and the faint blood smears over thick biceps.

“Like what you see?” he murmured with a teasing chuckle just a mask, hiding pain, rage, and what you'd just witnessed. You pressed a gauze pad to his wound, and he let out a low groan. You looked at him, suspended between panic and something deeper. “Why did you do this for me?” you asked quietly. His gaze darkened.“Because he was here to take you. And I… I can’t let anyone take you away. Not again.” You looked at him, confused. “Why?” you asked, and he spoke low his words sinking into every part of you. “Because you’re not just blood. Not just scent. You’re… dangerous to someone like me.”

You looked up at him, hearing the teasing note in his voice, and his bare, blood-streaked chest rose slowly under your fingers. The wounds were deep, and the pain made him groan softly but he didn’t complain. Not him. Never.

“You need proper treatment, Sunghoon…” you whispered, fingers gently brushing his side while dabbing the wound with a wet gauze. He clenched his jaw, eyes shut for a moment, and his fangs had grown longer, sharper, glistening. “Are you okay?” you whispered. He opened his eyes there was a spark of hunger and irony.

“I’ve felt better since you started touching me… but if you keep going, I might want something else.” A crooked smile played on his lips, and you swallowed but your voice was clear. “Is that your way of saying… you want my blood?” His expression shifted. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you gently toward him.“That’s not a question you ask a vampire you know that. Not even one like me. Because the answer is always yes. Especially if your blood is… special.” He leaned toward your neck, inhaled, and brushed your skin with his lips. “…and I believe it is. Which makes it worse.”

“Worse than who?” you whispered. His jaw tensed.

“Let it go.” But you stared at him. Stubborn.

“Do you want to taste me?” Sunghoon turned toward the wall as if holding himself back but you stepped closer and slowly touched his wound. The growl that escaped him was rough, deep, almost erotic, and then you whispered: “You saved my life. If you want to… you can.” He turned to face you; his eyes were black, tinged with red, his fangs extended.

“You don’t understand what you’re offering, little girl.” You tilted your head, revealing your bare neck.

“Then tell me. What’s your favorite part? My lips?” A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“Your lips are a constant invitation to sin… but there’s not enough blood in them to heal this.”

“My neck, then?” you whispered. “Mmh… the neck. Symbolic. Vulnerable. But also so... basic.” He took a step closer.

“Or your wrist. I could feel the pulse there alive, hot. But if I’m being honest…” He paused. A wicked smile spread across his face as he licked his lips slowly, erotically.

“Your thighs. They promise something sweet.” You shot him a mock-offended look.

“You’re disgusting,” you said, slapping him lightly on the chest. He laughed. “I’m honest.” You bit your lip.

“Better the neck, then.” You stepped closer and saw his gaze shift. “Is that why you told me months ago not to tie my hair up?” He nodded. “Yes. Every time you do, it drives me mad. I always want to press my nose to your neck… and my mind always imagines sinking my fangs right into you.” You swept your hair to the side, offering your bare skin, Sunghoon stood still, chest rising slowly. “Lie down on the couch,” he said. “You’re the one who’s hurt you should be the one lying down.” His expression darkened. “Do it.” His voice was rough and you obeyed.

He reached you and climbed on top of you, his hands on your hips, then he started kissing your neck slow, wet, warm and you let out a soft moan without meaning to and he laughed, a low, scratchy sound. “You moan so sweetly… and I haven’t even bitten you yet.” He kissed you harder, almost a bruise, then ran his fingers still slightly bloody along your cheek. “You’re insane, but at the same time brave. You don’t understand what you might unleash in me if, when I sink my fangs into your skin, I find your blood tasting like some ancient blessing I won’t stop wanting you.” Then his eyes met yours and it was no longer a game, he opened his lips and his fangs sank into your skin. A sweet pain, deep, a warmth that spread through your whole body. You felt emptied, but at the same time… full. You gripped his hair the moment you felt his fangs break through your skin and he… moaned. Not from the wound, but from the taste of your blood flowing into his mouth like holy water, because it had been centuries since he had sunk his teeth into anyone’s skin.

God, forgive me he thought as his fangs sank into your flesh, and it was the end for him but also a rebirth, the end of his control and centuries of discipline. You had the sweetest blood he had ever tasted sweeter even than the girl he once loved…the one they killed, the one they took from him. Your body and your blood tasted like innocence and sensuality at the same time, like damnation. He felt every heartbeat between his lips, every gasp, every drop of your desire mixing with fear, and it was the most erotic thing he had ever tasted. Because he felt it you wanted to be bitten, and you weren’t doing it for fun, you were doing it for him, and your blood had a rare and dangerous flavor even for someone like him. It was something he had never encountered in 270 years.

The one biting you, drinking you like a man starved of blood, your blood, was your boss, the CEO everyone feared, the man who treated you like just a pawn… and who now was touching you as if your flesh were sacred. You felt his fangs pierce your skin but at the same time his lips sucked greedily, and it was like a jolt, a sharp, living pain and then… a deep warmth as if he were sucking your soul through your skin. Your body tensed, but Sunghoon’s hands held you still not with force, but with power, and you… didn’t want to move. Your blood was leaving your body but there was no panic, because deep down, you trusted that man, and all you could feel was a strange heat between your legs. An animal impulse, and a moan half pain, half arousal escaped your lips, and a thought burned in your mind, searing hot: I want it again.

When he pulled away, his lips were stained with your blood, and he gently caressed the spot where he had bitten you. "Now I'll heal faster. But you… you've become a problem," he murmured, licking the wound to soothe it, while you held him tighter and whispered, "Why?" "Because I tasted both heaven and hell the moment your blood touched my lips. And it's as sweet as you."

You were still dazed, and lightheaded, your legs weak, the warmth of the bite throbbing on your neck. Every heartbeat felt like a soft pull toward what had just happened. Sunghoon hovered above you, braced on his arms, his eyes cold, sharp, and hungry as if you were something forbidden that he could no longer resist.

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked, voice husky and dangerously low. You nodded, uncertain whether it was from shock or full awareness. Slowly, he unbuttoned your blouse, each motion deliberate, reverent. When it fell away, he saw the faint imprint of his bite on your pale skin proof of his broken restraint. Your simple black bra revealed the rise and fall of your breathing. His eyes darkened, and he bit his lip, still tasting your blood an instinct flickering across his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. As he gently parted your thighs, you wrapped your arms around your chest, blushing.

“Don’t say that… You’ve seen prettier girls,” you murmured. He leaned in, his cold fingers brushing yours, moving them away. “I’ve lived for two and a half centuries. I’ve seen all kinds of women. But none…” he said, breath grazing your skin, “…have ever had a body I wanted this much.” Your back arched slightly at the confession. He kissed you slowly, with a tension that made your pulse race. His tongue, the same that had just tasted your blood, explored your mouth, and his hands gripped your hips like he feared losing you. Your mouths melded, breaths mingling, tongues teasing, until he smiled against your lips with that sharp, cocky grin you knew too well.

“You like teasing me…” he growled, lifting you slightly. “But now I’m the one who wants to play.” With a flick, your bra unclasped. Your breasts bounced lightly into view. He cursed softly in Korean, then whispered with that brazen vampire arrogance: “Your body is killing me. You've been my obsession since the day you walked into my office, girl.”m He bent down, taking one breast in his hand. You moaned softly. His lips closed around the other, licking, sucking, and when his sharp canines brushed the sensitive bud, your back arched fully.

“A-Ah… S-Sunghoon… slower…” you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair—pleasure tinged with fear. He groaned from your touch, then looked up at you, lips still wet. “You moan so sweetly… and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

His touch was gentle at first almost human but there was nothing human about him. His cold hands moved with confident precision over your breasts, thumbs circling your already hard nipples. His mouth followed, sucking and biting with mock tenderness. You moaned a choked sound lost in the dimness of his room and he loved it. Those soft, breathy sounds were his, and his alone, forever.

“So responsive…” he murmured against your skin with a crooked smile, sucking greedily on a nipple. “You’re such a little treat.” His tongue left a wet trail down your stomach, pausing just below your navel. He looked up at you, eyes burning with primal hunger. “I want to eat you.” His voice was low and rough. You swallowed hard, unsure what “eat you” meant for someone who’d just fed from your neck.

“Not your blood… That’ll be another addiction. But right now, I want to devour you until you forget how to speak.” You instinctively squeezed your thighs together. “Sunghoon…” you whispered. “I won’t hurt you,” he said darkly. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

The way he said it, it wasn’t a promise. It was a sweet curse. And you? You didn’t stop him. Instead, you scratched the back of his neck and whispered, “Don’t be an asshole.”

He smirked. “Too late.” With a slow, predatory motion, he slid your skirt down. When he saw the black lace of your panties, a soft curse slipped from his lips.

“Fuck… You’re built to make me lose control.” Then, with a low, wicked laugh: “You came here for an internship... and you’ll end up signing me your soul.” He inhaled deeply along your inner thighs and felt how wet you were just for him, exactly as it should be. His cold breath made you shiver.

“I could lick you for hours… but I’ll save biting your thighs for later. When you’re ready to scream my name like a prayer or a curse,” he chuckled, fingers grazing your skin.

“You bastard,” you gasped, trembling with both fear and arousal. “Love.” When you tried to close your legs, he grabbed them firmly, voice cold and commanding: “Open. I want to taste all of you. Don’t you dare close them again?”

You obeyed, heart pounding, as he slid down your panties. Seeing how soaked you were, he muttered, “Goddamn... Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” Without warning, he grabbed your hips, placed your legs over his shoulders, and leaned in. His tongue met your clit with slow, ravenous precision, savoring you like the rarest prey. You cried out his name once, twice—pulling at his hair as he devoured you, eyes fixed on you with one truth blazing in them: You’re mine. And you’re not escaping.

Sunghoon’s tongue moved in slow, deliberate figure-eights over your center, drawing shameless moans from your lips. His eyes never left your pupils blown wide, the gaze of a predator savoring his prey before the final bite.

“God, you’re shaking… You want to come, don’t you?” His voice was gravel and heat against your skin, and you writhed under him, desperate for more, for his tongue deeper inside you. “Can I use a finger?” It wasn’t a question it was a warning. Because before you could answer, he slid a finger into your heat, and you gasped,

“Y-you’re… such a bastard, that’s… that’s not fair…” He chuckled, low and amused. “Says the girl who’s not even twenty-three and moans like someone just promised her eternity.” Then his tongue flicked your clit again, making your back arch with a cry.

“Stop,” you panted through pleasure but instead, he added a second finger, thrusting deep into your aching cunt, making you scream his name. “Asshole!”

“Guilty,” he laughed. “Don’t lie, stubborn little human. You love feeling yourself under me like this…” His fingers moved harder, faster, setting your nerves ablaze. You were beautiful flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes glassy with lust, and the sweetest whimpers slipping from your mouth.

To him, you were divine. “Look at you come alive under my touch… You were made to be devoured.” He paused only to press his lips to your inner thigh, his sharp canine brushing your skin.

“I could have had you already bleeding, trembling but I don’t want just your blood,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“I want every breath, every spasm… and I want them now.” He went back to licking you, faster, with his fingers thrusting relentlessly.

“Sunghoon… I’m going to…”

“Don’t come yet,” he growled. “Not unless I say so.” You threw your head back, a soft sob escaping as he pinned you in place, watching you unravel with cruel delight. He wanted this—wanted you helpless under his control. Then, in a low, perversely sweet tone:

“Now. I want to see you break for me. Show me, my little girl, who’s been teasing me since the day she walked in.” He teased your clit with a fang and you screamed, a cry of ecstasy laced with fear. You grabbed his hair and pulled him closer as your body shattered in his arms.

He muttered something low, filthy, feral but then, in a gesture that left you stunned… he kissed your forehead. A tender, unexpected, almost human gesture that seemed to surprise even him. “You’re not like the others,” he murmured. “She… the only one I ever loved, died centuries ago. And you… you’re a problem.” His hand traced slowly along your side, gentle, possessive. “But you’re a problem I’ll never let go of.”

It had been exactly one week since that night. One week since Sunghoon had kissed you with hunger in his eyes, had licked you with dark devotion, and had saved you from a vampire attack leaving you with one final mark: his bite. A small indentation on your skin that hadn’t faded. It burned when he was near… or when he wasn’t near enough.

For two whole days, he hadn’t shown up at the office, you figured he might’ve been away, maybe in a meeting in Gangnam or at one of the company’s satellite branches but by the third day, anxiety crept in. You approached Jay’s office hesitantly. He was the other CEO. Another vampire but different: less cynical, calmer, his amber eyes carrying a rare flicker of compassion for someone centuries old.

“Um… Jay?” He looked up from his tablet. “Yes?” he asked, curiosity in his gaze.

“Can I… ask about Sunghoon? He hasn’t been around.” Jay stared at you, hesitating for a moment, as if unsure whether to speak. “He’s… resting. He hasn’t been well.” The moment he said it, your heart skipped Sunghoon, unwell?

“What do you mean not well? He’s a vampire, he shouldn’t…” Jay sighed. “He was attacked. At night. Nothing fatal, but…” He looked down, searching for the right words.

“He’s having trouble feeding.”

“He can’t drink blood?” you asked, stunned. Jay nodded slowly. “Not… from blood bags. He says it tastes… flat. He rejects it.” A pause. Then: “It’s better if I don’t tell you more.” But you didn’t let it go.

“Jay, please. I need to know. Is it my fault?” Jay stared at you, his eyes shimmering faintly.

“No. But maybe… you’re the reason.” Silence fell. Then he added softly: “When a vampire tastes something rare, something they desire… everything else becomes poison.” Your blood ran cold, and you left his office and immediately searched online and the results were mixed but some sources were clear:

“When a vampire drinks blood that’s compatible with their lineage, often from a kindred soul, a dependency may form. Emotional and physical. In rare cases, it manifests as a deep sexual, mental, and spiritual bond. Sex with a bonded vampire is described as… consuming. It gets into your bones, your mind, and carves into your soul.”

You kept scrolling, curiosity growing. “The human may choose: become a vampire, or live and die alongside the vampire. The bond remains even beyond death.”

But that wasn’t what you were looking for, you just wanted to know how he was and so, raised in a loving human family, you did the only thing that felt right.

You cooked, no gourmet dishes, no blood. Just heart. When you finally arrived at his apartment, night had fully settled in. Above you, the moon hung like a white eye, silently watching. In your hands: a bag of warm containers, a blanket… and a foolish little hope.

You inhaled deeply and dark thoughts crowded your mind:

What if he opens the door and loses control?

What if he doesn’t open it at all?

What if he still wants me—but only as food?

Then you knocked once, twice. The silence lasted too long. Then you heard footsteps, slow and heavy like he was dragging himself forward. The door opened. And there he was��not the Sunghoon you saw every day in a suit and tie, always polished, always with a blood bag in hand. No. He was pale, disheveled, dark circles under his eyes deeper than ever and those eyes, God, those eyes burned into you. "You…" he murmured. His gaze flicked to the bag in your hand, then to you, then to your throat. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice sharp, accusing, and you cursed Jay for telling you he was sick telling you he couldn’t feed properly from the blood sent by the Blood Bank. "I brought… something. Warm food. No blood, I swear." You tried to smile. "Just… something I made. With my hands." He didn’t move. The door didn’t open any wider. "You should leave," he said cynically, already trying to close the door, trying not to breathe in the scent of your skin calling to him like a drug. "Sunghoon…" you said softly. "You don’t get it, do you?" he growled. "Having you this close… it’s dangerous. For both of us. The smell of your blood…it's nauseating. It's all I want. And I’m not in the mood for human food unless that food is you." You shivered but didn’t step back.

Slowly, you brushed your hair aside, baring your neck to Sunghoon’s eyes, it looked like an invitation to sin and it was. His gaze shifted. His fangs elongated. His nostrils flared. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in reality. “Damn it…” he hissed. “Don’t act like a reckless girl. Don’t play with monsters, you might get hurt, and there won’t be a way out.” You pushed him gently. He didn’t move at first. But then, he gave in and let you step inside. His apartment was cold, gray, frozen in time. You looked around. “Wow… a vampire’s place. Obsessed with work and shadows. Just missing the coffin in the living room.”

He stayed silent an oversized gray hoodie covered his broad shoulders, and his sweatpants looked strangely out of place on him yet made him seem more human, more real. As you wandered through the living room, your eyes landed on a photo under the TV, facedown and cracked at the corner of the glass. You picked it up carefully, your hands trembling it was him. With a girl. They were in each other’s arms. The photo looked like it came from another time. She was beautiful, with long fair hair and, an ethereal face. And from the way he looked at her… he had loved her. Maybe he still did. You felt him behind you cold breath, fingers brushing the edge of the frame. “If you don’t want the food… throw it away. Maybe I should just go,” you muttered, trying to leave, but a tear escaped. He caught your wrist and in a second, turned you to face him. You crashed into his cold chest, frozen between his arms like a refuge. He cupped your face, brushing your flushed cheeks.

“You’re a stubborn fool.”

“I…” you stammered. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, seeing how his anger had faded into something much sadder.

“It was my fault…” he whispered. “She… she died because of me.” He held you tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear like she had. “How?” you asked, voice cracking.

“She loved a human and to protect him, she sacrificed herself and I… I was too weak to stop her. She was older than me stronger, more prepared. I loved her in silence for decades, but she… she fell in love with a human. A pathetic man who couldn’t protect her, who couldn’t be with her forever. One she wanted to save… from me but she didn’t realize it wasn’t me she needed to protect him from.

More than a hundred years ago, no human could be with a vampire—not really. Hybrid love didn’t exist.” His voice grew rougher.

“I let her go. I thought that was love. I thought if I gave her space, she’d realize the only one who could love her completely—the only one like her was me but when the hunters found them… she chose to die for him. To die without fighting as if I was the monster, and he the innocent.” He swallowed hard. “I was too far. Too late. When I found them… they were dying. In each other’s arms.”

Something cracked inside you, not just for the tragedy, but for how he bore it like he was the only one to blame for all the horror in the world.

“Sunghoon…” You lifted a hand to his cheek. His skin was cold, but he didn’t flinch. You felt how broken he was and how much it had hurt to lose her to a human who hadn’t deserved her.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He closed his eyes and leaned into your warm touch.

“You’re not a monster. You’re just someone who loved too much… and lost.” Slowly, heart pounding, you rose on your toes and kissed him. At first, it was soft barely more than a brush of lips. Then a breath, it was like something shattered inside him, his arms crushed you to him not to hurt, but to claim and his mouth devoured yours with hunger no longer just emotional.

His tongue sought yours, his fangs grazed your skin he kissed you like he wanted to tear away every part of you that was still human…and yet he held you like you were the most alive thing he’d ever touched.

"You're so warm..." he murmured against your lips. "You burn me." And then he collapsed letting himself fall back onto the couch with a sharp breath. It looked almost like a bed, wide and grey, built for sleepless nights. You followed him silently, straddling his lap.

His chest rose in erratic bursts he hadn’t fed since biting you. His eyes devoured you, and even though your body trembled slightly, you didn’t back away.

You kept kissing. Your hands tangled in his hair, he clutched your waist, and as you moved slightly against him, you felt him hard beneath you ready, restrained by a discipline that was about to snap. "You deserve another chance," you whispered against his ear, kissing the lobe gently. "You deserve to be loved again."

He growled softly. "No. I don’t."

"Yes, you do. You deserve a bit of light too… in this whole world of shadows." Something in him broke. He held you tighter and pulled you even closer until you felt melded to him. His eyes flared, glowing more intensely.

"Little human..." he murmured, voice low and grim, "don’t say things like that unless you’re ready to pay the price."

"What price?" you asked, not looking away.

"My darkness, the part that doesn’t forgive, that takes, that never lets go. The part that wants to make you mine. Forever." You rocked your hips again, the contact making you both shudder. He gripped you harder, whispering, voice hoarse and rough as the night outside:

"If you keep grinding like that on me… I swear, I’ll make you forget every human thought you’ve ever had." His cold hands slid under your oversized hoodie the one you’d grabbed from home, maybe hoping it would shield you, maybe not.

His fingers brushed your skin. The touch was electric. He leaned down, breath grazing your neck.

"This neck…" he rasped, "is an invitation to sin." Before you could respond, his fangs brushed your skin. He didn’t bite, no, the torture was in the restraint. In holding back the urge to claim and consume you.

"You’re mine. You know that, right?" he finally said.

"Even if you don’t want it. Even if you’re scared. I… will never let you go." You bit your lip as you looked at him—his chest rising under the dark hoodie. Your eyes dropped to the skin beneath, and you leaned in gently, tenderly, with a softness you knew would crack something inside him.

"Can I… kiss where they hurt you?" you whispered. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, gaze shadowed but amused.

"Didn’t take you for a war-scar collector," he said dryly. "I knew you had a Florence Nightingale kink, but this? New level."

You didn’t answer his jab. Your hands slipped under his hoodie slowly. His skin was cold and smooth. Beneath your fingertips, a subtle shiver. His body reacted barely but enough.

The contrast between your warmth and his chill made it impossible not to feel. "Are you… trembling?" you whispered, with a hint of a smile.

He said nothing but his eyes had darkened. He hated feeling vulnerable especially because of a foolish little human who had carved her way under his skin.

You lifted his hoodie gently when the light hit his torso, you gasped. The scars were there some thin, others deeper, old cracks on porcelain. They didn’t mar him. They made him ancient. Beautiful. You bit your lip at the sight of him.

"You’re… beautiful," you whispered, tracing a scar across his ribs. "Don’t say bullshit," he muttered. The words came out sharp and bitter. "You’re just a sweet little girl turned on by monsters. A little sadist, a little naïve. Don’t throw romantic crap at me."

You rolled your eyes and huffed. "Oh God, not this again. Don’t tell me you're still playing the asshole CEO in here too. Pretty sure you left the tie at the office."

You looked around. "In here… people breathe. Or in your case don’t die. I’m alive. I feel something for you and I hate it when you act like a jerk."

For the first time, a laugh slipped from his lips. Low, hoarse. “You’re insolent.” “I’m honest.” You smiled at him faintly, then leaned down slowly and started kissing him. Your lips touched the first mole under his eye, then the one on his cheek, then more. Small, dark, scattered like a constellation in a winter sky. “I love them…” you murmured, moving down to his jawline, his chin, his neck. You kissed him, sucked gently, feeling his cold skin warm under your mouth. He stayed still, but the tension grew beneath you like a rope tightening, ready to snap—and his hand grabbed you under your ass, pulling you close with force, making you feel how hard he already was beneath your soft sweatpants. “You can’t compete with me at giving hickeys,” he hissed in your ear, his voice thick with desire. You looked up, a half-smirk playing on your lips. “You’re wrong, I’ve already beaten you, and other guys have left marks on me—but gold hasn’t sunk their canines into my pale skin,” you said, giggling, and his face changed. A shadow of raw jealousy flickered through his body, and for the first time he was caught off guard: “W-What the fuck are you saying? I… I don’t even want to think someone touched you before me.” You smiled, continuing to suck on the skin at the base of his collarbone, leaving a dark red mark. “Uh-oh, Park Sunghoon is jealous? Of who, a girl, and a human one at that!”

He literally growled, and his hand under your ass pulled you even lower, pressing you against his now-hard cock, throbbing beneath his sweatpants. You rocked slowly, feeling his desire grow beneath you like a wave ready to crash over you. “Christ, you’re… damn hot.” His hands trembled as he held you still. “Fucking human girl, what are you doing to me…” he hissed against your throat. “I swear, if you keep going like this, I’ll fuck you until you don’t even know your own name anymore.” Your hair brushed against his skin as you leaned lower and Sunghoon felt a faint tickle, almost imperceptible but enough to make his fingers twitch against the couch. Your kisses followed an invisible line on his body: from his neck, to his chest, to his belly, where his abs tightened beneath your lips as if they were made of living stone. You reached the edge of his V-line, just above the waistband of his sweatpants, and stopped there, looking at him with a sly smile.

“So who are you training for, huh? If you spend your time playing cold, cynical vampire with everyone… including yourself?” He let out a half-snort, raising an eyebrow. “I train to stay strong enough not to break the idiots who decide to mess with someone they shouldn’t.” “Ooh, touché.” You giggled, then bent down again. Your mouth began exploring the pale skin below his navel, where thin dark hairs formed a line disappearing under his pants. You sucked gently on that spot beneath his belly where you saw him tremble and moan softly, and he growled, his stomach contracting under your touch.

“Careful, little one…” he muttered, his voice thick and rough. “You’re playing in a field you don’t know how to dominate.” But you ignored him, slowly and provocatively untying the sweatpants’ drawstrings with your fingers, then confidently pulling them down just a bit. He propped himself up on his forearms, watching you with red eyes full of held-back desire, and when you saw his black boxers, the clear shape beneath the fabric leaving nothing to the imagination, you climbed on top of him slowly, letting yourself fall onto his hips. You started rocking gently, rubbing against him, feeling every reaction, every shiver running through his body. “Look how hard you are for your little human intern…” you whispered in his ear, nibbling his earlobe. Sunghoon half-closed his eyes and growled, but there was something in his breath, the way he swallowed... “Christ… you’re such a little… tease, you know how easily I could break you...” He stammered, and it was rare to see him like this—it made him even more beautiful, more desirable, more yours. With a smooth motion, you took off your sweatshirt, and he liked how comfortable you felt with him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts struggling to escape your lace bra.

“Last chance, little one.” He spat the words out between his teeth, harsh, broken by a thread of wild desire. “You can still stop, after this… I won’t be responsible for myself.” You looked him in the eyes, without hesitation, and said, “I don’t want to stop, and neither do you from what I see.” You smiled at him, then slowly slid your hand under the waistband of his boxers, and when your fingers met his skin, he moaned. Not a fake, controlled sound, but a real moan low, strangled, animalistic. “You’re just a… damn insolent girl…” he whispered, almost angrily, grabbing you with both hands under your ass to force you to grind harder against him. “A sadist who gets herself into trouble, who wants to get into my fucking trouble…” but his body said otherwise he wanted it, he wanted you. His cock was perfectly shaped, the glans swollen, wet, slightly reddish, veins pulsing along the base with strength, and a pearly drop of desire gleamed at the tip like a forbidden invitation.

You, surprised, muttered something under your breath, a small “oh God, it’s big…” that slipped out without meaning to, and Sunghoon tensed. “Don’t do that,” he hissed. “Don’t bite your lip in front of me and don’t stammer like you’re shocked, you wanted this, you asked for this situation.” He looked you up and down, his chest rising and falling slowly. “Christ…” he whispered, then grinned through clenched teeth. “You just murmured how… big it is? Are you trying to kill me?” You didn’t answer; your hands, trembling but warm, closed around him with an almost reverent gentleness, and your skin against his was a complete contrast: life against death, warmth against ice, love against the desire to possess you. “You… are… damn… dangerous…” he stammered, almost with hatred, but not toward you, toward himself. “With that smallmouth and warm hands… you’re the most human thing I’ve touched in centuries, and I can’t…” His words stumbled and you looked at him, surprised. Sunghoon never stammered, he wasn’t human enough to do that—but there, under your hands, he was naked and weak because of you. You leaned down slowly, brushing his cold skin with your nose, down to his lower belly, and began to gently stroke his throbbing cock, and you heard Sunghoon say to you: “Don’t think you can do this… without consequences, I don’t want just pleasure, little one…” he whispered with a strangled voice.

“I want all of you, and if you let me in, you won’t come out anymore.” You started to tease him with your tongue, slow, careful, like you were exploring, and every little kiss you left on his tight, stretched skin was a challenge, a silent declaration: I’m not just the intern who brings you reports in the morning. Sunghoon barely gasped, almost imperceptibly, but he did as you started giving him small kisses and even little licks around the tip, and you raised your head to study his face his eyes were already watching you with primal hunger. “Do you like it?” you asked in a faint voice, barely daring. He wet his lips with his tongue, pupils black and dilated. “Keep going.” His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I want to see how… talented a little intern playing at driving an ancient vampire crazy can be.” That tone hit you right in the chest slightly mocking, but full of challenge and for that, you didn’t back down. You opened your mouth wider, your hands trembling but holding him firmly as you started exploring him more boldly. Your tongue traced every vein, every curve, and with every broken moan that slipped from his lips, you felt more confident, stronger. You began licking and sucking him more fiercely, one hand around his base and the other steady on his thigh as you balanced yourself—and then you felt him move.

He lifted slightly, muscles tense, and began slowly thrusting his hips, making space between your lips with deeper pressure. You coughed softly, eyes watering slightly as you tried not to lose control while he pushed his shaft deeper and deeper into your little mouth you were truly beautiful with your lips covered in him and the tears slowly falling down your face, and a growl vibrated in his throat as he grabbed your hair. “Don’t forget who’s in charge, human.” His voice grew rougher, and he stammered something you couldn’t understand, and you realized he was fighting himself. It wasn’t just desire; it was hunger, frustration, the damn fear of letting go completely but his body was already lost. And when he saw you cry a silent tear rolling down your cheek as you tried not to let go he broke into a cruel half-smile.

“Look how you finally shut up…” he murmured, almost pleased. “Maybe I should do this more often.” You tried to retort, with a sharp look, but then you felt his finger, cold and icy like snow, brush along the edge of your panties. A touch so subtle yet so loaded that your entire body shuddered and made you squeeze your thighs tighter and he chuckled, and this time he stammered: “H-Holy hell… you’re… soaking wet and you’re… sucking me… like you’re trying to make me lose fucking control.” The tone was a mix of hatred and desire. Hatred toward himself, toward that weakness only you made him feel, and his hand gripped your hair tighter not to hurt you, but to anchor you to him. “You’re a stubborn… insolent, human girl… and you’re playing with something you can’t even understand. Use that mouth properly. Make me feel good… for once.” Your tongue brushed the tip of his member, gathering a drop of pre-cum that tasted like iron and desire. He moaned softly, bringing a hand through your hair to guide you harder, and you started moving first slowly, then letting yourself go to the rising rhythm of his thrusts. Each plunge grew more determined, and deeper, and your breath grew ragged, but you didn’t stop. “Shit… I’m gonna come,” he growled, voice broken, almost incredulous. “Take it all, every fucking drop.” You nodded with watery eyes, cheeks wet with tears and saliva, and when you felt him tremble, with a guttural growl he filled your mouth. The taste was strong and salty, and you swallowed without protest, moaning yourself, and when he pulled back, shiny strands dripped onto your lips. “Look at you…” he chuckled softly, voice low and rough like coarse velvet. “You’re a work of art, with my excitement on you.”

You squeezed your thighs, a shiver ran down your spine, and he wiped your face with a damp handkerchief and then pulled you onto his legs as if you were as light as air. His lips rested on your neck, his canines brushed your skin without piercing it, and you trembled because your body wanted only him. “I want you,” you whispered in a thin voice, your hands on his broad shoulders. “I want you inside me.” He stopped a crooked smile on his lips. “Be careful what you ask for, girl, I might give you more than you can handle.” You rocked gently on him, feeling his member grow again beneath you. “Please…” you murmured, your voice broken by need. “So desperate?” he laughed. “Show me how much you need me, take off your panties, and show me how ready you are.”

You lowered them slowly, blushing, and he grabbed them and threw them away while chuckling at the sight of your arousal showing through your panties, then whispered to you. “Is it you who wants me so badly? Then ride me. Show me you’re not just a curious girl but a woman who can take even a centuries-old vampire like me.” You blushed, but you wanted him too much to resist. “I’m not a girl,” you warned him, climbing on top of him. “And you’re not untouchable.” “No,” he whispered as he brushed your intimate lips with the tip of his sex. “But you, little human, are dangerously mine and you don’t even realize it.” You lifted yourself slightly, your hands firmly on his broad shoulders, and his gaze was glued to your body, attentive, feverish, and in a moment you slid down slowly until you felt him fully enter you. A broken scream escaped you, held halfway between pleasure and vertigo as you felt his cock slide inside your poor pussy that held him tight and you felt full, invaded, crossed by him, and your hips trembled against his.

“Mine…” he stammered, his voice hoarse and his hands gripping your hips with growing force. “Fuck, you’re so tight… so warm…” You gasped, clinging to him. “It’s so big…” you stammered, your voice choked by pleasure. He laughed. “You are a girl, you know? … and already so desperate to feel me inside.” “Don’t call me that…” you moaned, but your protests dissolved when he moved slightly inside you and a shiver ran down your spine. “Oh no? Then prove it,” he teased you. “Show me how well you can ride a monster, little human.” You raised yourself slowly, then lowered again and began to ride him with uncertain but fiery movements, and his eyes never left yours, red as freshly spilled blood, and every moan of yours seemed to ignite him even more. “And you?” you gasped. “Do something too… I don’t want to do it all alone.” “You’re demanding for being just my intern,” he hissed with a grin but then lifted himself, almost sitting up, his arms around your back, and you screamed in surprise as he pinned you against him and you felt his cock pushing into you and felt it all the way to your stomach and he took control of the rhythm, thrusting into you with growing force and you screamed, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin from overstimulation. “Do you feel how mine you are?” he growled in your ear. “Do you feel how deeply I’m taking you?”

Your body against his, him inside you, deeper and deeper, your folds tightening around him with almost desperate spasms, hot, alive, so different from anything he’d known in centuries of death. “So tight…” he gasped against your neck, his voice broken, ruined by hunger. “So human…” His thrusts became more dry, more fierce, and you couldn’t control your voice anymore: you moaned, and stammered his name like an invocation, as if he was dragging you into an abyss of pleasure with no escape. His hands moved on your hips, then your neck, then on the marks you still bore from that night he saved you. “Can I bite you?” he asked, his voice strangely sweet, trembling. “Yes,” you whispered. “I can’t resist you anymore, make me yours, Hoon.” “Where do you want me to bite you?” he asked, his canines brushing your skin. You closed your eyes, your heart racing wildly. “Wherever you want.” And he did it, sinking his teeth into your skin while holding you tight against him, while you bounced harder and harder, more and more desperate, until reality and desire merged into a single, infinite explosion.

His canines sank into your skin and a shiver ran through you as the pain mingled with a pleasure that brushed on ecstasy. He sucked slowly, with restrained greed, as if tasting your blood was holier than sex itself. “Damn you…” he growled between sips. “You’re my favorite drug… and my curse at the same time.” You screamed from both pleasure and pain and your body trembled, every fiber taut on the edge. “I want to come… please… let me…” He pulled away slowly, his mouth red with your blood, and his tongue slowly traced your lips, gathering the last drops as he soothed the wound, then grabbed your nape and kissed you. A full, hungry kiss, and you tasted your blood sliding from his mouth to yours, it was sweet, it was metallic, it was ours and you didn’t realize that from that moment on you were completely his and at his mercy.

“My favorite girl…” he murmured in a low tone, merciless but full of adoration. “So good at making me lose control…” A hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your center with cruel precision, and with his thumb, he teased and tormented your swollen clitoris and you moaned shamelessly. “Come for me,” he ordered, “now, show me what happens to a human when a vampire takes her beyond every limit.” “And you?” you gasped, in a thin voice. “You want to… I want you to fill me…” His eyes shone a darker red. “You don’t know what you’re asking for…” he growled. “If I fill you… if I mark you… you’ll be mine forever.” His hips moved with a rhythmic, brutal force and the wet, dirty sound of his thrusts burying themselves inside you filled the living room, punctuated by your broken moans and his curses clenched between his teeth. Every thrust took your breath away, every deeper plunge made you squeeze your thighs around his hips as if you could cling to something. “Look at how you take me, little one…” he growled against your ear, sinking his teeth into your lobe. “Your body is sucking me in like it never wants to let me go, and maybe it was made for me for this…” It hurt, but it was the kind of pain you wanted, the one you sought, and your eyes rolled back as you felt that knot low in your belly tightening more and more, ready to burst. Your body trembled, wet, hands on his shoulder blades, fingers digging into his smooth, cold skin.

“S-Sunghoon, I…” you gasped, your voice broken by a high moan. “I’m about to… I’m about to come…” He didn’t slow down in fact, he kissed your neck, right where he had bitten you a few minutes earlier, the mark still fresh and sensitive, and his warm breath on your skin clashed with the chill of his body. You shivered and then exploded: a fierce orgasm tore through you from within, a wave of raw pleasure that made you cry and moan against his chest; and you screamed from pleasure as you felt your excitement drip from your folds, soaking his cock and making a messy mix of excitations between yours and his, who was about to come but wasn’t done with you yet. You felt your walls clamp spasmodically around his cock as you trembled, helpless, exhausted, your body still shaken by small spasms. “So good…” he hissed, his voice deep and hoarse. “You came all around my cock, like a good little grateful whore.” You blushed, but couldn’t help moaning again the way he spoke to you made you feel dirty, used… and alive; you let yourself go against him, your voice thick: “I-I'm tired… I can’t take it anymore…” Sunghoon laughed softly, that cold and perverse laugh that made you tremble every time. He took your chin between his fingers and lifted your gaze to his.

«You’re tired? Baby… I’m just getting started.» With two slow, deep thrusts, you suddenly felt yourself filled and his cock swelled inside you, then he came with a snap of his hips and a low, animalistic growl. His seed invaded you, warm, making you gasp from the overwhelming fullness. “Shit…” he cursed, holding you close. “Look what you make me do, it’s amazing to be inside this wet, sweet pussy, you’re fucking perfect for me.” He stayed inside you, his body tense, his breath still, and you could still feel him throbbing, and you… you couldn’t even move. You just stayed there, legs trembling, your head against his chest, and the contrast between his cold skin and the warmth he left inside you gave you chills. Then he moved, lifting you slightly to pull out, and a thick, whitish strand began to drip down between your thighs. “Look how you drip for me,” he murmured, pleased, with a wicked half-smile. “You took it all, huh? To the last drop… good girl, my little girl.” You stammered something, confused, your cheeks flushed and your legs still weak. “S-Sung… you came… so much… inside me…” He laid you down on the couch that felt more like a bed, caressed your thigh, and bent to kiss your sweaty head. “Now close your eyes, I’ll protect you, no one will hurt you as long as you’re mine.”

He seemed sincere and sweet but something in his eyes said otherwise. It was the way he looked at you… like you were food, like with every kiss he held back the urge to sink his teeth in and claim you forever… because he was a vampire, a monster who had already lost once but would never lose anyone again in his life, especially you, and he was selfish, dangerous and now… he wanted only you. Your body, your blood, he wanted all of you to the last drop.

That morning, the first movement was a hesitant attempt by your legs, but a weight held you anchored to the bed not oppressive, actually reassuring, warm and cold at the same time, like a blanket made of flesh and ancient blood. You slowly opened your eyes, stretching just a little under the black silk sheets that caressed your bare skin. You wore only a shirt that wasn’t yours, and Sunghoon’s scent wrapped around you.

A thin beam of light filtered through the half-closed curtains, touching the dark room like a timid caress. When you turned, you found him there, lying face down, his head turned toward you, his eyes calm and eternal as they stared at you. One of his arms rested over your stomach, his bicep tense as if holding you with almost involuntary energy, like he feared you might slip away from him… just like maybe it had happened before, with someone else. “Finally…” he whispered with a crooked smile. “I knew you humans loved to sleep, but not this much.” You tried to get up, but a moan slipped from your lips. Your legs hurt, tense and sore, and the spot where his fangs had bitten you throbbed deeply, almost sensually, like someone had pierced you with tiny stings, causing a slight pain. You looked at him and blushed; his gaze softened, and he lifted you carefully back among the pillows without a word. He watched you seriously as if searching for a sign of your pain or discomfort, but what he found was much more disarming. “Are you okay?” His voice was rough, and controlled, but more… human, as if he feared he had crossed too many lines with you last night. “Yes… I’m fine, but someone was thirsty last night if I recall correctly…” you replied with a tired but amused tone. “Of course, I’m a bit weak, Sunghoon.” He lowered his gaze, a guilty but pleased smile touching his lips. “You offered yourself, and I only accepted. Remember this: if you’re not sure, never offer your neck to a vampire, especially one like me, little girl.” Then, in a softer tone: “But I don’t want you to feel bad, even if sometimes… I forget what limits mean.” You smiled softly, your voice sincere and trembling. “I don’t know how to explain it… but with you, I feel… safe, even if you’re a fucking vampire.”

Something changed on his face, a micro-movement, almost invisible, and the mask of the cold, impenetrable CEO cracked just a little. His eyes darkened, became more real, and something strange he hadn’t felt for centuries perhaps only when he was still human, stirred inside him. Then he leaned over you and his fingers brushed your cheek. He kissed you gently a slow, long kiss that made you forget the strength in your legs and the cold of the sheet. The world went dark for a moment. There was only you and him, his taste, his tongue, his mouth that sucked your soul. But then, without warning, you felt the teeth. It wasn’t violent like before, nor aggressive. He sank his fangs slowly into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder, and the pain was minimal like an electric shock followed by a rush of heat and a strange, guilty pleasure crossed you. You moaned softly as you clung to his shoulders, your body tense while he sucked slowly as if savoring every drop. You felt yourself burning inside, but you didn’t want him to stop, and when he pulled away, leaving the red, shiny mark of his mouth on your skin, you looked at him with an expression that mixed with indignation and desire. “You did the teeth thing again…” you muttered, poking him with a finger on his chest. He laughed, that damn perfect smile playing on his lips. “You tempt me, little one. You’re a constant invitation to sin.” He said, pulling you close to him. “You know you could at least ask before sucking me?” you whispered. “You know you could at least pretend you don’t enjoy it so much?” he retorted, leaning down to brush your lips with a kiss, then stopped, his gaze serious and deeper.

“I… didn’t want to. But now it’s too late.” “Too late for what?” you asked while caressing his face. “To stop, to let you go, to not want you every night, every hour, beneath me, in my hands, between my teeth…” He stroked your neck where the blood still pulsed. “I want to mark you, make you mine, bind you, change you, maybe…” he said but couldn’t look you in the eyes because he knew what he wanted was too much for you. You chuckled, almost to break the too-heavy tension, a timid, real sound, so yours that even Sunghoon seemed suspended for a moment in time. “You know… it’s crazy. You spent months treating me with that asshole superior tone, those cold jokes, those looks like I was just an annoying intern…”

Sunghoon’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, then he looked at you, and for a moment, in his features, you saw the boy who was before the CEO, before the vampire. Maybe, just maybe, it was an illusion you wanted to cling to. “I don’t even know how it happened,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “That a heartless bastard like me found himself tied to a stubborn, sweet… and so irritating little girl.” You smiled and moved closer, gently stroking the small, irregular, almost hidden moles on his face. You did it often; you knew it annoyed him to be touched there, but this time he didn’t pull away. “I don’t want to transform, Sunghoon. Not yet,” you whispered, your voice fragile but firm. “I understand you’re afraid of losing someone again. I know she broke you, but I… I’m only twenty-two. I want to live, I want to laugh, do stupid things, go dancing, I want to stay human even being with you for a while, and then, in time, we’ll see how things go between us.” He looked at you skeptically and silence filled the bedroom, then almost whispered to himself: “You’re not like her, you won’t die like her, I won’t allow it.” But his tone, his gaze… wasn’t a promise, it was a threat to fate itself, as if he swore war on time, death, on you—and you didn’t understand.

You curled up against him, your face on his cold chest that now felt almost warm, and he held you, a hand tangled in your damp hair. “I’ll do anything for you,” he said. “I swear, I’ll protect you from everything.” Except himself, he thought, because deep in his immortal heart, while holding you so tenderly, a rotten thought grew, pulsed, and took root. “I love you, little girl,” he said as he held you close, but what he meant was that every time he sucked from you… every time his fangs broke your skin… he left something inside you. A slow, invisible, sublime poison and he would never ask your permission to become one with you. He wouldn’t respect your twenty-two years or your dreams of a normal girl. No. He would take you, one sip at a time, one bite after another until he extinguished every human beat inside you—and no one would stop him, and you would never know when the change began. “I love you,” you whispered, and he… kissed your forehead.

💌 vampire taglist: @azzy02 @iluvblackk @skzdelf @hollxe1 @averiesimss @heewenos @bllcksa @yollohblbl @niniissus @hoonprksung @wiccangirl29 @kkamismom12. @bbvalentina @bllcksa @yollohblbl @st4rg1rlies @rosepetals09 @tunafishyfishylike @kkamismom12 @11thenightwemet11 @kryllea @hollxe1 @seungsoftly @yollohblbl @donttellmymomlol20 @soobundle1009 @bvbblyjasmine @jjongmi @lassiie @laurradoesloveu

Rebblog and comments are appreciated

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heeseungshim · 13 days ago

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[ ⟡ ] — NSFW audio !! :: sim jaeyun,,

—,' 2:22,,

─────

✦ :: imagine,, giving jake head so good he needs more of you !

!! — wear headphones,,

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heeseungshim · 23 days ago

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Okay but nipple play with heejake that goes on for a longgg time cause they’re obsessed lol

heejake as in both at the same time???? as in each of them sucking on one of your nipples????????? as in this is my fucking dream???????

just laying there with jake and heeseung laying on either side of you on the bed, both of them with one of your nipples in their mouths.

jake is so messy with it, licking and nibbling and drooling on you, while heeseung sucks it firm and bites it harshly on occasion, leaving you an overstimulated mess.

you can’t stop moaning, jutting your hips up into the air in desperation. you need to be touched so unbelievably bad. you can feel how wet you are, it’s uncomfortable.

finally, jake is the one who slides his cool hand down your bare stomach, finally landing at your pussy. he graciously rubs your clit and you nearly cum on the spot from how pent up you were, from how badly you needed to be touched.

he massages your clit, to which heeseung takes notice and wants to partake too. he trails his hand down to your pussy and inserts his middle finger inside.

you gasp out in pleasure, slapping a hand over your mouth to cover your moans. heeseung, with his free hand, rips your hand away from your mouth and sits up, face level with you.

“let it out,” he encourages. “we wanna hear your pretty moans.”

so, you do. you look down and jake is still contentedly swirling his tongue around your nipple and rubbing your pussy. you notice how hard he is, how he’s slightly humping his cock against your leg, just as desperate as you for touch.

he slides his finger down from your clit and slides it in alongside heeseung’s, both of their fingers now inside you and fucking you.

“oh my god!” you moan, eyes rolling back into your head. “it feels so fucking good, oh my god.”

jake moans around your nipple. heeseung attaches his lips to yours, swallowing all your desperate noises.

you can’t even warn them when you cum, but they sense it. they feel you squeezing around their fingers before you finally let go, cumming harder than you ever have before.

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heeseungshim · 24 days ago

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Please (c.sc)

PAIRING: Alpha!Seungcheol x Omega! f.reader

SUMMARY: A heatwave in your city makes dealing with your hormones more difficult than usual. Getting locked in a lobby at work for an hour with an alpha makes it ten times worse. Thankfully, Seungcheol is there to help you - and maybe a little more.

WC: 18,512

AU: Omegaverse, Coworkers to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, A bit of Fluff, the barest hint of angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

TEASER WARNINGS: Mix of traditional and nontraditional Omegaverse dynamics in terms of heat cycles, social statuses, and body chemistry but this fic doesn’t really dip into it very heavily - including no knotting or any of the traditional lore. There are brief mentions of social discourse and discrimination across all three subgenders. Reader has some internal back and forth and moments of feeling embarrassed and frustrated with her body and hormonal fluctuations. Some internal stresses/anxieties on reader’s part about what comes after with Seungcheol. Seungcheol is a touch possessive in parts. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content including very gratutious smut, oral (f. and m. receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, a lot of spit/slick/fluids mentions, nipple play, vaginal fingering, lots of praise (use of good/good girl/baby often), not explicit dom/sub dynamics but more alpha/omega dynamics, no use of a condom as in - I just never wrote one in and they never talk about it tbh I just forgot lol - reader experiences some highs and lows through her heat emotionally… I think that’s mostly it. Please tell me if I forgot anything.

A/N: I don’t know how I ended up writing so much of this, but here we are. Reader’s struggles as an omega are inspired directly by my struggles with PCOS, especially living in a very hot climate and constantly having fluctuating hormones and just having to exist!!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it.

A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta reading this - I love u thank u hehe.

MASTERLIST | ASK | NOW PLAYING: BAMBI BY BAEKHYUN

SWEAT TRICKLES DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR NECK AND THIGHS. Irritated, you wipe at the back of your neck for what feels like the hundredth time before pulling at the collar of your shirt, fanning it in hopes of cooling the rest of your body off. It’s unseasonably hot, a heat wave sweeping through the city and turning your office cubicle into a toaster oven.

The small fan on your desk whirs pitifully, barely offering any sort of respite. Adjusting in your seat does nothing but remind you how uncomfortable you are, the scratchy grain of the chair digging into the back of your sweating thighs, the underwire of your bra digging into your ribs, the heat rash forming where your underwear digs into the creases of your hips.

Unbearable.

A message pings on your computer and you open it, growling in irritation as you see a message from Wonwoo in the cubicle behind you.

Jeon Wonwoo: Ever heard of suppressants, diva?

You: IT’S FUCKING HOT IN HERE

You: Tell this company to BUY SOME FUCKING AIRCONDITIONERS

Jeon Wonwoo: Irritable… sweaty… irrational…

You grab the nearest pen and whip around in your chair, launching it at the back of his head. It hits with a satisfying thwack. He flinches, cursing as his hand flies up to rub the spot where you nailed him. Wonwoo turns in his seat, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder.

You meet his glare with a stuck-out tongue and a very deliberate middle finger before turning back to your screen, face flushed, partially from the heat, partially from embarrassment.

He doesn’t get it. You know he’s just teasing, but it still stings. That old, familiar insecurity curls in your gut at his jest, no matter its innocence. Being an omega is hard enough. You’ve spent years unlearning shame, of trying to accept this part of yourself you never asked for. And you’ve gotten pretty far with that.

But then something as simple as a heatwave hits, the rise in temperature turning your body traitorous, unable to accommodate for a little bit of humid air and heat.

Of course, Wonwoo doesn’t understand - can’t conceptualize the level of difficulty it is to maintain a baseline for you. Betas don’t have to deal with this kind of hormonal chaos. Sure, they’ve got their own issues - media erasure, medical neglect, in general being left out - but it’s not the same. Not when your body actively works against you, not when your biology fights you.

You sigh. There’s no point in going down the rabbit hole and comparing omegas and betas. You’ve traveled that road since your subgender presented itself in your freshman year of college. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s also an endless torture device.

Your thighs rub together uncomfortably when you get up. You swipe your water bottle, unscrewing the cap as you duck out of your cubicle, head down and steps fast. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo is attuned to your scent more than others, having been one of your closest friends and cubicle-neighbor for the better part of five years. But still, you’re nervous about it, hand snaking up to touch the translucent patch on the side of your neck, meant to dampen the smell from your glands.

No one pays you much mind. You breathe a sigh of relief to find the break room empty. You make a beeline to the water cooler in the corner, sliding the water bottle under it and pressing the tap. As it fills, the air conditioning kicks on, the vent right above you.

Cool air hits the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter, a shiver of relief slithering through you. For a moment, you lose yourself, letting the cool wick away the sticky sweat, the first time you’ve felt a little relief all day. A small sound escapes your mouth, half whimper and half plea.

Someone clears their throat and you flinch, losing your grip on the water bottle. It crashes to the ground, water splashing up your legs but more importantly, all over the floor. You squeak in panic, diving to pick it up in an attempt to stop the outflow of water.

Hands dripping, you pivot on your heel, scanning for paper towels only to find them being offered. You blink in surprise, body going rigid as you become acutely aware of who is offering them.

Choi Seungcheol watches you with quiet concern, dark eyes steady behind his glasses. He keeps a respectful distance, arms extended with a roll of paper towels, waiting for you to take them. But you don’t move. Your pulse pounds in your neck as your gaze drops from his face to his hands, large and patient.

He has pretty hands, you think absently, staring a beat too long.

For a moment, all you can hear is the roar of blood in your ears. Then, he steps forward without a word, crouching down to wipe the water pooling around your feet. You jerk, startled, a sharp sound of protest escaping you as you drop down and snatch more paper towels from his hands. Apologies tumble out, disjointed and breathless, your thoughts scattered.

He doesn’t back away. Instead, he methodically dabs at the wet tile while trying to avoid soaking himself in the process. His proximity is overwhelming, his spicy scent nearly knocking you over. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw, irritated. He’s not supposed to affect you like this - never has before.

Seungcheol is always mild. Unassuming. He’s worked here as long as you have, one of the few alphas on your floor, and one of the most reserved. He keeps to his office, always dimly lit, always quiet. He greets you politely. Never lingers.

It surprised you when you first met him. Seungcheol looks like the type of alpha who is the opposite of quiet and shy. There’s a gravitas to him that you haven’t quite figured out and a body made to ruin. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a voice deep enough to rattle through your spine even on your best days.

Yet somehow, he’s never once made a pass on a single omega at work.

Which, he shouldn’t. You respect that about him, which feels ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to be flattered by the bare minimum of respect, shouldn’t need to be surprised when an alpha is able to be normal. To treat you like a human being.

You mumble a quiet thanks, focusing on the mess. It’s the only thing tethering you right now. It shouldn’t feel this intense, but the goddamn heat is getting to you. It’s baking you from the inside out, turning your cube walls suffocating. It makes you tired. Irritable. Prone to throwing pens at Wonwoo’s head.

“Thanks,” you mutter when you stand. You toss the soggy paper towels into the bin, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry again.”

“No need to apologize. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Seungcheol stands slowly. You don’t move, watching the way he wipes his damp hands across his slacks. You hate that you notice how the fabric pulls over his thighs. As soon as you have the thought, you avert your eyes, looking anywhere but him, afraid that he’ll see the embarrassment or the way your body reacts without your permission.

“It’s been a long week,” Seungcheol offers, voice soft. “You alright? I know Jeonghan had you working on that insane report.”

You swallow past the dry patch in your throat. “All good. Just tired. It’ll probably keep me here forever, but what can you do?”

“Mhmm. Don’t forget it’s Friday - cleaning locks the office and will trap you inside.”

“Sounds like you’re intimately familiar.”

His smile is soft, cheeks flushed. “Cannot confirm or deny.”

“I see.” You gesture to the watery floor. “Thank you, again. And sorry for being a bit clumsy.”

“No problem.”

You slide away from him, hoping that he can’t tell that you’re leaning, trying to avoid catching his scent again. He doesn’t seem to notice - or has the decency not to make it obvious - and you slip away from the break room, all but running to your cube.

Inside your little haven, you rip open one of your drawers, grabbing a pheromone damp nasal spray. You all but shove it up your cranium, putting it as far up your nasal passage as you can manage before squeezing and shooting a blast of medical grade dampener up your nose, inhaling sharply.

It helps a little, settling your nerves and erasing the lingering scent of Seungcheol. You breathe out a sigh, calm and collected. Carefully and quickly, you peel the suppressant patch off your neck and swap it for a new one. It tingles when you apply it, the microneedles that embed into the skin to deliver suppressant a cool sensation at first.

When you settle, you feel much better. It isn’t until you turn to start knocking out the rest of your report that you realize you never refilled your water bottle after dropping it, making you lean back on your desk and groan.

Working for Yoon Jeonghan comes with its challenges. He's incredibly sharp and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bit forgetful and brings a touch of chaos wherever he goes. Jeonghan is the reason you’d started working at this company, though, admiring that there was an omega in charge, defying the long-standing social norms that omegas could not lead.

It’s a silly stereotype, but you’ve been fighting stereotypes your entire life, unlearning your own and reminding yourself that there are still inherent biases to unlearn.

Like right now, when you're mentally cursing Jeonghan for tossing a last-minute report your way, even though he had multiple reminders in his inbox and just forgot he'd opened them. You only blame him a little. Work’s been nonstop, keeping him up at all hours, and if there’s one thing that truly makes Jeonghan unbearable, it’s sleep deprivation.

Jeonghan doesn’t have an assistant, but you’re the closest thing to it, one of the few people in the office he trusts to get things done. So when he’s on vacation and starts spamming your email that he dropped the ball, it’s on you to cover for him, like he’s done for you in the past.

The consequence of competency, he’d told you over the phone, the sound of the ocean in the background. I’m sorry, I owe you, please don’t quit.

You weren’t going to quit. Despite your irritation, you like working for Jeonghan, and despite the unbearable heat burning in your cubicle, you like being able to focus on pulling and building reports, inputting data into a spreadsheet and setting pivot tables and charts.

It makes you forget about the world for a little bit, including the oppressive office air and the way that the building’s air conditioner barely keeps up with the raging temperatures outside. Makes you forget about the incident in the breakroom, and about everything else, including the passage of time.

Above you, the lights go out. You flinch, looking up in surprise. Rubbing your eyes, you blink until your computer screen comes back into focus, looking at the time. You groan. It’s past seven, far later than you meant to stay at work. But you’re done with the report, dragging the attachment to your email to fire it off to Jeonghan with a less than happy emoji pasted in the body of the email.

Exhaustion weighs you down when you stand. Your joints pop and everything feels hot and itchy again, all of your irritations flooding back to pester you now that you’re not locked in on your work. You flip off the fan, lamp and computer at your desk. Immediately without air circulation, your cube is sweltering, the dress sticking to you, fabric itchy and clinging to your skin.

A sudden wave of dizziness makes the room tilt around you. You steady yourself with deep, measured breaths, trying to stay grounded. A spike in temperature is normal. You can deal with it. It’s manageable. Sure, the heat triggers a surge of estriolase, the hormone that kicks in during Stage 1 of an omega’s heat cycle. And sure, it leaves you flushed, restless, skin prickling with irritation, and-

“You’re still here?”

You shriek, whirling around, heart hammering as your hand flies to your chest in terror. Seungcheol takes a cautious step back into the hallway, hands lifted in surrender, quiet concern etched into his features. For a moment, the air between you is thick with silence, broken only by your uneven breathing, still reeling from the rush of epinephrine and cortisol.

Being an omega means constantly walking a tightrope of hormones. One shift sets off another, like dominoes toppling. Fear bumps into instinct, instinct stirs something deeper, until your body is a storm of tangled biochemistry.

Now, your body is caught in a storm of fear, annoyance, embarrassment and interest, each one fighting for dominance. You swallow thickly and lean off your desk, ignoring the way your body flashes between hot and cold, fear and something else.

“Just finished Jeonghan’s report.”

“Ah.”

Something passes his face. It’s unreadable, but he’s focused. Your skin prickles under the heavy weight of his stare, watching as his mouth tightens at the corner.

“You heading out?”

“Yeah.”

A beat passes. His gaze flickers briefly, so fast that you’re not sure you track the movement correctly, but you swear it drops to the patch on your neck, dampening your scent. His jaw flexes once before he offers you a tight smile, gesturing.

“Mind if I walk you out? It’s late.”

Your heart hammers. “Sure.”

You’ve walked out of work with Seungcheol before. He offers to walk anyone out when it’s after hours, even if he himself isn’t leaving yet. It has nothing to do with your subgender and everything to do with him being kind, a sort of stoic office guardian.

Grabbing the rest of your things, you follow Seungcheol in silence. The building is quiet, both of you the only people still around on a weekend. The lack of sound amplifies everything else: the sound of your own quickened breathing, the warmth pulsing under your skin, the spicy scent of Seungcheol as he steps onto the elevator, lingering at the threshold to hold the door open for you.

You murmur a thank you as you pass by him. You can’t help the shiver that snakes through you as you pass. You clench your fists, angry and willing yourself to calm down. This has never happened around Seungcheol, and you blame the fucking weather for the way your body overrides you now.

The forty five seconds spent in the elevator are borderline hell. Neither of you says anything. You’ve pressed yourself in the corner, trying to remain nonchalant, like your entire world isn’t spinning, like there isn’t a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, like there isn’t saliva pooling at the back of your tongue.

Seungcheol smells warm. Grounding. Something that lingers, sharp and clean with a bit of a bite. You breathe in, trying to figure it out. Perhaps bergamot and cardamom, spice touched by sweetness, a hint of earth.

The elevator dings and Seungcheol is halfway through the lobby before you realize it. You push off the elevator wall after him, steps stilted and uneven. It’s even hotter in the tiny lobby of your office building, making a bead of sweat trail down the back of your neck. You adjust your dress, licking your lips in an attempt to relieve the hot flash threatening you.

Seungcheol pushes on the glass doors at the front, but they don’t budge. Both of you stand and stare for a second before he curses low under his breath, voice like gravel. You ignore what your stomach does at the sound of it as he turns to look at you, expression wary.

“Remember what I said in the break room?” You definitely remember the break room, but not anything he said. “The cleaners come on Friday evenings and they lock the doors.”

“Oh.”

Seunghecol walks back to the elevator and swipes his badge at the scanner and presses the button. The metal doors do not open again, and the button doesn’t light up. He curses again, pinching the bridge of his nose right beneath his glasses.

“Badges don’t work after hours.”

“They don’t?”

“No. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck here, unfortunately.” He adjusts the strap on his bag and pulls a cellphone from his pocket. “Thankfully I have security’s number saved for exactly that reason.”

Seungcheol’s words do little to bring you relief. He paces a few steps away from you, dialing a number on the phone. He holds the phone to his ear, waiting for security to pick up. His free hand is stuffed into the pocket of his slacks, thumb tapping idly. You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to focus on the sterile, white glow of the lobby lights instead of the way your skin feels like it’s humming.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds loud, making you twitch. “Yes, I’m locked in the lobby again.” He glances at you. “I’m with another coworker as well. The badge isn’t working to get us back up. Can you come let us out?”

You barely register his words. A flush is working its way up from your stomach to your chest, your chest to your shoulders, shoulder to elbows. You feel it unfurl, the slow-burning petals of a flower blooming. The air feels thick and heavy, almost damp, and no amount of focused breathing seems to help with the pulse you feel throbbing in your neck.

Seungcheol’s voice momentarily pulls you from your daze. “They’re sending someone from central security. Might take about an hour, though. They were in the middle of a shift rotation.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Alright.”

“Are you alright?” Seungcheol asks quietly, eyes fixated on you.

You open your mouth to say yes, but the word dies in your throat. Because you’re not. Not really. There’s a heat curling deep in your belly now, slow and insistent, and your clothes feel too tight, your skin too sensitive. You press your palm against the marble wall behind you, trying to ground yourself with the coolness of the stone.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding and giving him a thumbs up.

You’re anything but. It hits you slowly, but when it does, it locks into place with terrifying clarity: the dizziness, the temperature spikes, the way everything around you sounds sharper, smells sharper, the bergamot and cardamom.

Your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of heat, triggered by the unbearable temperature spike across the city and the unbearable proximity of the alpha standing across the lobby from you.

You shift your weight, arms tightening around yourself, every nerve ending suddenly too aware of Seungcheol’s presence. He’s not even close, but you can feel him. Or maybe it’s just your scent receptors going haywire, both just as likely.

“You’re flushed,” he says after a moment, eyes not quite meeting yours now. “You sure you’re not getting sick?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “I don’t think it’s that.”

Seungcheol’s brows pull together, not believing you but not sure what to make of it. He shifts his weight, gaze scanning you, trying to figure you out. You refuse to meet his eyes, looking up at the lobby lights that are too bright, making you squint. But you can feel him watching you, his gaze intense.

“You look uncomfortable.” He shifts a little further from you. “I apologize if-”

“It’s not you!” You blurt, a little forceful. “It’s just hot in here. It’s… hard on me.”

When he doesn’t answer, you dare a look at him. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push it. He nods, leaning against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes track the way his biceps flex, the way his shirt compresses across his chest and your mouth goes dry.

He studies you carefully now, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in suspicion, but understanding. Something settles in his expression, the faintest flicker of recognition behind his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. He knows. He knows and the embarrassment is so overwhelming you nearly fold over and start crying.

Still, he doesn't call you out. Doesn’t voice what you’re sure he knows, what his instincts are telling him. Doesn’t corner you with it.

Instead, he says, “Tell me something you enjoy.”

“What?”

He watches you, eyes soft. “Anything. To pass time. I only know the basics about you. Tell me something you’re passionate about.”

Something you're passionate about? A million things run through your mind. You grab the first thing you can think of, a single subject that you’re well-versed in.

“There’s a theory that the Tyrannosaurus Rex didn’t roar.”

He looks confused. “The dinosaur?”

“Yes. Like you know in the movie how they… rahhh.” You imitate the noise, immediately wanting to smack yourself for the ridiculousness of it. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. He nods and gestures for you to continue, dark eyes focused only on you. “So it’s a total myth. Scientists think they made way lower sounds, like… you know when crocodiles do that weird purr?”

“Crocodile purr?”

“Yeah you know when they…” You hunch your shoulders. “Do that weird water rumble thing.”

“I think I follow.”

You nod rapidly, grateful for the distraction even as your heart beats way too fast. “Yeah, like a subsonic hum. They think it was more intimidating that way. A sound that could vibrate through the chest cavity of its prey. Honestly, it’s kind of genius.”

He watches you with quiet amusement, one brow raised but not mocking. “I didn’t know you were into dinosaurs.”

“I was obsessed as a kid,” you admit, shrugging, eyes still fixed on the security panel like it’ll spark to life if you ignore it long enough. “Used to correct people all the time. I was that kid. I got in trouble once for lecturing my cousin while playing with dinosaurs because Stegosaurus and a T. rex never existed at the same time. They lived millions of years apart! And he was trying to tell me they were best friends.” You scoff. “As if.”

You hear a soft chuckle across the lobby and you look up to meet his face. Your pulse flutters again, reminding you why Seungcheol asked you to distract yourself in the first place.

As though he can sense where your thoughts are going, Seungcheol asks, “So are you one of those people who thinks the Jurassic Park raptors were too big?”

You huff, a flare of irritation licking through you. “Well yeah. They were too big, thank you for asking. Plus, Alan Grant pointed out in the first movie that they were the size of turkeys, and then they get to Isla Nublar and they’re fucking six feet tall! And they were supposed to have feathers!”

“Not very intimidating.”

“I mean, I feel like a giant bird of prey is pretty intimidating.”

Seungcheol grins and you feel another shiver threaten to pulse through you. His grin is beautiful, turning his face from intimidating to soft in seconds. “I’m never going to be able to take them seriously again, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

It’s quiet again. The tension from earlier hasn’t disappeared, but something in the air feels different. Sweat fills the creases behind your knees, beads on the small of your back, gathers on your thighs. Your rambling had made you forget about it all for a moment, but now it’s back, the awareness of the way your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of your heat.

If security gets here soon, you’ll be okay. It’s the lightest phase of the cycle, manageable with some effort and focus. But it’s unpredictable. Sometimes it lingers, sometimes it crashes into the next stage without warning. And while your body usually keeps a steady three-month rhythm, outside stimuli can trigger an early onset.

Like being trapped in an overheated lobby with an alpha just a few yards away. One who’s quiet, watching, aware.

Still, it’s not unmanageable. You’ve handled worse. If you can get home in time, the meds waiting in your cabinet will ease you through the worst of it, keep you from slipping into second and third stage alone, unprepared.

If not…

No, you can’t think about that. If you stray too far to the second stage of your cycle before getting home, your options are limited and grim.

You don’t like any of them.

You shift your stance again, ankles crossing and uncrossing, arms hugging your waist like that might hold everything in place. But it’s not helping anymore. Your skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t fit right on your body. The heat is building now, no longer a low thrum, but a steady pulse radiating from your core, licking up your spine and sinking into your limbs. Your breaths come shorter, faster, and there’s a dull ache beginning in your lower belly, something deep and hormonal and utterly beyond your control.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, causing you to look at him. His face is soft. Concerned. “You still with me?”

The way he says it, soft and gentle, makes things worse. Makes you want to whine and cross the lobby floor to him, to let him pull you in tight and tell you it’ll be okay. To comfort you. The desire is so bad that you realize you’re much farther into Stage 1 than you thought.

Panic starts to nip at your heels. You’re unsure what to do. There’s nothing on you besides your nasal spray and your patches to help you out, but those aren’t what you need. Your patches protect others from your scent and the nasal spray protects you from others - from Seungcheol.

You try to answer, but your voice catches in your throat, coming out thin and shaky. “I’m okay.”

“Are you in prodrome?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low and careful.

You flinch when he finally says it out loud, letting the acknowledgement ring in the lobby. You close your eyes for a moment, your silence an answer in itself.

Seungcheol sighs and pulls his phone back out of his pocket, dialing as he lifts it to his ear. “Yeah, I know. Look, you need to expedite. My colleague needs medical assistance and we’re still locked in the lobby. No… no.” Seungcheol glances at you. “She’s experiencing prodrome. Can you please expedite? Yes. Thank you.”

He hangs up and turns back to you, stepping slowly so he doesn’t overwhelm, arms loose at his sides in a show of calm. “They’re sending someone now. Shouldn’t be long.”

You nod, but your breathing is uneven, shallow now. You can feel the sweat dripping down your spine, the pressure behind your eyes. Everything smells too sharp, too thick. Especially him. Spice and warmth and safety. It’s awful.

Seungcheol stays where he is, a careful distance between you, but his voice is steady when he says, “Tell me what you need. What I can do to help.”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean it. If you need space, I’ll back off. If you need something cold, we’ll figure it out. Just don’t… don’t try to pretend this isn’t happening. Let me help you.”

The kindness in his voice cracks something in your chest. No judgment, no pressure, just him, steady and solid, offering help while your body betrays you one symptom at a time.

You swallow hard. “I just need to get out. I just need to make it home before it gets worse.”

Seungcheol nods, no hesitation. “Then we’ll get you home. I promise.”

Time moves like molasses. The silence between you thickens. You give up on standing, sitting on the cool tile floor. It only offers momentary respite until you’re panting again, struggling to maintain your grip on yourself.

It’s not working. Your entire body is pulsing, tingling, burning in waves that crest and fall without rhythm. Your skin itches with hypersensitivity, every shift of your clothes unbearable, your breath slow and ragged. It feels like you’re melting, burning up from the forge in your chest.

You can feel Seungcheol watching you from his assigned corner. He says nothing, keeping a respectful distance. You steal a glance at him through bleary eyes. He’s just leaning against the wall, hands clenched and jaw tight. He’s doing his best to appear calm, but you see signs of irritation. His throat works and your eyes linger on the way his Adam's apple bobs for too long. You think about sinking your teeth into his neck, tasting him-

His scent, normally warm and grounded, spikes. You sense the shift and it makes you squirm, pressing yourself further into the wall. You look away from him, hiding your face in your shoulder while you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave of cramping crashes into you.

Seungcheol’s irritation is sharp. Shame floods you, thick and fast. Of course he’s annoyed. Today has gone from bad to worse. He’s now stuck in a lobby with an omega in prodrome, a liability that he now has to be responsible for, and you’re barely holding it together, shaking like a live wire. You’re stuck, and he’s stuck with you, and-

The lobby doors beep and hiss open. You don’t even lift your head. Don’t even hear the first few words from the guards. You only feel cool night air and the sudden shift in pressure, making you keen and melt into the tile.

Seungcheol appears at your side, his scent fading from acrid to soothing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, crouching down to your level. It’s the closest he’s been to you all day. You feel the heat of him, the nearness overwhelming. “They’re here. We can go.”

You don’t move. The thought of moving suddenly seems like an insurmountable task. Your world is tilting, your ears ringing. Your limbs feel detached from your brain and your body is locked, curled in on itself. Heat prickles across your skin like static.

Worst of all, you’re starting to panic. Fear sets in, stabbing deep. You don’t know how to get up and take the train home. Don’t know how to get yourself up the stairs and into your apartment. To the cabinet to take a suppressant. To the fridge for water.

Seungcheol’s voice sharpens. “Hey. Look at me.”

It’s a command. You blink up at him, barely able to focus. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s on the phone again. “Hi, I need emergency assistance for an omega. She’s in heat prodrome and she’s deteriorating fast. No, she’s conscious. She’s overheating, but having trouble standing and struggling to focus. I have no idea what to do.”

You barely hear the voice on the other end of the line, but Seungcheol does. His expression shifts, each word they say tightening his jaw.

“She’s a coworker - we were locked in a lobby at work but I can take her to an omega hospital.” You whimper and shake your head vehemently, whining. He softens. “They said they can give you a heat inhibitor on-site.”

“No,” you pant. “It hurts.”

He nods. “I can’t do that, she doesn’t want to go.” The operator says something else and he nods. His eyes tighten at the corners and he glances at you. “I can take you to a service clinic. They can assign you-”

“Home,” you plead. “I just need to get home. I can- I can deal with it.”

“I don’t know… do you have, um. Do you have an alpha you usually…?”

“No.”

Tears well up fast and hot, blurring your vision, sliding down your cheeks in silent streaks. Your whole body feels wrong, like you’ve been unraveled from the inside, trembling and raw.

“I just want to go home,” you whisper, folding in on yourself. “I have my meds. I can manage if I can just get home. Please.”

He repeats what you say into the phone. They say something and he shakes his head and hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to get you home, okay?”

He helps you to your feet slowly, carefully, arms braced around you like he’s afraid you’ll break. You lean into him, weak and unsteady, but there’s no judgment in his touch, just quiet strength and a protective kind of focus that makes your throat tighten all over again.

The lobby fades behind you. The night air hits your overheated skin like salvation. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word as he guides you into the passenger seat of his car, buckles you in, and throws his jacket over your lap for warmth. His hands are shaking as he starts the engine.

“Can you give me directions?”

You mumble them. You’re not even sure that he hears you. He has no idea the bomb he’s given you, tossing his jacket over you. Your fingers curl into it, greedy. Inhaling deeply, you feel yourself drift as he drives, the hum of the engine lulling you into a half-daze. The smell of Seungcheol is overwhelming, but comforting. Steady. No longer a threat, but something you want. Need.

It isn’t until Seungcheol’s hands are gently shaking you that you realize you’re at your apartment. You blink up at him, stars in your eyes. He looks down at you, glasses a little askew as he asks you a question. His words are garbled and you don’t understand, shaking your head in confusion as he gazes at you.

“Come on,” he sighs, unbuckling your seat for you. His chest brushes across you as he does, bergamot and cardamom hitting you so hard that it knocks the senses out of you. You’re near catatonic for a second until you feel his hands pressed against your forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Can I carry you?”

You must nod, because he bends low and scoops you out of the car. You jostle against his chest as he carries you bridal style toward the stairs. His scent is mind numbing. Your face is too close to his neck and he doesn’t have a scent blocker on, pheromones doing insane damage to your self control as he climbs the stairs, you in his arms like you weigh absolutely nothing.

Gently, Seungcheol places you on your feet. He slides an arm around your waist, keeping you upright and pinned to him as he unlocks your door. You have no idea where he got your keys, must have fished them out of your purse at some point.

Seungcheol guides you into your dark apartment, helping you to the couch like you’re made of glass. You collapse onto it, dazed. He crouches, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes are devastatingly soft, touch featherlight.

“Let me call a doctor.”

“No.” Your voice is hoarse but immediate. “Please don’t. I can’t go to the hospital again. I don’t want to do this strapped to a bed, surrounded by strangers and white lights and IVs. I can’t.”

He exhales, hands flexing. “Okay. Okay. But—then what? Do you have anyone who can help you through it? Any alpha you-”

“No. I just do it alone with meds. They’re in my bathroom cabinet. If you could just get them, I can do this.”

“I don’t think meds are going to help.” His admission is soft. Regretful, almost. Like it pains him to tell you this.

You think he’s right, but you don’t know what else to do.

Seungcheol’s brows furrow. You watch the internal war play out on his face, concern and hesitance and something harder to name. His throat bobs as he swallows. “If… look, if there’s no one else. I can try to help.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “What?”

“I can try. Only if you want. Only if you need. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage, I just… I don’t want you to suffer. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m here. I don’t want to leave you like this.”

A fresh wave of tears hits you, shame curling hot in your chest.

“You don’t want to,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You’re just saying that because you feel bad. And I feel awful. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to put you in this position-”

“Hey.” His voice is firmer now, but not unkind. He shifts forward, his hands finding yours, wrapping them gently between his palms. Your skin tingles where he touches you, a fresh wave of heat licking through you. “Stop. Look at me.”

You do. Barely. His face is open and honest, his eyes warm. He’s so pretty like this, looking at you like you’re something he cares about - someone he cares about.

“I want to help you. Not because I pity you. Not because I feel obligated. Because I care about you. And you’re in pain. And I can do something about it.” He takes a breath, then adds, softer, “Even if that means the more intimate parts.”

Your face crumples, fresh humiliation rising, but he keeps holding your gaze, steady and calm.

“Only if you want to,” he says. “Only if you’re lucid and safe and sure. If you want me to sit on the other side of the apartment all night and just be here, I will. If you want to go to sleep and pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll follow your lead.”

“I don’t want you on the other side of the apartment,” you admit. “I just feel embarrassed by what I need.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially for something out of your control. Your body isn’t your enemy.”

You press your lips together, fighting the emotions building in your chest, but it’s no use. A soft sob slips out before you can stop it, and Seungcheol is there in an instant, wrapping his arms around you with careful strength, cradling you against him like he’s anchoring you to the moment.

His scent hits you more fully now, warm and earthy beneath the sharp spice, like cinnamon bark and sun-warmed cedar. It fills your lungs and settles into the frantic edge of your nerves like balm, and it’s… comforting. Not invasive. Not overwhelming.

Just Seungcheol.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “Whatever you need, we go slow. I’ll follow your pace. You lead.”

“Even if it’s more than you expected?”

“Even then.”

Seungcheol helps you sit back, propped with cushions on the couch, still watching you like you might unravel again, but not because he doubts you. Because he cares. Because he’s listening to every breath you take like it matters.

“I’ll need… a few things,” you say, quietly. “If this really goes into the full cycle. I have suppressants, but they won’t help much unless I can get them in the next hour, and I don’t think I have that kind of time anymore.”

“Okay. Tell me what you need.”

You breathe in. “Water. A lot of it. Heat spikes dehydrate fast, and I’ll probably get a fever if we don’t keep me hydrated. Heats are a game of chess except sometimes the board blows up.”

“Funny. Got it.”

“And blankets,” you add quickly. “I’ll feel cold, even if I’m burning. Like weight and softness. Like nesting.”

“Like a bird… or dinosaur.”

You scowl at him and he grins, dimples appearing in his cheek. It makes you want to lean forward and bite him, to sink your teeth in and never let go.

“What else?” He asks.

“I’ll need food eventually. Simple things. Broths, carbs. My body’s going to want to burn through everything at once.”

“Easy.”

“And proximity.” You hesitate here, voice wavering. “I’ll need closeness. I haven’t had a heat partner before, but probably a lot of sex. It uh - comes in waves but it helps. Obviously. So there’s that.”

“I can do that.” There’s no hesitation. Just firm dedication. “It’s not a problem. What else?”

You look at him, something stirring in your chest, still unsure how to express the storm of emotions bubbling beneath your skin. “What have you done for your omegas in the past? During heat? This is sort of new to me.”

He pauses. “I haven’t. I’ve never spent a heat with an omega.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been with an omega at all, to be honest with you.” The gravity of his statement makes you panic. You start to sit up, protests bubbling to your lips but he hushes you, eases you back down. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t totally sure.”

“Why offer at all?”

“Because it’s you,” he says simply. “And I’d rather learn how to help you than let you suffer alone.”

A beat passes.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he echos. “Let’s get you settled.”

Seungcheol stands, giving you one more lingering gaze before he sets himself to the task of readying your apartment. He sends you to your room to change into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt before he lets you settle on the couch, sweaty and shaking.

Seungcheol moves through your space like he’s been here before, like he knows where everything is even when he clearly doesn’t. He opens cabinets and drawers gently, always looking back at you as though he’s seeking permission. You nod each time, endeared by his hesitancy.

You don’t know what to make of his admission of never being with an omega before. In your experience, most alphas would loathe to admit that, finding something wrong with it. But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, admitting it as a simple fact, neither good nor bad.

You like that about him, his self-assuredness.

When he finds your largest pot, Seungcheol fills it with water and sets it over the stove. He pulls out ingredients for simple foods: rice, pasta, anything with carbs like you’d said. He hums under his breath as he moves, a soft, low sound that vibrates in your bones.

It’s soothing. Almost domestic. But every second that stretches between you builds like static, his very presence buzzing along your awareness like an exposed wire.

Seungcheol brings you a cool glass of water and kneels to hand it to you, his fingers brushing yours when you reach out to take it. You try not to flinch at the bolt of electricity that jumps up your arm. His eyes linger on your face, reading you. Not pitying. Not worried. Just seeing.

“You’re doing okay?” He asks, but by his tone, he knows you are. You nod, but your throat is dry again, so you take a few gulps of water, nearly emptying the glass. He laughs and reaches for it when some spills over, running down your chin. “Careful.”

Something in his voice changes. The softness of it ripples down your spine and you look at him over the brim of your glass. His scent is warmer. Closer. Still under control, but pressing at the edges of your awareness like velvet, his alpha instincts responding to your body chemistry, the need of your hormones begging for him.

Seungcheol rises, keeping a respectful distance, and yet his gaze burns where it rests on you. He takes the glass from you, fingers brushing yours again before heading to the kitchen to refill it.

It makes you unravel, every part of you unspooling wildly as you watch him in your kitchen, the muscles under his shirt flexing. He rolls his sleeves as he turns the stove off before coming back your way, forearms bare, veins throbbing.

Arousal unravels inside of you. You feel the tip from Stage 1 to Stage 2, your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your hands shaking more. When Seungcheol offers the glass, you don’t take it. You stare at your hands, willing yourself to stop, willing yourself to stop wanting him. The fear of making him uncomfortable is so sudden, a wave crashing into you.

Seungcheol notices. He drops to his knees immediately, putting the glass of water on the coffee table. This time, he doesn’t hesitate when he touches you, putting his palm to your forehead, his other resting on top of your wrist, his thumb tracing back and forth soothingly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is like velvet. “What happened?”

Your lips part, but no words come. You try again. Nothing. You don’t know how to shape the words, don’t know how to tell him that a second ago, you thought he was domestic and sweet, and now you’ve strayed into dangerous territory, thinking that you’d like nothing more for him to pin you down and fuck you until you can’t feel anything but him anymore.

You don’t need to tell him. Seungcheol inhales and you see the shift happen, a shiver rattling through him. He closes his eyes, inhaling again. A knowing, almost pained sound grumbles in the back of his throat and you squirm in response. He drops his hand from your head to your shoulder, fingers squeezing.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes snap open and he looks up at you, deadly serious. “Hey. No shame. Not with me. You told me to help, didn’t you? Let me do that.”

You nod, small and shaky. He lingers for a second longer, like he's giving you a chance to back out, then slowly rises, curling an arm around your back. You lean into him instinctively, your body already seeking contact, and he lifts you with ease.

Your bedroom isn’t far, but the walk feels endless, every footstep echoes with your racing pulse. You can feel his scent thickening around you, not overpowering, but present, comforting. It keeps you tethered, grounded. You cling to him in silence, your skin flushed hot, thighs pressing together in search of friction, your heart betraying you in its longing.

He places you gently on your bed, kneeling down beside you. For a long moment, he doesn’t touch you. He just watches, reading your every breath, every twitch of discomfort.

At first, you don’t do anything but stare at him. Seungcheol is so beautiful, with a plush mouth made for kissing, long eyelashes that frame gentle eyes, a dimple that appears each time he smiles. You’ve always noticed him, this quiet and soft alpha in your office. You’d never imagined you’d be here, looking up at him with want in your gut so strong that you can barely stand it.

Seungcheol senses it, because of course he does. He surges forward, catching your mouth in a gentle kiss. It’s slow and uncertain at first, hesitating to see if you pull away. You don’t pull away at all. Instead, you keen, a whine slipping between your mouths that makes him groan in response.

He deepens the kiss slowly, reverently. His lips are soft but sure, his hands careful as they frame your face. He tastes faintly of cherry chapstick, your omega running wild as you lean into him and lick into his mouth, eager to taste him.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, panting as he breaks the kiss. He’s leaning onto your bed now, pressing his nose against yours. You feel him pant against you, barely contained. You nod, unable to speak. “Even if this goes further?”

“Please.”

That one word seems to break him. He climbs up into your bed, hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. You let out a sound of appreciation as he settles, his mouth meeting yours again. This time, there’s heat in it. One hand roams you carefully while the other is planted by your head, keeping him looming over you. Every touch eases the ache and stokes the fire in equal measure.

You can’t get enough of him, running your hands over his stomach and around his waist, pulling at him, desperate. It feels like you’re burning up, both suffering and relieved at the same time as his tongue finds the warmth of your mouth, drinking you in.

His scent is rich and spicy, unmistakably alpha. It makes your omega instincts claw at you, urging you to submit, to bare your neck. You tilt your head, exposing the sensitive skin, and Seungcheol growls low, his lips brushing the pulse point before he nips gently, not enough to mark but enough to make you shudder. Your slick pools between your thighs, the air thick with your arousal, and he groans again, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.

“Fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck. It might be the first time you’ve heard him curse. “The sounds you make… fuck.”

Seungcheol’s tongue darts out, sweeping against your scent gland. His head snaps up and he frowns, realizing there’s a scent blocker on your neck. His lip curls like he’s offended, and he gently peels the pad off your neck, soothing the sting as the adhesive tears off with his warm, wet tongue.

His tongue directly against your neck nearly makes you catatonic. Your eyes roll back, breath catching as he mouths at you before pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses up and down your neck.

“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

His hand slides down your body, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping as his fingers find your slick-soaked panties. He teases you, fingers circling slowly, pressing the fabric of your underwear into your messy cunt.

“Please,” you pant.

There’s that word again. It seems to make him malfunction, makes him bend to your will. He nods, peppering your collarbones with butterfly-light kisses as he pulls your underwear to the side. His fingers drag up and down your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your arms circle around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, hips canting as he leisurely circles your clit, applying subtle pressure.

“Feel okay?” He asks, breathing the words into your ear. His teeth nip at your ear playfully and you gasp, making him chuckle deep in his throat. “Do you want-”

“Please.”

He kisses your jaw. “Got it.”

Seungcheol presses a finger into your heat, wet and slow, aided by the arousal dripping from your entrance. The stretch is perfect, his fingers curling just right, and you gasp, hips bucking against his hand.

You whine, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. He hums in response, pleased at your reaction. He slowly starts to pump his fingers, restricted by the waistband of your sweats. His thumb swirls against your clit and you hurtle toward an orgasm from the barest stimulation, already too worked up, too fucked out on him and his fingers and the hormones.

Your body sings under his touch, heat coiling tighter, your omega keening for more, for him, for everything. His lips find yours again, mouths clashing as he slips another finger in, working you open until you’re shaking in his grasp and coming around his fingers. You hear the wet smack of his hand against your pussy, the way his fingers squelch.

You don’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by it. Instead, you’re floating in a fucked out haze, the world dulling. There’s just Seungcheol’s lazy tongue in your mouth and the smell of bergamot and cardamom. The weight of him on you feels safe, setting you in a trance.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you. You make a noise of protest but he hushes you with a gentle kiss. You feel a little more aware as the orgasm subsides, the ache you’d had a few moments ago dulled by the satisfaction. You know it’ll get worse and you’ll need more, but for now, you’re okay.

You open your mouth to give a shy thank you when you’re stopped, entranced by the way Seungcheol brings his fingers, shining with your cum, up to his mouth. Your lips part in shock as he pops them past his lips, sucking generously. He hums, eyelids fluttering shut as he licks them clean.

Never had you imagined that, imagined him like this. When he opens his eyes, his pupils are dilated. Starving. Feral.

“Taste so fucking good,” He murmurs, leaning down to give you a lingering kiss. You taste yourself on him, different but not unpleasant. “Can’t wait to taste you properly later.” That makes you whine and you reach for him, but he smiles and kisses your nose before standing up. You pout and he laughs. “Water. You need water.”

Seungcheol leaves your room but he leaves the door open just in case. You nuzzle into the bed, fisting the jacket he’d given you earlier as you nuzzle into it. You wish the bed smelled more like him. Right now it just smells like you, with bits of Seungcheol laced in.

You close your eyes, letting your body melt into the sheets, muscles pleasantly sore and mind hazy with velocetin, a neurochemical that heightens arousal and reduces pain perception during Stage 2 of an omega’s heat cycle. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the AC and the faint creak of the floorboards as Seungcheol moves through the house.

When he comes back, Seungcheol is holding a bottle of water in one hand and something else in the other. A bowl of mac and cheese. He brandishes both proudly before sitting on the bed next to you. You prop yourself up on the pillows, looking at him through your lashes.

"Figured you might need both,” he says.

You shake your head. “Just water.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He levels a look at you. Switches tactics. “It would make me feel better if you did,” he urges gently. He puts the water on the nightstand, bowl of mac and cheese in his lap. He reaches out and brushes his fingers along your bottom lip. “Please.”

That word hangs in the air between you, both a pleasantry and a weapon. You feel the way he means it, the way it would make him feel better if you ate. You nod, sitting up with his careful assistance until you’re leaning against the headboard.

Seungcheol stabs some of the pasta and lifts his hand before pausing, realizing he was about to feed you. You both flush, averting his eyes and handing you the bowl awkwardly, you trying not to put it down and jump him at the thought of him wanting to care for you this way.

Instead, you bite into the mac and cheese. It’s a little salty, but it’s good. You eat the entire bowl in comfortable silence, Seungcheol holding out the bottle of water for you in exchange for your empty dish. You trade and you chug some of the water, letting it keep you cool.

“I guess I didn’t realize how much of an appetite I had,” you note, sagging into the pillows. You feel good. Far better than you ever have when dealing with your cycle alone.

He grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Guess I fixed that, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning too. “Shut up.”

“I could,” he says, climbing back into bed beside you, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you whine like that.”

You flush at the memory, at the way your body still responds to his voice alone. He notices, of course he does, and his smile softens. One hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until you're nestled against him again.

“Take a nap,” he murmurs, leaning back into the headboard. “You need rest.”

“What about you?”

He smiles softly. “I’m good right where I am.”

You wake to the sound of voices. For a moment, you're disoriented, wrapped in sheets that smell faintly like Seungcheol and sweat and a myriad of other scents familiar to you from years of heat cycles. It’s still dark in your room, only the glow of a neon sign outside slipping through your blinds a source of illumination.

You roll over instinctively, reaching for Seungcheol and you freeze. The spot where he was when you had fallen asleep is now vacant. Cold, like he hadn’t been there in the last hour.

Panic lances through your chest, so painful that it feels like a physical blow. You all but fall out of bed, heart hammering when you realize he left. He’s gone and you’re alone and you don’t know what to do, terror working its way up your throat.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe everything he said was just talk. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to silence the rush of doubt, of fear- until you hear it again. Voices. Voices that had woken you up in the first place, momentarily forgotten by a hormone-addled brain and sleep.

The door is shut to your room but you reach for it now, cracking it open. Dim light floods through the gap. All the lights in your apartment are off, but the single bulb over your stove is burning, a warm golden glow filtering down the hall.

Sticking your head out, you see Seungcheol standing at your door. It’s mostly closed, just enough for him to block the gap with whoever he’s talking to. His broad back is facing you and you cock your head, puzzled. You can see the tension rippling through him, the way his hackles rise and the rigid way he stands, like he’s barring entry to something important.

“Yeah, you’ve been really helpful,” Seungcheol growls. There’s a low, dangerous edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before. It sets the hairs on your arm standing.

“Relax, man.” You don’t recognize the voice on the other side of the door. It’s playful, distinctly male. “I brought you your shit, didn’t I? You’re acting like I came to steal her.”

Seungcheol bristles. “Out, Soonyoung.”

“Okay, okay,” Soonyoung - whoever that is - says. “Message received. You don’t have to piss on the doormat, Cheol.”

“I just might.”

You can’t help the small sound that escapes you, half laugh, half sigh of relief.

Seungcheol’s head whips around at the sound, eyes immediately softening when they land on you. “Hey,” he says, voice gentler now, but still tight with emotion. “You should be resting.”

You pad down the hallway toward him. Each step closer makes the fire inside of you return. You feel the throb come back, needing more, subtle but growing. “I thought you left.”

His entire expression changes, and he’s at your side in an instant. “No. No, baby,” he says, cupping your face with both hands. “I just went to the door. I called Soonyoung for some clothes and stuff. I wasn’t leaving. I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

Baby. He says it so naturally, so unconsciously, that you’re not even sure he realizes it slipped out. But it hits you like a warm wave, softening every edge of panic still clinging to your chest. Your knees wobble slightly, and he notices. His hands slide from your face to your waist, grounding you there, steady and sure. He pulls you closer, and you melt into him, breathing him in.

Not gone. Not alone. He’s right here with you, like he said he would.

“Sorry. I just panicked.”

“No, it’s my fault. I should have known you’d wake up.”

A throat clears behind him.

You both freeze, and then Seungcheol stiffens, the muscles under your hands tensing like a drawn bowstring. His eyes narrow behind his glasses as he turns his head, keeping you tight against him, chest to chest, like a shield. A low, warning growl rumbles from deep in his throat.

“Soonyoung was just leaving,” Seungcheol asserts.

“Soonyoung is leaving, but also says he hopes your cycle goes well!”

Carefully, you peek around Seungcheol to see Soonyoung in the doorway. He’s standing in the doorway with a duffel slung over his shoulder, unbothered and grinning. His dark hair is long around his ears, and his eyes curve into soft crescents when he smiles. He waves at you, the gesture so sincere it makes you falter, like he’s genuinely happy to see you, even though you’ve clearly never met.

“Nice to meet you!”

Another warning growl vibrates through Seungcheol’s chest. You feel it more than hear it.

Soonyoung just rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, relax.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender as he backs away. “Let me know if he starts brooding in corners or being unbearable. Happens when he doesn’t get enough attention.”

“Bye, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol grits out.

Soonyoung flashes one last wink and manages to pull the door shut just before Seungcheol fully turns to kill him. He exhales sharply and mutters something under his breath.

You look up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Territorial much?”

His ears flush instantly, color blooming down to his neck. He chews the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping. “I apologize,” he murmurs, stepping away. “I know I’ve overstepped and-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, reaching to pull him back, hands curling into his sides. “I liked it.” His brows lift, uncertain. You offer a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of you before. You’re usually so calm. Quiet. Kind of unassuming. Not very…”

“Not very alpha.”

“Not in the way people expect. But that’s not a bad thing.” He studies you for a moment, searching your expression, and something in his shoulders loosens. “I like the way you are. And the possessiveness…”

You shiver and he grins, cockiness returning to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

His hands slide back to your waist, gripping just a little firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to. Please.”

Seungcheol forgets all about his bag by the door. He scoops you up in his arms, taking you back to your room. You let out a soft sound, something almost like a purr, keening under him, excitement and arousal flooding you overtime.

He notices, groaning when he catches the change in your body chemistry. He places you down on the bed gently, crawling over you, hand skimming up your t-shirt as he does. His fingers are warm and light, playful. You don’t want playful, though. You want greedy. Hungry.

The buzz of anticipation curls low in your belly, heat blooming under your skin like wildfire. You arch into him instinctively, hips twitching. “Don’t play with me,” you breathe, reaching up to fist the fabric at his sides. “Please.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Recognition, you think. Like he sees the hunger gnawing inside of you and he recognizes it as his own. You want it, want that fire in him. You want to dive in head first and never come up for air. You want him so bad it hurts, a physical pain manifesting between your legs as your thoughts drift away and your instinct takes over.

“Please,” is all you can whisper.

That’s all it takes. The control he’s been clinging to snaps like a thread pulled too tight. He crashes his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moan as his body presses down, heavy and solid, every inch of him demanding to be closer. His kiss is nothing like the ones before, this one is rough, consuming, all tongue and teeth and need. His hands slide up your sides, pushing the shirt higher, until the fabric is bunched at your ribs and he can finally touch bare skin.

His palms are searing, dragging up your waist to your ribs, brushing just beneath your breasts before he groans deep in his throat, your scent thick in the air now, laced with heat, need, you.

“You smell so fucking good,” he growls, mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down your throat. “It’s driving me insane.”

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again, his hips pressing into yours, and you gasp at the hardness you feel through his pants. He’s still in his work clothes, though they’re wrinkled and sweaty and a mess. You tug at them desperately, whining, trying to get them off.

He growls again, low and possessive, and then he’s kissing you hard, his body rolling against yours in slow, grinding movements. His thigh slots between yours, pinning you in place, and the friction makes your back arch, chasing more.

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters against your mouth, one hand cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your bra, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’ll give you anything, baby. Anything.”

There’s that nickname again. Baby. It sounds sinful on his lips, like he’d do anything for you, like he would give anything for you. It makes you dizzy with gluttonous power and you pant, pulling him as close as you can get him, a button popping on his shirt.

“I want you. Now.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darken, pupils blown, and he pulls back just enough to kneel above you. His gaze rakes over you, flushed, trembling. He makes a sound, something pitiful, hands trembling slightly as his fingers work the buttons of his shirt.

He shrugs his shirt off, the fabric catching on broad shoulders before it falls, revealing hard planes of his chest, skin flushed with a thin sheen of sweat. His muscles flex when he moves, every line of him radiating strength. Your mouth waters, arousal pooling between your legs, screaming to touch him, to taste him.

He doesn’t rush, though. His fingers linger on his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness, the clink of metal loud in the charged silence. Your hips shift, impatient. He tuts at you, narrowing his eyes and you still immediately, falling into line, eager to please. His mouth twitches and he drops a hand to give your thigh a squeeze as if to say good job.

It makes you want to pass out.

Seungcheol slides his belt free, letting it drop, and when he unbuttons his pants, the sound of his zipper is tortuous. You want him immediately, you want him now, but he seems dead set on doing this at exactly his pace. So you let him, letting the ache peak inside of you, shivering at what you know he’s going to give you.

He carefully shoves his pants down, kicking them alongside his briefs in one fell swoop. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum. Your core clenches at the sight, a fresh wave of slick dripping from you, and he groans, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.

“God, you’re perfect,” he says, voice low. He peels your sweats down your legs, shaking his head as he goes, overwhelmed by the sheer need for him, to your body's reaction. “Fuck.”

He crawls back over you, hands skimming your sides, sliding up to peel your shirt off of you. The air is cold but Seungcheol’s touch is burning you up. He deftly removes your bra, tossing it somewhere behind him. He pauses, eyes locked on you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your breath catch. It’s like he can’t get enough of you, cannot fathom what’s in front of him.

Seungcheol shakes himself as if from a daze and then his mouth is on you, lips trailing fire down your throat, over your collarbone, until he reaches your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling, and you moan, back arching to press closer.

His worship is meticulous, unhurried. He lavishes attention on your other breast, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, while his hand slides down, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You’re trembling, omega instincts in overdrive, and when his fingers finally find your slick-soaked folds, you cry out, hips bucking into his touch. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice scratchy. “So wet for me.” His fingers tease, spreading your slick, circling your clit with maddening slowness. “All for me?”

“Yes. Yours.”

Hearing you say it makes something snap in him. His pupils dilate, fucked out and filled with an intensity you didn’t know was possible. He dips lower, kissing a path down your stomach, nipping at the soft skin above your hips. He settles between your thighs, spreading them wide, and the sight of him there, all broad shoulders, dark eyes, and lips parted, makes your core throb.

He doesn’t tease this time, reaching up with one hand to rip off his glasses and toss them to the corner of the mattress. He drops down and his mouth finds you, tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line through your folds, and you moan, loud and broken, as he tastes you. Relief floods through you. You feel yourself go boneless, the pain that was ebbing in you a moment ago dulling again as Seungheol leisurely tongues at you, groaning while he does.

Seungcheol is relentless, worshipful, every lick and suck a testament to his need to please you. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, and you writhe, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard. He moans into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and doubles down, tongue flicking with precision, lapping up every drop of slick. His fingers join in, two slipping inside you, curling against that perfect spot, and the stretch, the pressure, is overwhelming.

You gasp, hips grinding against his face, chasing the building heat in your stomach. He hums, pleased, and the sound pushes you closer to the edge. He’s messy, slick coating his chin, his lips. He doesn’t care. He seems drunk on it, one hand pressing your thighs to further open you up, pressing his face further into your cunt to drink you in.

His fingers thrust in time with his tongue, every curl and suck calculated to make you unravel. You shiver under him, your limbs unable to keep up, thighs twitching against his hand. It feels maddening, better than anything you’ve ever felt up until this point.

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, dragging you under until you’re gasping for air. Your thighs clamp around his head and he lets you. He laps at your entrance as it drips, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you’re whimpering and overstimulated.

Even overstimulated, you want more. Need more.

Seungcheol pulls back, lips glistening, eyes wild. He pulls his fingers from you and crawls up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is filthy, desperate, and you moan into it, pulling him closer.

“Need you,” you gasp, hands roaming his back, feeling the muscles flex under your fingertips, your nails cramping. “Need you inside of me. Please.”

He nods, unable to respond. He lowers his waist and drops a hand down to peel your thighs open. You feel how wet and messy you are but you don’t care. Seungcheol seems to appreciate it, swearing when he looks between your bodies to fist his heavy cock and line himself up with your entrance.

The anticipation makes you tremble. He pushes in slowly, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the sensation overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and your walls flutter around him, slick easing the way.

“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his forhead against yours. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Seungcheol fights to keep still, fights to let you adjust around him. You’re stretched tight, gripping him like a vice, your breathing hitched as you struggle yourself, near ready to come from just this alone.

You manage to hang on, tangling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. You need more - always more. You start rocking your hips, urging him deeper. It feels so good you see spots in your vision. He moans and thrusts hard on instinct, bottoming out.

The pace builds, his hips snapping, each thrust precise and deep, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. The pressure builds so fast you barely register it, chasing your high and whatever he’ll give you, your omega instincts screaming for it.

He can tell. He quickens his pace, trying to get you there faster. It does the trick, because you come around him without warning. You pulse around him and he slows down, grinding his hips against you, letting you gush around him until your shaking subsides.

Seungcheol is still rock hard, cock throbbing. Your forehead rests against his forearm, Seungcheol leaning over you, caging you in.

“Can you take more?” You nod but he shakes his head, nosing your temple. “You have to verbally tell me.”

“Can take more.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He kisses your temple and picks his pace back up.

It’s slower, but more defined. Deep. Seungcheol’s stroke is slow and deliberate, one of his hands slipping under your thigh to hike it up around his waist. That makes you whine, high-pitched and he loves it, mouth catching yours, drinking in all the sounds you make.

You’re close again, the pleasure building faster now, amplified by the way he watches you, eyes never leaving your face, like he’s memorizing every gasp, every moan. His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, still swollen from his mouth, and he rubs tight, relentless circles.

“Want you to come again,” he murmurs, voice raw. There’s a bit of a command in his voice, laced with something you swear is devotion. “Wanna feel you, baby. Give it to me.”

His words and the relentless drive of his cock are too much. You whimper, nails digging into his back and he leans down, lips brushing against your neck. Not biting - that’s far too advanced for whatever this is - and his fingers press harder, circling faster.

The coil in your belly snaps and your second orgasm crashes through you, sharper and more intense. Your body locks around him, walls pulsing as you come again. He groans, low and guttural, pleased by the way you clench around him. But he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it.

You’re shaking and oversensitive, but he’s not done. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, keeping you tethered.

“So good for me,” he praises, kissing your sweaty forehead. “So fucking perfect. You did so good.”

The praise makes your omega sing, and you cling to him, breathless, as he chases his own release. His hips stutter, breaths growing ragged, and with a final, deep thrust, he comes, spilling inside of you. He groans, dropping his forehead against you, shaking in your arms as he comes down from his high.

Finally, he collapses over you, careful not to crush you. You stay like that, a pile of tangled limbs, panting. His lips find your neck, kissing softly, soothing spots he’d nipped.

“You okay?” He croaks, voice hoarse with disuse.

You’re only slightly coherent, somewhere stuck between a dreamlike space where your omega is satiated and reality. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Good.”

“I’m gonna grab water, okay? I’ll only be gone for a second. Just gonna get water and then we can sleep for a little.”

“Mhmm.”

Seungcheol is hesitant this time when he gets up, no doubt worried about what happened the last time you thought he left. This time, you’re too out of it to really register how long it takes him to get water. One moment he’s out the door and the next the bed is dipping under his weight as he cradles your head to feed you water.

It’s cool and you come back to life a little, opening your eyes as you gulp, greedy. He admonishes you to be careful not to choke, tilting the glass so that the water isn’t gushing into your mouth. When you drain the glass, he smiles and kisses you.

“Good,” he hums, happy. That makes you beam at him, thrilled that he’s pleased. “More?”

You shake your head. “Tired.”

“Okay. Let me change the sheets - don’t move. I’ll work around you, okay?”

Somehow, he manages to. With a careful series of rolling you to the side and lifting you to slide new sheets under you, Seungcheol executes an impressive sheet change without really bothering you. He disappears once more to throw the spent sheets in the wash.

Upon his return, you’re barely awake. You reach for him anyway, buried somewhere underneath piles of blankets that smell like him. Finally.

Seungcheol lets you pull him into bed, sliding across the mattress until you’re flush chest to chest, the beating of his heart against yours. He smells good. Content. Happy. Your eyes blink heavily as you breathe him in, all pain forgotten.

“Sleep,” he mumbles, just as tired. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When you wake up again, you’re not really sure what time it is. All you know is that there is orange light burning through your blinds, something like late afternoon. More important, there’s an ache between your legs and there’s sweat on the back of your neck, already restless from whatever dream had woken you up.

The room is quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and Seungcheol’s steady exhales beside you. His arm is draped loosely over your waist. His scent is warm and spicy, grounding you. But beneath that cool calm his presence brings is a restless heat simmering, starting in your core and spreading to your limbs.

You try to ignore it, shutting your eyes and willing yourself back to sleep. It doesn’t go away, an ache growing in its place. A whine slips through your lips, despite your best efforts. The sound is small, but piercing through the stillness and before you can tamp down on it, Seungcheol is stirring, arm tightening briefly before he’s hooking a chin over your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks, voice low and rough with sleep. “You okay?”

His fingers brush back and forth across your waist. It’s supposed to be soothing but it’s almost maddening.

“Feel hot. Need you.”

Seungcheol presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile. “I’ve got you.”

He moves slowly, peeling the sheets back. His hands are reverent, skimming your thighs and parting them as he settles between them. The air feels electric, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks through you.

Like always, Seungcheol takes his time. His lips start at your knee, kissing softly, then trailing higher, nipping the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. You whimper, hips twitching, needy and desperate, and he hums, pleased.

“So needy,” he teases. You’re not embarrassed this time, knowing that with him, there’s nothing to be worried about.

He spreads your legs wider, exposing your warm, wet core. He bites his lower lip, teeth digging into the flesh as he groans, like he’s trying to fight himself on diving in and taking what he wants versus giving you what you need.

The first pass of Seungcheol’s tongue is slow and deliberate, a long, slow-soft drag through your folds that makes you gasp, hands fisting the sheets. He hums, the vibration making you twitch. His lips close gently around your clit, giving an experimental suck. You cry out and he grins, dragging his tongue to dip back down to your entrance for a taste.

Seungcheol is relentless, his mouth working you with a devotion that borders on obsession. His tongue traces every inch of you, slow and thorough, lapping up your slick like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He alternates between broad, languid strokes and precise flicks, learning your reactions, lingering where you tremble most. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, grounding you as you writhe, the slick coating his chin and lips only spurring him on.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling away for a second. He leans over your cunt and lets a string of spit and cum drip from his swollen mouth to your cunt before chasing it with his tongue. “I could stay here forever.”

He dives back in, tongue pressing into you, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts of his mouth. Your moans are broken, and he takes it as encouragement, running his tongue in lazy circles, tasting all of you. Just as you start to near a soft high, his fingers join in, pressing in gently, making your vision blurry.

The first orgasm builds fast, your body already primed from the restless heat of your sleep. His fingers pump in time with his tongue, relentless, and when he sucks hard on your clit, you shatter. A cry tears from your throat, hips bucking against his face as slick gushes, your walls clenching around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, lapping through your tremors, drawing out every pulse until you’re shaking, oversensitive, whimpering his name.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You can give me one more.”

You can. He knows it. You know it.

His mouth softens, less intense but no less thorough, kissing your folds gently before returning to your clit with slow, teasing licks. Your body protests, too sensitive, but the heat is already building again, coaxed by his worshipful attention. He’s patient, methodical, every movement calculated to keep you on the edge without overwhelming you. His fingers slide back in, slower this time, curling lazily, and you feel the stretch, the fullness.

Your second orgasm creeps up, slower but deeper, a steady wave that builds as he works you with unwavering focus. His tongue flicks faster, lips sealing around your clit, and when he hums, the vibration tips you over. You come with a sob, less sharp but more intense, your whole body trembling as pleasure rolls through you, slick coating his hand, his mouth. He laps at you softly, easing you through it, until you’re boneless, panting, your omega sated.

Seungcheol’s kisses turn languid, worshipping, cleaning up the mess he made, savouring every drop. Your hands loosen in the sheets and he finally pulls back, crawling back up to the bed, pressing scattered, wet kisses up your body as he does.

“Better?” He asks when he reaches your face, nose brushing against yours.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, dimples flashing, and settles beside you, pulling you into his chest. His scent surrounds you, grounding, and you feel the bond pulse, warm and steady.

“Rest a little. Then we’ll shower.”

The shower fills with steam and the scent of eucalyptus. Fog covers the shower door as hot water runs over you and Seungcheol. His broad frame stands behind you, hands gentle but firm as he massages shampoo into your hair, working slow circles into your scalp. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.

If only for a moment, it’s perfect. Almost too perfect, which makes your chest tighten with a quiet ache. This is just Seungcheol helping you through your heat, a temporary balm for a fire that will ultimately flare again.

You don’t know how you ever did this without him before. Don’t know how you’re going to manage to do it without him in the future. After just a day, Seungcheol has flipped your scope of the world upside down, changing your heat cycle entirely.

Typically, it’s days of foggy suffering with suppressants to numb you. It’s a listlessness that chases you for days until your hormones are right again, until you can feel the sun on your face and let it make you smile.

Now, you don’t know what it’s supposed to be.

You turn to face Seungcheol. Water is streaming down his chest, catching the sculpted lines of his front. Each droplet clings to him in a way you understand - you want to cling to him too.

Seungcheol is breathtaking, all strength and quiet care. It’s a wonder that someone so powerful can also be so gentle. He’s unlike anything you expected, and breaks the norms of what you thought having an alpha help you through your heat might be like.

You don’t fool yourself into thinking there’s anyone else like him. You already know that this is just him, just Seungcheol. It makes a flicker of fear come to life in your chest, wondering what will happen when your heat fades and the intimacy here dissolves like the water flowing down the drain.

You push the thought down. Gliding your hands over his chest, your fingers chase the droplets of water, feeling the steady pulse of his heart beneath your palm. It makes you ache with need again, an always there need for him coming back to life.

Heat cycles are like that. They’re made up of peaks and lows, moments where the need is so high it drives you insane followed by a near catatonic need to drift and sleep.

Now, you’re approaching another peak, pulse picking up, body thrumming.

Seungcheol senses the shift immediately. He’s attuned to you quickly, but you refuse to let yourself wonder what that means. He steps closer, hands pulling at your waist, dipping his head to brush his mouth against yours in an almost kiss.

His eyes darken with a mix of concern and something darker. “What’s that look?”

He steps closer, pressing you against the tiled wall, water pooling where your bodies meet. The warmth of him, the slickness of his skin, feels like a dream you’re terrified to wake from. You don’t answer, can’t. Your hands dip lower, tracing the hard ridge of his abdomen, and he tenses, breath catching.

“Baby,” he warns, voice rough. There’s no real protest there. Just a playful warning, edged with want.

The endearment hits you like a spark, igniting you. You can’t get enough of it when he calls you that, when he says it velvet-soft and purring, when he says it like you are his baby. His world. His omega.

You sink to your knees, tiles cold and wet beneath you. You look up at him through wet lashes, biting your lower lip, hesitant, wanting permission. His cock is already hard - has been the entire time you’ve been in the shower - and the sight pulls a whine from your throat. You want to taste him. Want to make him feel good.

“Please,” you ask, still unmoving, hands resting on your thighs.

The way he looks at you - everent, undone - makes you feel like you’re everything, even if part of you whispers that this is just your heat talking, just his alpha responding to your need.

Seungcheol nods. He places one hand to brace against the wall as you lean in to press soft kisses to the base of his shaft, lips brushing his warm skin. He groans, the sound deep and raw, and it sends a tremble of excitement through you.

Your tongue traces the underside of his cock, following a thick vein from base to tip. You swirl your tongue greedily around the crown of his cock, tasting the faint salt of him. It’s intoxicating, perfect, and you let yourself sink into it, humming pleasantly.

One of his hands comes down to rest on top of your head, not pulling, not pushing, just anchoring himself as you take him into your mouth. You go slow, savoring the weight of him. He’s big, stretching your mouth painfully to the limit, but you relax, breathing in through your nose.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Shit fuck. That mouth.”

The praise makes your omega preen. You hum again, the vibration making his hips twitch as you build a steady rhythm, head bobbing, tongue working the underside of his cock while your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync.

Water rains down on you, making everything fluid. Your lips glide effortlessly around him, your grip on him firm, squeezing gently as your hand meets your mouth on the upstroke. His groans grow louder, more desperate, hips twitching but never taking control of your pace. His fingers tighten on your head, and yet he remains in control of himself, letting you take what you want.

“Fuuuck, just like that,” He pants, head tipping back. Water falls down his throat in rivulets. The sight of him, vulnerable and unraveling, makes your pussy throb, a wave of arousal running down your thighs and mixing with the water.

You take him in deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, swallowing around him. He makes a broken sound, half growl, half moan, and his hips finally jerk. You welcome his shallow thrusts eagerly, moaning around him, encouraging him.

Seungcheol looks down, eyes locking with yours. His are fucked out and fazed, the raw edge to his gaze making your heart beat faster. You pull back a little, focusing on the tip, sucking hard, tongue swirling. Your hand pumps faster and his breathing turns ragged, muscles in his stomach twitching. You know he’s close and it makes you grin up at him, mouth full of spit and precum.

“Gonna - fuck - come,” he warns, voice strained.

You don’t pull away. You suck at him harder, desperate to give him this, to hold onto this perfect moment. With a guttural sound, he spills into your mouth. You swallow down every drop, lips sealed until he’s over sensitive and shying away from your mouth.

Easing back, you look up at him, your knees aching. He pulls you to your feet and to his lips, pressing you into a kiss that’s deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. He licks into you, uncaring as he pulls you close to his chest.

“So good,” he murmurs between kisses. “Such a sweet girl for me.”

You grin as he turns you around, walking you forward so that you're pressed against the warm tile of the shower wall. “My turn.”

Soft, neon light filters in from your window, washing your room in a smear of watercolor. You fidget in bed, body coming alive, arousal starting in gentle waves, building the more your body catches up. Seungcheol is already awake beside you, sensing your need. His warmth is a quiet anchor.

Seungcheol’s lips brush your neck, nuzzling and scenting, his gentle possessiveness soothing your omega. You let out a soft sigh, going pliant for him. He hums, pleased at your easy submission, tongue darting out to lick your neck playfully.

He’s tender, peppering your shoulder and neck with soft, wet kisses. Each one stokes the steady fire in your core and chest. The way he handles you is maddening, like you’re spun glass but he knows you can take whatever he gives you. Your omega preens and you shift closer, feeling the heat of him against you.

This is different from earlier. At this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done this. You’ve lost track of time and the days. There’s just this: Seungcheol’s hand sliding down to lift your leg up for him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, weeping and wanting for him.

Then he slides in, slow and stretching you inch by inch, earning a dreamy exhale from your trembling lips. He grinds his hips against the curve of your ass, deep and languid, easing the ache between your legs. His strokes are measured and intimate, each one dragging against your walls, stoking the flames without rushing.

You moan, breathy, as your slick coats his cock, the wet sounds of your bodies obscene in the silence of the room. His hand slides up, cupping your chest, thumb brushing back and forth over your nipple until it pebbles under his rapt attention. You arch into his touch, whimpering.

“So good for me,” he murmurs against your neck. His voice is rough with sleep, just how you like it.

Seungcheol keeps the pace slow, hips rolling lazily. It builds a steady burn. His lips find the pulse point below your ear, sucking gently, not enough to make tender, but enough to make you shiver, cunt leaking down your thighs.

You reach back, fingers sliding in his hair to tug softly. He groans, low and raspy, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal through you.

“Seungcheol,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper. “Cheol.”

He hums, pleased at the nickname. He grinds deeper, the friction perfect and overwhelming as the tip of his cock brushes against the soft spot inside of you, making you unwind.

Your eyes flutter open and you peer over your shoulder at him. The neon light catches the sweat on his skin, making him glow. You marvel at how beautiful he is, a powerful alpha, yours in this moment. Maybe not later, but you don’t think about that now, trembling as he brings you close to your orgasm like he’s done every time before.

His hand slips between your thighs, fingers seeking your clit, slick and swollen. He starts to circle the throbbing bud with agonizing slowness, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensation is devastating, punching the breath from your lungs. You rock your hips to meet his, desperate for your undoing, needing to come.

“Come on,” he urges, lips brushing your ear. He presses his fingers hard, circles them faster. Your breath catches and he feels it, deepening his thrusts, becoming more deliberate. “Come for me, baby.”

The words mixed with the intoxicating feeling of his cock makes you shatter, a soft cry spilling out of your lips as your pussy pulse around him, soaking him thoroughly. He groans, fucking you through it, slow and steady, drawing out the full length of your orgasm until you’re boneless and barely there.

But he’s not done. Seungcheol eases out carefully and shifts you onto your back. You blink, starry eyed and warm as you watch him slide down the bed and settle between your legs. Your thighs fall open at the sight of him and he groans, pleased at how you immediately know what he wants, ready to comply with your alpha.

No. Not your alpha. But he is right now and that’s all that matters.

Any fight on that subject vanishes as he kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. His eyes are dark and burning when he looks up at you, pupils wide.

“Need to taste you,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Then, his mouth is one you, tongue dragging through your folds, lapping at the mess left over from your orgasm. It’s filthy, the way he moans into you, lips and chin glistening as he buries his face in your cunt. But it’s gentle, his tongue slow and worshipful, circling your clit.

It’s soothing, the way he moves, tongue tracing lazy patterns, circling your clit with no pressure, just presence. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, grounding you further. Your fingers find his hair, threading loosely, not pulling, just holding, and he groans softly, the sound muffled against you. The ache in your core softens, not gone but eased, replaced by a warm, liquid comfort that spreads through your limbs.

Seungcheol mouths at you with no purpose other than to soothe and because he can. He doesn’t seem focused on getting you off, isn’t trying to overstimulate you. It builds a soft glow anyway, your breathing hitching as he keeps going, tongue dipping lower to taste your entrance, letting you drift toward the edge without pushing you toward it.

“Taste so good,” Seungcheol mumbles, mouth full of you.

This time, your orgasm comes like a tide, not crashing but rising, warm and steady. You whimper, hips shifting and he holds you steady, one hand sliding up to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze his hand tight, letting him keep you tethered as you come undone, throbbing softly. He drinks you in, tongue lapping and slow, easing you until you’re limp and sated, the ache finally gone.

Seungcheol pulls back, mouth glistening neon in the low light. His eyes are heavy with something that you can’t read. When he crawls back up, you realize he’s come untouched, spilling his own release while getting you off. It makes your chest tighten, instincts purring at the proof of his want, his devotion to you.

He slides in beside you, kissing your temple before pulling you close.

“Better?” He rumbles, already half asleep.

“Better.”

“You have to eat.”

You huff. “Don’t want.”

You’re curled up on the couch in one of his jackets, inhaling deeply. His scent makes you tired, limbs heavy. You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them to make yourself small. The blanket over your shoulders is warm and smells like him, making you sink further into the cushions.

Across the room, Seungcheol watches with thinly veiled amusement. He holds a steaming bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. You love him like this, hair fluffy and still damp from a shower, glasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose as he glares at you.

“You need to eat,” he repeats gently. It has to be the third or fourth time he’s said it, each time just as gentle as the last.

You grumble and turn away from him, hiding in your blankets. He sighs and pads over to you, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. Shirtless Seungcheol is a weapon in itself, but the way you smell him immediately, can tell he’s using pheromones against you, makes you growl at him. There’s no heat in it and he laughs.

“Yeah?” He teases. “Gonna growl at me?”

“I’m tired.”

“I know,” he coos, voice dropping into that low, soft register that always seems to settle you. “Your body is working hard. But you still need to eat something, baby. For me.”

“Meh.”

“I’ll feed you.”

That sparks your interest. You peek out from your blankets with one eye, peering at him. He smiles, dimples appearing when he sees he’s got you listening now. His scent wraps around you, luring you deeper into his spell.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll start pouting. I don’t care if I’m an alpha, I’m good at pouting.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. The image of him pouting is sweet. His smile grows, triumphant as he stands up to sit next to you on the couch. You sit up, squirming toward him.

“There she is,” he hums, happy. “Open up that pretty mouth for me.”

Blue light flickers from the TV while golden light of the afternoon sun washes the room, peeking through the blinds. You’re curled into Seungcheol’s side, his arm around your shoulders and your legs tangled together beneath the shared blanket. Jurassic Park plays quietly in the background because you asked for something familiar, something comforting.

Your heat is finally starting to fade, edging toward Stage 3. The decline leaves you exhausted, but the full haze of Stage 2 is lifting, leaving you with less thoughts of tangled bodies and tongues. You can feel it in the way your body no longer aches with desperation, clarity seeping in like a slow tide.

With the clarity comes unease. Because… Well, what now?

Neither of you have brought it up, the what happens next. Everything still feels good, but it also feels fragile, like you’re balancing in the quiet moment between inhale and exhale, waiting for the next breath to shatter whatever this little bubble you’re in.

Your fingers fidget lightly against his chest. He notices, as he always does, and his hand smooths down your arm in slow, comforting passes. You lean into him instinctively - you don’t know how you will ever unlearn this - basking in his warmth.

But your thoughts keep spinning.

You don’t know how to voice the big question, don’t know how to talk about it. Don’t know what the best approach is. So you pretend it isn’t there, staring at the TV screen with unseeing eyes, thoughts burning you from the inside out.

Seungcheol senses it anyway.

“What’s up?” He asks, lips pressed against the top of your head. His eyes are still on the screen, the movie reflected in the lense of his glasses.

“Did you know the stegosaurus had brains the size of walnuts?” You ask suddenly, eyes fixed. “Built like a bus with a very small brain. It was like two ounces.”

“Really?”

You nod, grateful he doesn’t question why you’re talking about dinosaurs again. “Yep. For years people thought they had a second brain somewhere near the anus.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m serious. There’s an enlarged area near their hips and early scientists thought it must have been for a second brain because they couldn’t believe something with so much mass could operate with such a small brain. Turns out it wasn’t an ass-brain.”

He huffs. “Ass-brain would have been cool.”

“Right? I always hated that people thought they were docile too. They literally have massive spiked tails as a built in morning star and could beat predators' asses. People need to put respect on them.”

“Hmm. Sounds like we’re talking about more than dinosaurs here.”

You go quiet. Your eyes flick toward the screen, but you’re not really seeing it. He’s not wrong. You chew your bottom lip, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.

Of course it isn’t just about dinosaurs. You’ve always admired creatures like that, misunderstood, underestimated. Not flashy, not predators, not something people are afraid of on instinct, but fierce all the same. Stubborn. Ready to dig their heels in and fight if they had to.

Which is why you liked the stegosaur. You resonated with that. Maybe not the smartest or the strongest, but never easy to push over, always ready to bare teeth when push came to shove. It was why you liked working for Jeonghan, too, seeing a lot of that fight in him.

Which brings you back to thinking about work, and that tomorrow is a new work day, and your heat will most likely be fully complete. And you’ll have to go back to… normal?

You don’t know.

“Why are you so nervous?” Seungcheol asks, bringing you out of your reverie. You look at him, eyes wide. He gives you a soft smile. “What, think I didn’t notice?”

You hesitate. His face is open. Honest. He’s giving you no reason to hold back, no reason to hide from him. But what you have to say is scary.

You take a deep breath and think about the stegosaurus. “Because my heat is fading. And I know things felt intense and - to me - special. I just… what happens after?”

“What do you mean?”

Tears prick your eyes and you curse your hormones for making you emotional. “When my heat is over, what then? We go back to normal? I’m… I don’t know. Having a heat partner is new to me, and I’m not begging you to stay or make you feel bad, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, catching your face in his hands. His eyes are round, gentle. “I’m going to be honest, nothing is changing for me when your heat is over.”

You blink in surprise. See nervousness flicker across his face when he says carefully, “I stayed because I wanted to help you. I - look, I was already a little soft for you. Now that I’m here, I like being with you, heat or no. Even when you’re talking about dinosaur ass-brains.”

That makes you laugh and his smile lights up the room. “Really?”

“Really, baby.”

His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a single salty tear. “Unless you don’t want-”

“I want,” you insist. “I want so much. I have never wanted this much in my life.”

“Then I’ll stay. I’m yours.”

“Even if I start talking about ass-brains?”

“Even then.”

The air in the room shifts, charged with something warm and unspoken. You move without thinking, surging forward and climbing into his lap where he sits on the couch. The soft fabric of his shirt brushes your thighs as you straddle him, your hands settling on his shoulders. He feels solid and warm beneath you.

Seungcheol’s hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your forehead rests against his, breathes mingling, and for a second, you just stay there. Savoring the intimacy. Savoring his scent, bergamot and cardamom.

“You’re sure?” You ask, voice small.

“Very sure.”

His hands slip upward, slow, under the hem of his hoodie. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your waist, making you shiver as heat pools low between your legs. You lean in and kiss him softly, lips brushing, then pressing, slow and deliberate.

You deepen the kiss, unhurried. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, tasting you, opening you up. You shift, grinding down on him gently, feeling the hardening length of him through his sweats. He makes a sound, soft and low, and it buzzes through your mouth. You feel yourself grow wet against your underwear and he sucks in a sharp breath, catching it.

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are fathomless but warm. His hands push the hoodie up and over your head, baring your chest to him. His eyes flicker and he curses. “You’re so perfect.”

You flush, shy under his gaze. His lips find your collarbone, kissing softly before drifting lower, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your breast. Your head falls back as the cool air hits you, your eyes closed.

He takes a nipple into his wanting mouth, tongue swirling, sucking gently. You gasp, hips rocking instinctively, grinding harder against him. The friction is delicious. He groans against your skin, sending sparks through you.

Seungcheol’s hands stay on your hips, encouraging your slow, rolling movements. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. It’s soft, the couch slightly creaking under the weight of you.

His mouth moves to the swell of your other break, lavishing it with the same care. His teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. You feel slick drip down your thighs, not as heavily as before, but still just as ready for him.

“Cheol,” you breath, voice shaky.

He hums, lips sealed around your nipple. The wet buzz of his mouth makes you grind on him faster, chasing the heat in your belly.

Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes glassy. “Love watching you like this. Love feeling you. Want you like this.”

He pulls back just enough to tug at his sweatpants, shoving them down his thighs, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. You bite your lip, the sight making your core clench, and he catches the look, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth.

Carefully, he helps you kick your sweatpants off. You sit back in his lap, not bothering with your underwear. He pushes them to the side with a careful finger, his knuckle deliberately dragging over the wet heat of your pussy.

“Fuck. Wet.”

You nod as he grabs the base of his cock, helping you sit high on your knees. He rubs the rib through your messy folds, both of you moaning in unison before the head catches your entrance and sticks. You sink down, taking him slowly, the stretch punching the breath from your lungs.

His shirt stays on, bunched where you fist it against his chest. It is work, sitting on him fully. You feel him deep in your stomach, your breath turning ragged. You savor the fullness, hands tangled in his shirt.

Taking a deep breath, you start to move. His hands grip your hips, not controlling but encouraging, letting you set whatever pace you want. His cock drags against your walls, smooth and fluid. His lips find your chest, mouthing at a nipple, sucking gently.

Your nails dig into him through the fabric of his shirt, the wet heet of his mouth, the press of his cock, all of it driving you mad, sticky with sweat as you continue to use him however you want.

He lets you, content to suck and mouth at your chest all the while. The couch creaks faintly, a quiet underscore to the soft filth of it all, your slick coating him, dripping down to soak his sweatpants, the way his shirt clings to his sweat-damp chest.

Pleasure builds, slow and warm, a glow that starts in your core and spreads. You grind deeper, chasing it, and he groans, head tipping back, eyes half-lidded but never leaving you.

“How could I ever wanna leave this?” He asks. “How could I ever want anything but the perfect omega?”

The words, the way he says them, tip you over, and your orgasm comes soft but deep, a gentle pulse that has you trembling, walls clenching around him, a quiet moan spilling from your lips.

The way you tighten pushes him to the edge, and he groans, low and broken, thrusting up once, twice, before he comes, hot and thick inside you. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, and you collapse against him, panting, forehead pressed to his, the fabric of his shirt sticking to your skin.

“Mine,” he assures you, giving you a gentle kiss. “Ass-brain and all.”

“Please,” you laugh.

That single word makes him melt, makes him all soft at the edges. “Anything for you, baby.”

The office feels noticeably cooler when you return, the hum of the air conditioning a welcome sound after days away. Cold air brushes the back of your neck as you step off the elevator, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth on your skin, not from the building, but from Seungcheol following close behind you.

Seungcheol’s presence is unmistakable. And people notice.

Jeonghan is the first. He’s perched near Wonwoo’s cubicle, half-lounging on the edge when he glances up and spots you. His gaze flicks from you to Seungcheol, then back again. His eyes widen. A slow grin spreads across his face, and he immediately points a finger.

“You-”

“Not a word,” Seungcheol warns, voice low as he slides a steadying hand to the small of your back and gently guides you toward your desk. Your cheeks heat, teeth sinking into your cheek to suppress a laugh as Jeonghan starts bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We’re just walking, Jeonghan,” you mumble, feeling anything but casual.

“You’re glowing!”

Wonwoo straightens in his chair, peering over his cubicle wall. His brow lifts as he spots Seungcheol casting a warning glance back at Jeonghan, lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk.

“I knew it,” Jeonghan asserts, looking at you and nodding. “He’s always thought you were the cutest omega. Does he know you’re obsessed with dinosaurs yet?”

“Ugh, Jeonghan.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms with a flat grin. “You remind me of a Stegosaur, Jeonghan. Very… you have similar brains.”

You snort before slapping your hand over your mouth in horror.

Jeonghan saints at him. “I don’t get it.”

Seungcheol ignores him, turning to you instead. He brushes his fingers against your arm, and his gaze softens instantly, all gruffness melted into something warm and fond. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nod, smiling despite yourself as he walks away calm. Sure. Unmistakably yours.

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heeseungshim · 26 days ago

Text

Till Death Do Us Part | Pt. 2

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Wordcount: 13.8K

Playlist: 'Control' - CHVRN | 'Keep on Breathing' - The Glitch Mob, Tula | 'Fantasies' - Llynks | 'Madness' - Ruelle | 'Gomd' - Sickick

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (M. Receiving) - Slight Edging (M. Receiving) - Dominant! Reader - Dominant! Seungcheol - Rough play: titty slapping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, etc. - PIV - Unprotected intercourse

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous Chapter: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingyu’s safe house—once just a sprawl of mismatched furniture and half-used equipment—is now a makeshift war room. Tables have been dragged together, boxes repurposed into makeshift desks, wires and monitors hooked into power grids and backup batteries. Satellite phones and burner lines hum quietly from one corner. The walls are lined with maps, a printed blueprint of Argos HQ taped alongside Lim’s Seoul office, red strings and pins ready to mark last known locations.

And at the heart of it all: an arsenal.

You and Seungcheol move slowly around the centrepiece—an open metal table now covered in weapons. Rifles. Semi-autos. Silencers. Flashbangs. Knives of every shape and finish. Armoured vests, gloves, scopes, smoke bombs. Clips and magazines neatly sorted by size. The smell of metal and oil clings to everything.

He holds up a new M1911 with a low whistle.

“Wonwoo really stocked you up,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across the matte finish of a karambit.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, inspecting the sightline. “He’s had a shopping problem ever since Rio. Said it’s cheaper than therapy.”

You smirk faintly and continue checking the gear. Methodical. Quiet. Efficient. Neither of you speaks much, but you don’t need to. There’s a rhythm to it—familiar. Rehearsed. Like slipping back into who you were long before this whole mess started.

Meanwhile, across the room, Reina is hunched over her own setup. She arrived just before sunrise, lugging in two black military-grade cases full of tech. Laptops, signal jammers, USB injectors, three satellite uplinks, and something you’re pretty sure was once a military drone antenna.

She hadn’t knocked—just used the side code to get in. You didn't bother asking her how she knew it.

Mingyu’s been following her around ever since.

“You know,” he says, peering over her shoulder as she boots up her third laptop. “I already had a full system here. Secure grid, scrambled line, full backup redundancy. You didn’t need to drag your entire tech department here.”

Reina doesn’t even look at him. “Yours were outdated.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Outdated?!” he scoffs. “Excuse you, this setup got us through the Jakarta op.”

“Exactly.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but a grin pulls at the edge of his mouth. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she replies sweetly, “you still dream of me.”

He clears his throat at Reina’s comment and turns back to his cables, ears slightly turning pink.

You and Seungcheol exchange a glance. You don’t comment.

Instead, you turn toward the weaponry again.

“This is yours,” Seungcheol mutters, holding out a matte black Glock with a suppressor. “The grip should fit your hand.”

You take it and weigh it in your palm. “Perfect.”

He checks the mag, then hands you two more. “Loaded with subsonics. Just in case.”

You nod and pocket them. “You keeping the SIG?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Everything else—body armour, tactical pouches, spare knives—you both split evenly. There’s no talk of splitting up now. Only of surviving. Only of fighting.

A beep cuts through the room. Then another.

Reina taps a few keys on her main laptop. “We’re live.”

The screens fill—one by one—with pixelated faces.

The girls appear on the left monitor: Samira, Bora, Jiwoo. All in different rooms, different countries, some underground. Some clearly on the move. But they’re alive.

The boys fill the right screen: Woozi, Joshua, and Wonwoo.

Hyerim is the last to appear. She’s pale and looks like she hasn’t slept in two days. Woozi, on the screen beside her, still seems reluctant—but he’s here.

Everyone watches you.

You and Seungcheol stand in front of the cameras, side by side. Calm. Focused. The tension in the room is nearly unbearable.

Then Samira lets out a breath. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually see your face again,” Jiwoo says, trying to smile, though her voice shakes.

“Same here,” Joshua says from the other side. “We’ve been locked down. No signals. No reassurances. Just... radio silence.”

You nod once. “We didn’t know who made it either. Not until now.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “We’re glad you’re here. All of you.”

He pauses, then continues. “Here’s what we know. Argos and Lim & Associates—”

“—have been playing us all along,” you finish. “Feeding each other contracts, setting us up to compete for bigger bounties. Splitting profits while turning us into pawns.”

A wave of muttering breaks out across the feeds.

“They tried to kill us to tie up loose ends,” Seungcheol says. “They failed.”

“But not for lack of trying,” you add grimly. “They’ll keep coming. And you know what that means.”

“It means we’re next,” Bora says softly.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Samira speaks. “So what do we do? We scatter? Lay low? Build new identities?”

“Start hitting back?” Woozi suggests. “They want a war; we give them one.”

“We go public,” Jiwoo says. “Leak what we know to the international market. Force their hand. They won’t survive the exposure.”

Everyone talks over each other—ideas flying in every direction, voices rising with panic or adrenaline. Reina tries to corral them. Mingyu scowls and leans toward his mic.

You hold up your hand. “Enough.” Everyone quiets.

You take a step closer to the screen, eyes scanning each and every face—some scared, some angry, some simply tired.

“I know everyone has ideas,” you say. “But we need a plan. We can’t move blindly. Because each and every one of you is now at risk. And I’m telling you right now—I’m not sacrificing a single one of you to end this. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Bora speaks, hesitant. “Then... maybe we break up. Cut contact completely. And you two? Go separate. Give yourselves better odds.”

Seungcheol answers before you can. “Mingyu already said the same thing.” He glances at you, then looks directly at the screen. “But it’s not happening.”

You step in, firm. “We’re not running.”

A long silence.

Then Hyerim’s voice cuts through it like a match-striking flame.

“Then let’s figure out a way to end this.”

The war room comes alive.

Monitors hum. Fingers fly across keyboards. Maps are spread across the walls with satellite feeds casting flickering lights over weapons and half-drunk coffee mugs. Mingyu and Reina hover on opposite ends of the room, syncing laptops, pinning strings between photos, placing red dots on global maps, and drawing lines connecting targets, histories, and lies.

It’s like HQ—only grittier.

Samira calls out coordinates from her safehouse in Morocco, eyes glued to her private satellite feed. “Director Oh just pinged in Bucharest. He’s changed IDs three times since the system crash but the credit trail doesn’t lie.”

Joshua’s already working on the second. “Mr. Kwon used one of his shell companies to rent a private jet from Rome three hours ago. Flight plan had a false lead to London but I think he diverted.” His screen blinks. “He’s in Dubai.”

“That’s two,” Seungcheol mutters beside you. He’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, tension in every line of his body. “What about Lim? Or my boss?”

You shake your head, eyes moving across the chaotic network of images and data Reina has laid out. “Too clean. Nothing in her old aliases. Nothing recent.”

“Same for Director Kang,” Woozi chimes in reluctantly. “If he’s off-grid, he’s really off-grid. No comms. No cards. He vanished.”

“They’re ghosts,” Hyerim says, frowning into her screen. “Exactly like they trained us to be.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose. ��Then we think like ghosts.”

You push away from the table and begin pacing.

“Madame Lim always had a thing for private residencies in Luxembourg. Kwon once mentioned her ties to an old estate there. Untraceable ownership but still under her maiden alias. She called it her ‘shadow base’.”

“Wait—” Jiwoo perks up from behind her camera. “You mean the one with the mirrored façade?”

You nod slowly. “That’s the one.”

“Kang has that obsession with old nuclear command bunkers,” Seungcheol murmurs beside you. “Always said he’d retire into one. He’s got property in the rural mountains between China and Laos.”

Wonwoo immediately types. “I’ve got a heat signal matching that description. Subterranean. Shielded comms. I’d bet on it.”

“Add it to the board,” you say.

One by one, the map fills in.

Red string now links Director Oh to Bucharest. Kwon to a luxury Dubai apartment. Madame Lim to Luxembourg. Director Kang to a mountain facility on the China-Laos border. Four red Xs appear in real time.

It’s already dark outside. You can see your reflection in the glass. Exhaustion pulls at your features, but no one slows down.

Then Woozi finally says what everyone’s thinking.

“So now what? We found them. What do we do next?”

Seungcheol’s voice is calm. Final.

“We kill them. All of them.”

You look at him, but don’t stop him. You feel the same.

But Hyerim shakes her head. “Killing them is one thing,” she says. “But it doesn’t erase the bounties. What are you gonna do, kill every mercenary that comes after you, too?”

A tense silence. You feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Then Joshua jumps in. “Can’t we just remove the bounties once they’re dead? Wipe the system?”

Reina cuts him off. “Not that simple. They were posted through a specialised encrypted program. Those bounties require live biometric confirmation from the original posters to cancel.”

“So you’re saying we need to access that program,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward.

Reina nods once. “Not just access. We need them alive, long enough to scan in and delete the data.”

Mingyu groans, tossing a stress ball up and catching it again. “Damn. Who the hell built something like that?”

Silence.

Then Reina mutters quietly, “I did.” All heads turn.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Of course you did.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Just once.

You straighten, moving closer to the table. “Reina—can you track the origin posts? Figure out who initiated the bounties?”

She nods, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Give me a second...”

Everyone waits, watching the screen update line by line.

“Got it.” Her voice sharpens. “Your bounty, Gwisin—was posted by Madame Lim. S.Coups’? Director Kang.”

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his teeth. “Then we kill Oh and Kwon first. Quietly. Cut their links. Secure the network. Then we go for the real kill.”

“We have to be fast,” you add. “Coordinated. No screw-ups. The moment one of them gets wind, they’ll vanish for good or trigger dead-man protocols.”

The team nods.

Then Jiwoo’s voice cuts through the line—softer, but clear.

“Yeah... but even if you manage to find them, somehow disable the bounties and kill them...You two can’t take on every gun in the field already on the way to you. Not alone.”

You glance at Seungcheol, jaw tight. He’s thinking it too.

The silence stretches.

Then Samira speaks.

“What if we give the mercs something else to chase?”

Everyone turns to her.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Samira leans in closer to her camera. “I’ve been tracking Jackal on the side. He’s still alive. Ricardo has him in one of his desert compounds. Hidden, but not unreachable.”

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning.

“Wait,” you say. “Reina, Mingyu—can you check if the original Jackal bounty is still live? The twelve million one?”

They’re already typing.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s dormant. Was put on hold after you both missed the retrieval.”

Seungcheol speaks then. “Can you reactivate it?”

Reina nods. “That bounty wasn’t encrypted. Global market. I can make it live again.”

Your voice is calm. Calculated. “Then do it. That should drag most mercenaries away from us. Especially if we leak intel about his location.”

Everyone falls silent again.

Then Seungcheol looks up. His voice is low.

“Let’s go to work.”

Bucharest is colder than expected.

You ride in on a black motorcycle, wind snapping at your borrowed jacket, face tucked beneath the visor of a matte helmet. The sun is just beginning to dip past the skyline, turning the haze of the city into a sheet of golden shadow. You keep to the alleys. Avoid open roads. Your fake ID has already been scanned twice, and thanks to Mingyu’s surprisingly competent alias work, no alarms were triggered.

You’ll file that under surprising things you’re not commenting on.

Much like the fact that Reina never left his safe house.

She’s now patching in from his personal terminal.

Jiwoo, however, is in Athens, and operating her own satellite rig.

“Gwisin, target is stationary,” Reina’s voice says in your comms, sharp as ever. “Upper floor of the building at coordinates 46.7691, 23.5899. Minimal guards. Two confirmed exits.”

“Copy that,” you whisper, crouched behind the gun.

You’ve scoped this place earlier—ten hours ago, to be exact. Found your perch on the fifth floor, shattered window perfectly angled toward the balcony where Oh takes his evening smoke. You’ve lined your sniper rifle up and calibrated for wind, trajectory, and velocity.

Now all you need is the target.

“Any movement yet?” you murmur.

Jiwoo responds. “Nothing yet. He’s still inside.”

You wait.

Time passes slowly in moments like these. The only rhythm is your breath, the slow clench and flex of your fingers around the rifle, and the occasional murmured updates from the girls. You watch out for Oh through your scope—his reflection in the window. Reading. Moving papers.

Then—footsteps.

You freeze.

Your breath stills, and your hands lift off the rifle slowly.

The building is supposed to be empty. You were thorough.

You immediately abandon your post, sliding silently back into the darkness behind you. You blend into it, breath stilling, spine flush to the wall.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“He’s heading to the door. Looks like he’s prepping to move. You’ll have a clear—”

“I’ve got company,” you whisper, tight and low. “Hold your positions. Do not lose track of Oh.”

There’s a pause.

Then Reina says, “Copy. We’re holding.”

You draw your karambit.

Light floods faintly from beneath the hallway door.

Three shadows. Boots. You clock their cadence, their height, their coordination.

The Vasile triplets.

Mercenaries-for-hire. Romanian. Silent hitters. Raised together. Kill together. And now, they think they’re here to kill you.

The first one enters, rifle low. His head turns. That’s all the opening you need. You move like the wind, slicing your karambit clean across his throat. He drops without a sound.

The second shouts, raising his gun, but you’re already behind the nearest wall. You draw the silenced pistol at your hip and shoot once—chest shot. He stumbles, gasps, drops.

The third one charges you—clever, hand-to-hand. You duck his swing and slam your elbow into his ribcage. He knees you in the thigh. Pain pulses through your leg, but you keep your balance. You twist around him and slam your boot into his kneecap. He falls. You follow him to the floor and drive your blade through his neck, slicing upwards.

Silence falls again.

Blood pools quietly between broken cracks of flooring.

Then—

“Gwisin,” Jiwoo’s voice crackles, “Oh’s outside. He’s walking.”

You groan under your breath. “Of course he is.”

You sprint for the window. Your rifle is abandoned. So are the bodies.

You swing your leg out onto the fire escape and slide down the cold metal, the sound of your boots thudding against the wall as you descend. At the base, you toss the ladder down and emerge into an alley, breathing hard.

Your hand slips into your side pocket. A small black GPS device flashes with Oh’s blinking signal.

You speak into the comms. “Jiwoo, Reina—I need a city redirect. Get him into the northeast corner. I’ll meet him there.”

Reina clicks into action. “Hacking local lights now. You’ve got two minutes before I trigger.”

“Give me three,” you respond.

You’re walking fast now, weaving through market streets and narrow alleys, always a shadow. You guide Reina through every junction.

Traffic halts suddenly at your command. Oh is forced off his original path.

He walks. Alone. No security. You smile.

“He’s close,” you murmur. “Jiwoo, clear?”

“Clear,” she answers. “No cameras. No civilians. You’re good.”

You double back through a quieter route, entering the side street from the far end. Oh is still walking, checking his phone; his pace is fast, but he looks distracted.

You drop your eyes, tuck your blade into your sleeve, and walk straight toward him. Thirty steps. Twenty. Ten.

He passes you.

You spin, arm over his shoulder, blade slicing deep and fast across his throat in one clean arc.

His blood sprays silently across the brick walls. He collapses without a sound.

You wipe the blade on your pants, spin it once on your finger, and slip it into your jacket.

“It’s done,” you whisper into your comm.

“Confirmed,” Jiwoo replies after a beat, voice hushed.

Reina exhales. “One down, three to go.”

You walk away without looking back.

The first head has rolled.

Dubai is a city that refuses to sleep.

Glass towers claw at the sky, each one gleaming with its own brand of opulence. Gold trims, velvet ropes, and secrets buried under mirrored floors. For a man who wants to disappear, it’s a living nightmare.

Which is, of course, why Mr. Kwon chose it.

Seungcheol adjusts the cuff of his suit as he walks through the private entrance of Elara, one of Dubai’s most exclusive high-end clubs, his steps confident and deliberate. A different kind of camouflage. He’s not invisible here—not in this white-pressed designer shirt and sleek black jacket. He doesn’t blend in. He owns the room.

“Mingyu?” he murmurs, the comm in his ear catching his voice beneath the music.

“You’re clear. VIP is in the left wing. Same booth as his last visit. And yeah, Kwon’s already six drinks in,” Mingyu answers from the other end, back at their makeshift satellite station in his safe house.

“Woozi?”

“Confirming no other threats have pinged in your area. You’re solo,” comes the clipped reply. Good.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance slightly as he moves toward the main floor. The lights pulse golden. Music throbs under his shoes like a second heartbeat. The crowd is decadent—diamonds and champagne, cleavage and cologne. And in the centre of it all sits Mr. Kwon.

VIP booth. Surrounded by women.

Seungcheol signals a passing waiter and flashes a smile. “Your finest bottle of Boërl & Kroff. Send it to the gentleman in the booth. No note.”

The waiter nods, takes the cash, and slips away. Seconds later, Kwon is laughing and downing champagne straight from the bottle, frothy and bubbling down his chin. The women cheer; one of them straddles his thigh. Seungcheol watches it all unfold from across the room, a quiet predator sipping a scotch he’ll never finish.

You cross his mind unbidden. The rifle in your hands. The quiet precision of your kills. He wonders—Have you done it yet? Are you safe?

He shakes the thought away.

Focus.

Time ticks forward slowly. Kwon grows drunker, heavier-lidded. Then, finally, he rises—stumbling slightly, laughing, waving the women off.

Bathroom break.

Seungcheol downs his drink and follows.

The hallway is dimly lit. Long. Opulent in design but silent. The door to the bathroom swings open, and Seungcheol slips in a few moments later.

Inside, Kwon is already at the sink. Washing his hands like he’s preparing for a goddamn sermon. He’s humming.

When he looks up, he catches Seungcheol’s reflection in the mirror.

The moment of recognition is quick. Seungcheol is quicker.

His arm wraps around Kwon’s neck, cutting off the air, holding tight. Kwon thrashes once, twice, tries to claw at him, tries to scream—but it’s too late. His body slumps, and Seungcheol lowers him to the tile.

“Goodnight,” he mutters coldly.

The second the body hits the floor, Seungcheol straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with one sweep, and checks his reflection in the mirror. His muscles strain again. It’s almost poetic now.

He turns toward the exit. Left leads back to the party. Right leads out.

He turns right.

He only makes it ten feet before a gold chain lashes around his ankle like a striking snake. He hits the floor hard, forearms slamming into tile, the wind knocked from his chest.

The chain yanks.

He rolls—just in time.

A figure charges at him with the elegance of a dancer and the savagery of a cobra. Full force, she lands on top of him.

They wrestle—hands, knees, elbows. She’s fast. Precise. Smiling.

“Hello, darling,” she purrs, her accent unmistakable. “Still breaking hearts?”

“Varsha,” he growls. “Didn’t expect you to come crawling back.”

She slams her fist into his ribs.

He kicks upward, rolling her off. They separate, both springing to their feet at once—Seungcheol doing a clean kick-up, landing squarely in a fighter’s stance.

She twirls the chain in one hand. Her snake bracelet, coiled and ready.

“Heard you were married now,” she says, circling. “Shame.”

“Shame you don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.

They lunge at the same time.

She swings the chain—he ducks, grabs the end mid-air, and yanks.

She flies forward, caught off guard, and he spins her into the wall. Her head cracks against a mirror.

She recovers. Slashes at his face. He blocks with his forearm, the chain cutting into his skin. He counters.

A blade slides from the inside of his sleeve—his last resort.

He plunges it deep into her gut before she can wrench away. Her breath hitches. Blood trickles out of her mouth.

He leans in, twisting the knife once before pulling it out and stabbing it in again.

“Should’ve stayed a one-night stand.” She collapses.

The comms buzz in his ear, and Seungcheol finally registers the noise.

“Hyung—what the hell was that noise?” Woozi demands.

Seungcheol breathes hard, blood dripping from his hand. He wipes the blade on his pants.

“Target’s down,” he says. “And so is the unexpected company.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Varsha?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol crouches beside the body for one second, then stands.

His suit is wrinkled, blood-streaked. His forearm stings. But the mission’s done.

The second head has rolled.

“Director Kwon is confirmed dead,” Reina says, her voice in your earpiece over the static of the line.

You’re crouched on the edge of a building rooftop in Bucharest, the skyline painted grey behind you, your breath cooling in the early evening air.

“Seungcheol did it in a club bathroom—clean choke. No witnesses, no trail,” she continues.

You exhale, tension loosening from your shoulders, the adrenaline of your own mission slowly bleeding out of your system.

“Good,” you reply, voice soft.

“I’ve just updated your travel packet. New alias, new flight plan. Small private jet’s waiting for you twenty clicks out of town. That should land you in Luang Namtha before midnight. From there, quad into the jungle—Seungcheol’s safehouse is mapped.”

“That where we regroup?”

“Yeah. Wonwoo’s sending another weapons crate to the site tomorrow. You’ll need it before you move on Kang.”

“Copy that,” you murmur. “I’ll move soon.”

You’re about to kill the comm when you hear it.

A low voice in the background—Mingyu’s, unmistakably.

“I can’t believe Varsha, of all people, showed up.”

You freeze, head tilting slightly.

“Kind of crazy that she’s still breathing after all these years. Woozi, remember her? That whole mess in Tangier? And now she tried to choke Seungcheol in a Dubai nightclub? Crazy bitch.”

A pause.

Then Mingyu again, voice casual, joking—too joking.

“Guess some flings really don’t take rejection well. But at least Cheol’s still got it, huh?”

Your blood runs cold. Then hot.

Varsha.

You’ve heard the name before. Not often, not clearly—It’s been passed around the underground like an urban legend: exotic, lethal, likes to strangle her targets with some kind of metal chain disguised as jewellery. A merc. A black widow.

And apparently, your husband’s slept with her.

Your jaw clenches.

You hang up the call with Reina before she can hear your tone shift.

It takes hours to get through immigration, over the Laos border, and deeper into the jungle. Your boots are caked in water and mud by the time you reach the last marker—an overgrown path with an old iron sign buried beneath moss and vines. The GPS flashes green in your hand.

Safehouse reached.

Your heartbeat picks up as you walk forward past the thick of the trees. You push through the foliage, parting vines and leaves until you finally see it—an old concrete structure, half-buried in the landscape but clearly maintained.

And standing in front of it, looking far too calm and far too attractive in a grey tactical shirt and jungle-worn cargo pants—Seungcheol.

His eyes light up the second he sees you.

He takes a step forward, and you feel your chest tighten, all that tension from the last few days crumbling in an instant.

God, he’s alive.

He walks right up to you, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you—hard.

It’s frantic, hungry, grateful. All heat and breath and want. You melt into it for a second, eyes fluttering shut, fingers curling into his shirt.

And then—

The name echoes again.

Varsha.

You snap out of it, pushing him back with one hand to his chest.

And then you slap him. Hard.

“Ow—!” he groans, jerking his head. “What the hell was that for?”

You don’t even let him recover.

You shove him again, your words tumbling out like bullets. “Who is Varsha, huh? And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Choi—” You hit his chest. “Who is she? When did you sleep with her? Was it before the wedding or after? The last time you were in Dubai? How long has this been going on?!”

“Okay, wow—” he starts, reaching for you.

You slap his hands away.

“You smug, lying, arrogant—God, you’re unbelievable. You brag to your friends like some frat boy, and then just... what? Hide it from me? Your wife?”

“Babe—”

“No!” You push him again. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. And don’t touch me. Not after this. I’ll find that bitch and kill her myself. Right after I kill you.”

He tries again, grabbing for your arms.

You swat at him like a feral cat.

“Jesus, okay, stop—” he groans, catching your wrists and holding them in place. “Stop—just—stop hitting me for one second—”

“Why? You can’t take it? Was she better? Did she use the—”

He lets out a laugh then, loud and full-bodied.

And then he pulls you flush against him, hands still locked around your waist, gripping you tight enough you can’t wriggle free.

“You don't have to kill her,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “I already did.”

You freeze.

“...what?”

His mouth quirks. “She came at me in the club. Chained my ankle. Thought she could collect my bounty. I stabbed her. Right through the gut. She’s dead.”

You stare at him, blinking.

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was out there making out with her, did you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Look away, completely mortified.

He smirks.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “I’m such an idiot.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just tilts your chin up with one hand, waiting until your eyes meet his again.

And instead of teasing you further, he leans down—close enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs.

You scoff. “I’m not jealous.”

“You literally said you’d kill her.”

“That’s not the same thing—”

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes but don’t move away. Not even when he leans in, brushing his lips over yours with a feather-light touch. Not even when he whispers against your mouth.

“Trust me, baby, you’re the only one I want.”

You sigh, letting your forehead press to his.

“Good,” you whisper back.

And then he kisses you again.

The second Seungcheol’s mouth slants over yours again, something raw and almost reckless rises between you. Whatever apology you didn’t say for your blow-up burns off your tongue as your teeth sink into his lower lip instead. His hissed inhale at the sting makes something low in your stomach coil and thrum.

He pulls you closer like he’s starved. But you’re the one who can’t get enough.

The world narrows to your tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing and mouths bruising. You don’t even register the door closing behind you, or your boots tracking mud into the safe house. Seungcheol blindly stumbles back into the small main room, dragging you with him, hands gripping your hips like he needs the grounding.

You hit a wall. A stack of crates topples. Neither of you flinch.

He chuckles against your mouth when it crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re gonna wreck the place.”

You bite his bottom lip again. “I don’t care.”

Another kiss. Another half-step, and suddenly, he falls into a chair, dragging you with him.

You straddle his lap without hesitation, your thighs bracketing his hips, and your clothed core presses against the thick, growing bulge in his pants. His hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt, rough and warm, and you grind down on him with purpose. He groans into your mouth at the friction—one hand tightening on your waist while the other fists the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head.

You break the kiss just long enough to let it go, arms flying overhead, before your lips crash back to his. Your hands are already at his belt, clumsily undoing the clasp, fingers fumbling with impatience as his hands work to undo your bra.

His mouth trails from your lips down your neck. “Jesus. You’re—”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finally get his belt open, unzipping his pants while he kisses along the curve of your jaw and down your collarbone as he pushes your bra straps down. His hips buck slightly when your hand slides inside the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his hard length. You lean back, just enough to push his chest down into the chair.

“Don’t move,” you mutter, fingers splayed on his sternum. “And don’t touch.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at your warning but obliges. You slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes darken instantly.

“Baby, what—”

“Shut. Up.”

You slap his hands away when he tries to touch you, and he groans, watching as you reach for his waistband and tug everything down and off—pants, underwear, all at once. His cock springs free, flushed and thick and already hard, bobbing slightly against his abdomen.

You don’t tease. Not yet.

You lean in and envelop him in your mouth.

His strangled groan echoes around the room as your mouth closes over the head of his cock, wet and hot and needy. You drag your tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, taking your time, then hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw and the way his body tenses instantly.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, hands fisting the edge of the chair. “Holy shit.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling, alternating suction with slow drags, and soon he’s groaning again, hips jerking subtly up into your mouth before he forces himself to still.

You take your time—too much time.

Your hand joins your ministrations, wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping slowly while your mouth works the head. You stroke in rhythm with your lips, twisting, flicking your tongue, pulling back to suck hard at the tip before going deep again.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, one hand falling into your hair despite your warning.

You let him tug, guide, just enough to make your scalp sting.

He starts panting, the tension in his thighs ratcheting up.

“Baby—shit—I’m close—”

You immediately pull off. He gasps at the sudden loss of contact, body twitching at the near-orgasm, hands still in your hair.

You look at him as you start stroking him again—slow, deliberate, not letting him tip over.

His head thunks back against the chair. “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirk. “And yet, you married me.”

He groans, head turning to the side like he’s trying to focus on anything else. But it doesn’t help. Your hand never stops. But it’s not enough. Not fast enough, not tight enough. Minutes tick by. You go down again.

He jerks up so fast you nearly choke. Your lips wrap around his tip again, and you find a new rhythm—suck, stroke, lick, repeat.

He’s shaking when he groans, “Gonna come—fuck—”

You stop. Again.

“Fucking hell!” he barks, hands flying to the armrests.

You glance up with innocent eyes. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Don’t make me—” He grits his teeth, cheeks flushed and body glistening with sweat. “Do not make me beg.”

You smirk, pumping him once—twice—slowly. He groans, head falling forward. “You’re gonna pay for this—”

“Shut up and take it.”

The third time you take him in your mouth, you don’t wait for the warning.

You edge him again, stopping just as his thighs start to tremble and the base of his spine tenses in that telltale way. You pull off. Again.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his cock.

He’s not groaning anymore. He’s whining. Your big, bad assassin husband is actually whining.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes blown wide with desperation. “Please.”

You tilt your head. “Please what?” He glares. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You stroke him just once, and he groans. “Be in control?”

His jaw flexes. He looks at you like he wants to throttle you—or fuck you so hard the walls come down.

You lean in close again, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he rasps. “For Dubai. For Varsha.”

You lick your lips. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“But you love it.”

He laughs through a moan. You smile, letting your tongue flick out—just enough to taste him again. And then, you sit back on your heels. Completely still. You don’t touch him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t move.

He stares at you, furious and hard and on the brink of madness.

You rise slowly to your feet, running your thumb across your bottom lip and gathering the saliva and precum gathered at the corner of your mouth.

You lick it clean, smiling.

You don’t expect him to move that fast.

One second you’re still standing in front of him, pleased with yourself, watching Seungcheol’s cock throb with need between his thighs… and the next, he’s out of the chair.

Before you can so much as flinch or retaliate, you’re airborne.

“Hey—” you yelp as he picks you up, manhandling you like you weigh nothing at all, and throws you across the room. Your back hits the mattress with a heavy oomph, limbs bouncing slightly on the bed as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You manage to suck in a breath before his body crashes down on top of yours, caging you in.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls lowly, his nose brushing yours as he pins your wrists above your head. You grin. “Maybe.”

He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive.

The heat from earlier flares again, but it’s darker now, fiercer. His mouth travels fast—biting down on your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You moan, arching beneath him, and he laughs against your skin.

You feel his hand on your chest before you register the slap—his palm hitting your breast hard enough to sting, then immediately squeezing it after.

“Fuck—” you whimper, legs twitching around his hips.

His mouth closes around your nipple in response—hot, wet, rough—and he sucks hard, alternating with his teeth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Still feeling bratty?” he mutters against your breast.

He doesn’t give you the time to retort—instead, he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat, and bites down on your neck instead. The sharp jolt sends sparks straight between your legs.

Your pants are ripped off you in the next heartbeat—tugged down so roughly they take your panties with them, leaving you sprawled naked and gasping on the bed.

He kisses his way down, leaving a trail of saliva and fire along your ribs, your stomach, and your hipbone.

When his mouth hovers over your soaked heat, your legs tremble. His breath ghosts over your core, and you meet his eyes, dark and ravenous, from between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Fingers? Mouth? Or cock?”

You blink, brain fogged with heat.

“What…?”

Seungcheol grins. “Tch. Thought so. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already fucked out. You get to choose, baby. But choose wisely.” He leans closer, nose brushing your clit. “You’ll only get one.”

That finally snaps you out of it.

“Cock,” you whisper, voice hoarse and expectant.

He smirks. “Good choice.”

And then your world flips on its axis. Literally.

He grabs your thighs and flips you with a single motion. You shriek in surprise as you land on your stomach. He yanks you onto all fours.

“Cheol—!” you start, but he’s pushing your face into the mattress, his palm heavy against the back of your head.

“Shut up,” he mutters commandingly. “You asked for this.”

You feel his cock behind you—hard, hot, lined up with your weeping entrance—and then he’s inside you in one brutal, punishing thrust.

You cry out into the bedding, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he splits you open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans behind you, his hands bruising your hips.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts pounding into you from behind, hips slamming against your ass with heavy, rhythmic force. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, your wetness, your gasps and his growls filling the tiny space.

You’re moaning, whining, helpless against the onslaught of his body.

Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. He spanks your ass hard once—then again—and again, until you let out a sob, only to moan even when his palm lands on you again.

Your core clenches wildly around him.

“Fuck— you’re gripping me like a vice,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You like this? Huh, baby? Like being used?”

You can only cry out ‘Yes’ in response.

When your legs begin to shake, he grabs your hair and yanks you upright—your back slamming against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, keeping his grip tight in your hair as his free hand slides in front of your face.

You do without hesitation. Two fingers slide past your lips—rubbing over your tongue, pressing down against it.

“Suck.”

You moan as you obey, your tongue swirling over his fingers, your mouth hot and desperate, sucking on his digits like you did his cock. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them free and slides them down—between your thighs, right to your clit.

You cry out when his slick fingers start rubbing fast, ruthless circles over your pulsing nub.

“Cheol— oh god—fuck—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your fingers dig into his arm as your orgasm suddenly crashes through you. It’s violent. Wild. And takes you by force. Your body locks, clenches, and trembles as the pressure explodes and pleasure rips through your nerves.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit, keeps fucking you through it—overstimulation already setting in as you scream into the mattress.

He lets you fall forward again, and you collapse bonelessly, face down into the bed. He doesn’t stop. His hands grab your hips, holding you steady as he chases his own release.

He spanks your ass again, the sounds loud and lewd.

“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering.

And then he spills inside you with a loud, broken groan.

Three more thrusts. Shallow. Slow. Making sure every drop stays buried deep. He finally pulls out, breath catching in his throat.

You’re wrecked. Soaked. Glistening. Barely able to move.

He flops down beside you, dragging your twitching body into his arms. You’re gasping, limbs limp, brain swimming—but a giggle bubbles out anyway.

“That was…” you pant, dazed. “Yeah. I should definitely rile you up more often.”

He groans playfully, burying his face into your neck. “Let’s not.”

The jungle is still sleeping when reality decides to wake you up.

The sharp buzz of his satellite phone on the nightstand and the soft, steady beeping from your GPS tracker lighting up beside the bed wake you both from your slumber. The haze of last night’s sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets is still warm on your skin, but the moment is gone as fast as it came. Instinct takes over.

Seungcheol grabs the sat phone and answers without hesitation. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Wonwoo says, gruff and casual as ever. “Shipment’s dropped. It’s in the clearing three clicks northeast of you. Sent the coordinates to your wife’s tracker.”

“She got it,” Seungcheol replies, throwing a quick glance at you as you nod.

“Good. Stay sharp out there,” Wonwoo mutters. “And… don’t die.”

Seungcheol breathes out. “Right back at you, Woo.”

Wonwoo disconnects, and just like that, the warmth of the bed, the afterglow—it all fades. You look at each other for a heartbeat, and then the switch flips.

Game time.

You both get dressed in practised silence. Vests. Gloves. Boots. Every movement is efficient. Clean. Sharp. Two ghosts suiting up for a kill.

Outside, the air is thick with jungle humidity. You follow Seungcheol as he rounds the side of the safe house, stepping over vines and damp earth until he crouches down and yanks off a heavy tarp.

Underneath it—well hidden—is a weathered military-grade jeep.

“Of course, you had this here,” you mutter, lips twitching slightly.

He grins as he gets in. “Had to leave myself a ride.”

You climb into the passenger seat, pulling your GPS forward. “Take the path north, then veer right at the ridge. The drop is just past the waterline clearing.”

The jeep lurches forward, engine snarling low and quiet, and you both fall into the tense stillness of the mission. Every branch that scrapes the side of the jeep, every call of birds overhead, every bump in the road—it all heightens your senses.

It doesn’t take long before you reach the clearing.

Seungcheol kills the engine, and the world goes eerily quiet except for the rustle of wind through leaves. You step out, weapons drawn, scanning your surroundings. Then you see it.

A dark metal crate sits just ahead, nestled in the grass like a gift from the gods.

Seungcheol breaks it open with a crowbar, and your eyes widen.

Wonwoo went off.

Inside the crate lies a small armoury. Sleek, matte-black rifles. Knives with ceramic edges. Ammo in every calibre. Smoke bombs. Blackout tech. Scoped pistols. Infrared sensors. Heat detectors. New comms gear. Suppressors.

“Damn,” you mutter, running your hand across a silencer. “This is better than Christmas.”

You both start suiting up—checking each item before adding it to your loadout. Sights calibrated. Knives balanced. Comms synced.

You’re just about to zip up your tactical vest when something catches your eye at the bottom of the crate.

A flash drive.

You pick it up. Silver casing with black marker on the side: XOXO, Reina.

Your eyebrows lift. “The hell is this?”

Seungcheol is already watching you, so he throws you his sat phone, and you dial Reina. She answers after three rings, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“Yeah—hello?”

You narrow your eyes. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies too fast. “Totally fine. Just finished working out. What’s up?”

You stare into the jungle. “Got your gift.”

Silence.

Then Reina exhales. “Oh. Right. The drive.” Her voice shifts, businesslike. “That’s a virus I wrote to scramble Kang and Lim’s encrypted program. Once you’re in, it’ll override the signal.”

You glance at Seungcheol. “Define ‘in’.”

“As I mentioned, it uses biometric access,” Reina explains. “Voice, retinal, and fingerprint. The print scan is advanced—it monitors heart rate and body temp. If either spike, a fail-safe activates. It’s basically a dead man’s switch.”

Seungcheol groans behind you. “So… a walk in the park.”

Reina snorts. “You’ll have to get Kang to unlock the system without triggering any alarms. Once you’re in, insert the flash drive. It’ll spoof the signal to Lim—make it seem like the bounty’s still live on her end, but dead to the global market. She’ll never know.”

You blink. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” Reina says smugly.

You start to thank her, then pause—smirking slightly.

“You know,” you say smugly, “Next time, maybe think twice when you decide to “work out” again. And do it preferably after we’ve walked towards possible death.”

More silence.

Then a very quiet, “God, you’re creepy. Can’t hide shit from you.”

You laugh. “You’re not that subtle, Reina.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the faint smile in her voice. “Good luck. Don’t die.”

“Back at you.” You hang up.

When you turn around, Seungcheol’s watching you with a faint smirk.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just something about a pot and kettle.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”

He chuckles at your statement, but it fades as the moment quiets.

Your eyes meet, and the atmosphere shifts. Reality settles like a weight on your shoulders.

It’s go time.

The sun rides high above the canopy by the time the wheels of the jeep crunch to a stop beneath the thick shadows of the jungle. You and Seungcheol sit in stillness for a moment, the low hum of the engine dying out as he kills the ignition. Birds call in the distance, muffled by the density of the leaves, and the air is heavy with anticipation.

“We’re close,” you murmur, checking your GPS. “About one klick northeast.”

He nods once, scanning the tree line. “We’ll go on foot from here. We park any closer; we risk setting off possible perimeter sensors.”

Without another word, you both exit the vehicle and disappear into the green.

The jungle is unforgiving—thick vines, hanging moss, and humidity clinging to your skin like a second suit. You pull a machete from your belt, and Seungcheol does the same, both of you slashing carefully through the underbrush, keeping your steps measured and soundless. There’s no conversation, just the rhythm of your shared breaths and blades, and the silent language spoken between trained killers.

After a short climb, you reach a ridge. It crests gently above a natural dip in the earth, and below it, spread across a cleared stretch of jungle floor, lies Kang’s compound.

Modern. Sleek. Built like a fortress with luxury trimmings—glass walls, solar panels, and a central structure acting as an office or control centre. It stands out in the wild like a dagger.

You drop to your stomach near the edge of the ridge, dragging your binoculars from your pack. Beside you, Seungcheol pulls out his own gear—infrared heat sensors, a laser rangefinder. You share what you see in low, practised whispers.

“Two snipers. North and southeast towers,” you murmur. “Both posted high, rifles trained toward the outer edge.”

“Got eyes on two more guards. Heavily armed, center-left of the courtyard near the entrance,” he adds. “Looks like they’re protecting the main path in.”

You tap the side of your lens, switching to thermal.

“Seven more, patrolling inside the compound. Standard rotation—seems like they’re on a ten-minute loop. Armed, but not alert.”

“Visual on Kang?”

You scan the second floor of the compound and freeze when you find the shadowed silhouette of a tall man, pacing across what appears to be an office.

“There,” you whisper, nudging Seungcheol. “Tall, wide shoulders. Movement pattern matches. Looks like he’s talking to someone—”

Seungcheol adjusts his lens. “Confirmed. That’s him.”

You nod and reach into your pack again, pulling out the scrambler. You power it on and set the frequency, watching as the blinking green light turns steady blue.

“Alarms scrambled. Cameras looped. We’ll have a twenty-minute window before their system reboots, and he realizes something’s off.”

“Plenty of time,” Seungcheol replies, cocking your rifle and attaching the silencer and balancing it on a tripod.

You both lie flat on the ridge, shoulder to shoulder. You take the snipers. He watches for movement.

“North tower first,” you whisper.

You adjust the sight, take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. The silencer reduces the crack to a faint hiss, and the sniper in the north tower drops like a ragdoll. One down.

You shift slightly. “Southeast tower.”

Another shot. Another body slumps, this time into the rail, his body tumbling quietly over the edge into the brush.

“Clear,” you mutter. “I’ll move. You take east. I’ll go west.”

Seungcheol nods, already sliding down the hill.

You stay behind a moment longer, disassembling your rifle and pocketing the scrambler. Then you’re on your feet, slipping through the trees silently.

You move fast and low.

By the time you reach the outer edge of the compound, Seungcheol has already taken out the two guards near the courtyard. You spot their bodies tucked neatly behind a stone wall, blood blooming silently across their shirts. You nod to yourself and slip around the west side, coming up behind the greenhouse wing. A guard steps out to smoke. You waste no time.

Karambit to his throat. A gurgled gasp. You pull him into the shadows, wipe the blade, and move on.

Another guard rounds the corner, humming to himself. You take him down in two swift moves—elbow to the windpipe, blade to the kidney. He falls in a twitch.

Inside, the compound is eerily silent. The scrambler continues to work wonders—no alarms, no flickers of suspicion from the guards, still unaware they’re being hunted.

You and Seungcheol clear the floors like ghosts. He moves swiftly on the east side, the occasional thud of a body hitting the tile filtering through your comms. You press into the south corridor, slicing through two more men and dragging them into an empty bathroom.

With every guard down, every hallway cleared, the silence grows heavier. Anticipation coils tighter in your gut.

Finally, you reach the top floor.

And just like that—you’re standing at Kang’s office door.

Seungcheol rounds the corner from the other direction, his face slick with sweat, blood spatters on his cheek, but his eyes sharp. He meets your gaze, and you both press flat against either side of the door. You nod once to each other.

Seungcheol opens the door with a silent push, and you toss a smoke bomb inside.

The hiss of the release is immediate, followed by a fast bloom of dense, grey smoke that overtakes the pristine mahogany of his luxury office. The desk disappears, the floor vanishes beneath haze, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping back sharply.

“What the—?!” Kang’s voice barks in confusion.

You slip inside, silent and focused. You can hear Kang’s movements: stumbling, coughing, his shoes thudding heavily against the floor as he tries to orient himself. There’s a crash—he’s knocked something off his desk—and then a shuffle of panic.

Then silence.

Until the feeling of a cold, steely barrel of a gun chamber touches his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol says, voice calm, firm, and ice-sharp.

He freezes.

“Seungcheol?” Kang rasps through the smoke.

Your figure melts from the shadows behind him like a ghost. Your karambit is back in your hand, its curved blade cold and gleaming. You press it to the side of Kang’s throat.

He stiffens instantly.

Your voice is quiet and cold, the edge of your breath brushing his ear. “Hello, Kang. Miss us?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out a rough laugh, half-amused, half-appalled. “You two have really lost your minds.”

He tries to move, but you press the blade a hair deeper. A single drop of blood runs down his neck.

He barks another laugh. “The two biggest targets on the global kill list walk right into my compound. I should be flattered. Or furious.”

Seungcheol says nothing, only pressing the gun harder to his forehead.

“I underestimated you, Seungcheol. I knew you were soft, but this? Playing Bonnie and Clyde with your little wife? How’s it feel, huh? Always in her shadow?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow. He’s still as stone, but the way his jaw clenches tells you exactly how hard he’s biting back the need to pull the trigger.

Seungcheol finally speaks, voice low, cold. “It feels like I married the only person worth trusting in this goddamn world. And the fact you’re scared of her proves it.”

You smirk.

Leaning closer, you whisper, “Let’s see if we can keep you calm enough to survive the next few minutes, shall we?”

Kang glares. “What do you want?”

“Access,” you say simply. “To your program.”

He scoffs. “You think I’m going to just hand it over?”

You press the karambit harder into the tender skin beneath his jaw, a steady stream of blood oozing from the tip piercing his skin. “No. You’re going to walk us through it. And if you fuck around—if you even flinch the wrong way—you’ll die before the failsafe ever gets a chance to go off.”

Kang huffs through his nose, but walks to the desk with your blade still at his throat. Seungcheol stays close by, his gun never wavering. Kang’s fingers tremble slightly as he wakes up the terminal. The light from the monitor casts strange shadows across his face as he clears his throat and accesses the program.

“Director Kang Hojin,” he states, firm and loud. “Override sequence Omega Black, authorisation Sigma-One-Seven-Delta.”

The system chimes.

Voice scan accepted.

He places his hand on the scanner. Another chime.

Fingerprint accepted.

Then comes the retinal scan. He leans forward towards the webcam. The screen buzzes.

Access denied. Retinal match not found.

Your heart stutters. Seungcheol’s grip on his gun tightens.

Kang lifts his head with a smug look. “Oops.”

You grab his shoulder and force him back down. “Do it again. Don’t blink.”

Kang exhales sharply through his nose and leans forward again. This time, he holds perfectly still.

Retinal scan accepted.

Access granted.

Relief floods you, but you shove it down. No room for error now.

“Bounty logs,” Seungcheol says.

Kang navigates the system with practised fingers, moving through encrypted folders. “Here. This is what you want.”

You reach into your belt and pull out the flash drive. Kang’s eyes flicker to it.

“Plug it in,” Seungcheol says. You do.

The second the drive locks in, the screen flashes. Code scrolls, long strings of green bleeding across black. The virus is doing its job.

“You idiots have no idea what you’ve just done,” Kang growls. “You think Lim won’t find this? You think she didn’t plan for this?”

You say nothing. Seungcheol watches the screen. Progress: 82%.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll never stop. You’re nothing to her. Ants. She’ll make sure the entire world hunts you for sport.”

The progress bar reaches 100%.

Final confirmation: Bounty Deactivated — Market Update Complete.

“You talk too much,” Seungcheol mutters. Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Kang clean between the eyes. His head snaps back before slumping forward onto the keyboard, blood blooming fast beneath him. The room goes quiet.

You exhale. Slide the flash drive from the port and tuck it back into your belt.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol says.

You’re two steps toward the door when the monitor flickers red.

On the screen, a new prompt flashes: ALARM ACTIVATED — FAILSAFE INITIATED — DETONATION SEQUENCE: 2:00

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Run,” Seungcheol breathes, already grabbing your wrist. “GO!”

Your boots slam against the floor as you both bolt from Kang’s office, weaving past his slumped, lifeless body behind his desk. The halls flash red—emergency lights triggered by the failsafe.

“Where did that come from?!” Seungcheol shouts.

“My scrambler!” you gasp, realisation slamming into you like a truck. “It triggered the reboot. The system finally recognised us.”

01:45.

You skid through the corridor, heart in your throat, legs pumping hard. Down the stairs—two at a time—your boots barely hitting the steps before you’re flying again. You hear Seungcheol right behind you, breath ragged, muttering a string of curses between each inhale.

You nearly slip on the last stair, but Seungcheol grabs your arm and steadies you without stopping. The two of you slam through a side exit and into the open air of the jungle’s edge.

01:02

“Too far,” you choke out. “We parked too far—”

“We’re not making the jeep,” he says, teeth clenched. “Find cover.”

You don’t argue. You veer left, leaping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under a vine. Your legs burn. The world is loud with your breaths, your pulse in your ears, the scream of your muscles.

00:54

Behind you, the compound hums unnaturally, the kind of silence that feels like something holding its breath. You glance back—just a flash—and see smoke already leaking from the vents on the roof. The timer is real. The end is coming.

“There!” Seungcheol shouts behind you, pointing.

A rock formation, jagged and moss-covered, partially buried under tangled roots. A crevice big enough—maybe.

He speeds up. You do, too.

00:32

You’re panting. Staggering. Tripping over your own feet—but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Then—just as your feet hit the edge of the formation—arms wrap around your waist.

Seungcheol lifts you, spins, and throws the both of you behind the largest boulder.

You crash into the dirt hard, grass in your mouth, Seungcheol’s weight covering you entirely. His arms pin you down, his body a shield.

He curls around you, breath hot against your ear.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes. You feel his heartbeat.

00:01.

The sky lights orange. Fire screams through the trees. The compound behind you explodes in a catastrophic blast that tears the jungle apart. Glass, steel, smoke and flame shoot into the air like a volcanic eruption.

Debris pelts the ridge. Metal thuds against the boulder you hide behind. The earth shakes.

You cry out once, but it’s swallowed by the roar.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. His arms cage you tighter, shielding every inch of you. His weight grounds you, anchors you to the earth as the fury rages overhead.

Then—

Silence.

Smoke. Crackling. The compound groans as its structure collapses.

Your ears ring. Your skin is coated in ash and dust. You blink slowly, chest heaving.

Seungcheol lifts his head first.

His hair is singed at the edges. There’s a bleeding cut on his arm from fallen debris. But he’s alive.

You roll beneath him slightly, dazed, pupils blown wide as your gaze meets his.

Neither of you speak.

You just reach up with shaking fingers and brush a smear of soot from his cheek.

Then you mouth it:

Thank you.

He lets out a dry chuckle, then shifts beside you, flopping onto his back in the grass with a groan.

The two of you stare up at the sky above. Bits of scorched leaves flutter down like feathers.

The train hums steadily beneath your feet, metal wheels grinding softly against iron tracks as the landscape rolls by in a blur of dusk and shadow. It’s your second train in two days, and the rhythm has become something almost meditative—lulling, even soothing—if not for the weight pressing down on your chest.

Munich was a blur. Quick layover. New platform. A different conductor, different glances, different whispers of German you barely registered through the haze of concentration and caffeine. Now it’s Luxembourg ahead, the final stretch before you disappear into the woods, heading toward a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.

You sit cross-legged on the small fold-out sleeper bunk in your private cabin, flicking through weapons one by one. Cleaning cloths. Fresh rounds. Blade oil. The hum of the train is your only soundtrack.

Across from you, Seungcheol mirrors your movements, his back against the wall, knees up, long fingers reassembling the slide of his pistol with practised ease. It’s not about necessity at this point. Everything’s already ready. It’s about habit. Control. The illusion of it, anyway.

You glance up at him, catching the crease between his brows and the faint tremor in his thumb as he locks the magazine into place. He’s steady. Always has been. But this isn’t like any mission you’ve done before.

He senses your eyes on him and glances up, offering a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You ever gonna stop checking that knife?” he asks.

You twirl the karambit around your fingers. “Not tonight.”

He nods like he understands—and he does. Of course, he does.

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more carefully. “Can you tell me about her?”

You pause, eyes narrowing slightly. “Lim?”

He nods. “I’ve never met her. Never even seen a photo. Only heard what Reina and Jiwoo said. But if I’m going to walk into her house with a bullet chambered, I want to understand who we’re really facing.”

You sit back, the weight of the knife still warm in your palm. You stare out the window for a beat—at the darkening sky, at the streaks of stars beginning to appear above dense silhouettes of trees and valleys—before you speak.

“She’s brilliant,” you say softly, letting the words form with intention. “And terrifying in the most elegant way imaginable. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t make threats. She makes promises. And she keeps them. Always.”

Seungcheol listens, his jaw tight.

“She recruits people like an art collector would. She studies them. Waits. Makes them feel seen. Then she bends them to her will so subtly they don’t even realize they’ve changed sides. And when she’s done with them… she never gets her hands dirty. You’ll never see it coming.”

You feel his gaze on you, but you keep your eyes on the knife in your hand.

“I watched her take down five agencies from the inside just by turning people against each other. I watched her call a kill order on a pregnant agent because she had doubts about continuing. I saw the body. The husband. The baby didn’t make it.”

You swallow hard.

“She told me once that loyalty was just a leash wrapped in velvet. She said affection was a liability… and love?” You look up now, straight into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Love was a knife people begged to be stabbed with.”

The quiet after your words stretches thin between you, taut and cold. His face is unreadable for a long beat, but his hands are clenched, and you know that fury lives just beneath his skin.

“She gave the order for me to kill you,” you murmur. “When I married you, she knew who you were. She could have given me the order right then and there. But she waited until she was sure of my feelings for you. Until she was sure it would hurt me. She was always ten steps ahead.”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “And you almost did.”

You nod. “I would’ve. I nearly did. But when I saw your face…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So this is it,” he murmurs. “The end of the road.”

You nod slowly. “If we fail, she disappears. The whole web collapses. And people like Reina, Mingyu, Jiwoo, Joshua—they’ll be hunted. You and I?” You give a faint, dry laugh. “We won’t even be worth the cleanup effort. She’ll make an example of us.”

“And if we win?”

You don’t answer him.

Seungcheol leans back against the wall again, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This is the part where I say we can still back out, isn’t it?”

You smile wryly. “That boat in Trinidad still floating?”

He chuckles—a low, humourless sound—but you’re glad to hear it.

“That cabin in the Alps is looking mighty tempting now,” he murmurs, gaze distant. “Just the two of us. Snowed in. No names. No guns.”

You lean your head back against the window, closing your eyes for a second.

He turns toward you again, one corner of his mouth twitching. “We’re idiots.”

“Mm.” You smile. “But we’re in love. That’s worse.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s… full. Weighty with all the things you aren’t saying, all the possibilities you won’t let yourself dream about right now. Your eyes meet his in the quiet—two people teetering at the edge of something neither of you can control.

No more chances after this.

No more exits.

You sit up slowly, slide the karambit back into your thigh holster, and reach for his hand.

“Till death do us part, right?” you ask, voice steady.

His eyes soften, his fingers tightening around yours like a promise.

“...and probably still after that, too,” he whispers.

The forest is silent. Still. Too still.

You and Seungcheol move like a whisper between the trees, every step calculated, every crunch of damp underbrush softened by instinct and years of experience. The canopy above shivers faintly in the wind, moonlight occasionally slashing through the leaves in silver streaks. Your gear is strapped tight to your body, weapons close. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but forceful. The weight of what’s ahead presses against your ribcage like a warning.

After nearly an hour on foot, there it is.

Lim’s estate.

It rises from the forest, glass and metal shimmering faintly in the dark. But not glass—mirrors. Massive mirrored panels encase the exterior walls, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky so perfectly it makes the entire compound look like a trick of the eye. Almost invisible. Almost unreal.

You crouch down with Seungcheol behind the trunk of a fallen tree, binoculars raised. But they don’t help. The reflections are endless. No windows to see through. No weak spots. You try the thermal sensors, the electromagnetic sweeper, even the pulse radar.

Nothing. Complete blackout.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens beside you. “We’re going in blind.”

You nod once, tension coiling low in your stomach.

At least the scrambler still works. You check the signal and feel a flicker of control return. “No alarms. No cameras,” you murmur.

“But everything else?” he asks.

You meet his gaze. “We’re caught in her web now.”

Just then, movement—a silhouette rounding the west side of the compound. A guard. Walking alone, slow, almost bored. Rifle at his side. Head turning in lazy arcs.

You both recognize it instantly: your window.

You slip over the tree, bodies melting into the foliage. The air feels colder the closer you get to the structure, like something sinister is waiting. You signal. Seungcheol nods, flanking left. You go right.

The guard never sees it coming.

One swift, clean movement—your blade slicing silently, Seungcheol catching the body before it hits the ground. You both drag him into the brush and dart to the wall. A hidden side door. Seungcheol picks the lock, fast and silent, while you cover him.

The door creaks open with a soft hiss.

And then you’re in.

The compound swallows you in darkness. No overhead lights. Just muted emergency bulbs glowing red along the baseboards. The air smells faintly of bleach and expensive perfume.

Together, you move room by room—clinical hallways, offices filled with screens, empty staircases. You kill quickly, efficiently. One by one, the guards fall. They don’t scream. They don’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. You and Seungcheol sweep the entire ground floor, then the first, avoiding the glass-walled atrium and sticking to shadowed corners.

No alarms. No reinforcements. No Lim.

You’re starting to feel a strange sense of unease. Like it’s all too easy.

Then—just as your boot hits the top of the second-floor landing—it happens.

A voice rings out, smooth and cold, echoing through the speakers tucked into every corner.

“Gwisin.” You feel Seungcheol stiffen behind you. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Your body freezes. You’d thought—hoped—you were ahead. But of course not. You warned Seungcheol yourself: she’s always ten steps in front.

The silence that follows is deafening. You look down the hallway. Then, with a mechanical hiss, a door at the end slides open.

A deep, impossible darkness yawns within.

You don’t move. Neither does Seungcheol.

“Come in,” Lim’s voice purrs. “I insist.”

You glance at Seungcheol. His jaw clenches, but he nods once. No turning back now.

You move in sync, every step echoing on the polished black floors. The office is silent, save for your breathing. Then, the door shuts behind you with a hiss of finality, locking you in the dark.

And then—

Bang.

“Agh—!”

The sound of the gunshot is deafening, sharp and shocking in the enclosed space. You scream his name, reaching out, panic clawing at your throat.

“Cheol—!”

He drops beside you, groaning in pain, clutching his leg. You see the blood, dark and hot, pouring from his thigh.

“Stop.” Lim’s voice snaps, sharp now, slicing through the dark like a knife.

“He’s not dead. Yet. But if you take one more step, Gwisin, the next bullet goes through his skull.”

Your hands lift immediately. You straighten slowly, your heart thundering, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Seungcheol grabs your hand as you try to move, fingers slick with blood.

He’s trying to stay conscious. His teeth are clenched, his breathing shallow. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”

You turn to Lim, face blank. “I’m here,” you say aloud, stepping forward into the dark. “I’ll play your stupid games. Just don’t touch him again.”

The lights flicker to life.

And there she is.

Madame Lim sits in the centre of the room, calm and unbothered, her white suit pristine, her legs crossed as if she were merely waiting for tea. Her hair is swept back, face emotionless, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A table separates the chair facing hers.

Atop it: a single, silver revolver.

Your stomach drops. Lim smiles slowly.

“You remember how this works.”

You stare at the gun. At the chairs.

And for the first time in a very long time, you feel real, consuming dread curl its claws into your chest.

Russian Roulette.

And you already know—only one of you will be walking away.

Your legs carry you forward, one heavy step after the next, the sound of your boots echoing in the stillness like distant thunder. The pain in your chest doesn’t come from a wound, but it hurts just the same—coiled fury, barely contained. You can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s blood still on your hand, your breath caught somewhere between rage and terror.

The chair is waiting. Empty.

You sit slowly, your knees trembling under the weight of what you’re walking into.

Across from you, Madame Lim lounges in her seat like the queen she’s always pretended to be—composed, elegant, a portrait of detached cruelty. She eyes you with a quiet satisfaction, her red lips curling into something that’s almost… amused.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says smoothly.

You clench your jaw. The mask doesn’t slip.

“I’m here,” you say evenly. “What’s the play?”

Lim’s smirk widens. Slowly, she reaches for the revolver resting on the table between you, her delicate fingers wrapping around the cold metal like it’s a treasured artefact.

She flips it open with a practised snap, turns it so you can see—

One bullet.

She closes the chamber and spins it. The click-click-click of the revolver spinning fills the silence between you, steady and cruel.

Then she sets it down, the handle pointing to the space between you.

“Simple,” she says, voice like silk over broken glass. “We spin the revolver. Whoever the handle lands on takes the first shot. If you win, you get the pleasure of accessing my system, removing your bounty, and tearing my empire apart from the ground up… before you put a bullet through my skull.”

She pauses, lips curling.

“But if I win… I get to watch the life drain from your eyes. I get to see the anguish on Seungcheol’s face when I shoot the love of his life in front of him. Right before I kill him, too. Tragically romantic.”

Your nails dig into your thighs beneath the table, the only outward sign of how close you are to snapping. But your voice remains even.

“You forget I need you alive to access your system. So this is a waste of time. I lose no matter what.”

Lim tuts, rising gracefully from her chair. “Oh no, darling. Quite the contrary.”

She walks toward the far side of the room, the hem of her white suit jacket swaying with each precise step. You glance behind you just once—Seungcheol still lies on the ground, bleeding, pale, but breathing. His eyes find yours, and the look there nearly unravels you.

You turn back to Lim just in time to see her approach her desk and pull out a sleek black laptop.

She returns, sets it down beside the revolver with exaggerated care, and slowly opens it. The screen glows to life. One by one, she performs the biometric logins—retinal, fingerprint, and voice. Just like Kang had.

Then she leans back, smug. “Now, you don’t need me alive anymore.”

You stare at her. And she stares right back, the game finally unfolding, the trap finally sprung.

“Let’s begin,” she says softly.

She takes the revolver, gives it a spin again, and when it stops—

The handle points directly at you.

You inhale deeply, picking it up. The weight of it is intimate and horrifying all at once. One in six. You press it to your temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. Lim smiles, pleased. You slide the revolver across the table.

She picks it up gracefully and points it to her own head, never blinking, never breaking eye contact.

Click.

Still nothing. Your turn again.

You pick it up, ignoring the burn in your lungs, the sweat forming at the back of your neck. Lim is watching you with that same gleaming hunger.

“You always were weak,” she says. “Falling in love. Letting yourself care. You would’ve ruled this world, Gwisin, if you hadn’t gone soft.”

You ignore her. Gun to your temple.

Click.

You breathe out slowly, chest tight. She snatches it next, almost eagerly, her voice rising.

“You should’ve killed him. He was never worth it. Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling around for a man who’d bleed out for you? Do you think he’ll survive this anyway? Or do you just want someone to cry over your corpse?”

Gun raised.

Click.

Still nothing. Now you know. This is it.

If you get the bullet, it’s over. If not—you win.

She leans forward, taunting, her voice a venomous hiss now.

“He’s not going to make it. You’ve already lost, darling. Look at him—pale, dying, weak. Just like your resolve. Like your entire rebellion. You could’ve chosen me. But instead, you’re nothing more than a wife in mourning.”

You cut her off, hand closing around the gun mid-sentence. Her mouth stills, eyes flicking downward as you lift it once more. You don’t speak. You don’t blink. You just pull the trigger.

Click.

Silence. Everything stops. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

Because that was the fifth shot.

And everyone in the room knows what that means.

The sixth belongs to her.

She smiles—slow, awful, the knowing kind of smile that monsters wear in their final moments.

You gently place the revolver back down, never looking away as you pick up the laptop. You pull the flash drive from your pocket with a trembling hand and plug it in.

Lines of code scroll by. You follow Reina’s instructions to the letter.

The virus deploys.

One by one, every trace of the bounty system begins to dismantle itself. Files corrupt. Names disappear. Targets are wiped clean. You check twice, then a third time. It’s done.

You press one final command, and the entire system shuts down.

No more empires. No more Lim.

Your victory tastes like ash.

You stand slowly, refusing to look at her, and turn toward the man on the floor.

“Cheol…” you whisper, approaching him softly.

That’s when it happens.

“Sorry, darling,” Lim purrs. “Can’t let you win.”

Bang.

You freeze. But the pain never comes.

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes behind you. And when you turn— She’s there.

Madame Lim.

Shot through the chest.

Seungcheol’s pistol clatters to the ground beside him, his arm falling limp.

He’s panting, eyes fluttering, drained from the blood loss and effort it took to raise the weapon. But he did it. He saved you. Again.

“No— no, no, no, baby, stay with me—”

You scramble to him, sliding to the floor, pressing your hands hard against his thigh. Blood oozes between your fingers. You tear at your shirt, using the fabric to make a quick tourniquet above the wound.

His skin is clammy. Pale.

“Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare go quiet now, Choi Seungcheol.”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His eyes close.

“NO!” you scream, pressing harder, doing everything you can to keep him tethered to you. “Stay awake. Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you now.”

You grab your comms, tears streaking down your face.

“Reina! Mingyu! Jiwoo! Anyone!” you cry into the mic. “He’s down—he’s hit! We need extraction now—NOW!”

Static. Then Reina’s voice breaks through, panicked but focused.

“We’re on our way. Hold on. Just hold on.”

You sob, forehead pressed to his as you hold the wound with both hands.

“You promised me,” you whisper. “You said even after death, remember? So don’t you dare let go. Stay. You stay with me.”

The Caribbean sun beats down from a cloudless sky, the wind gentle as it dances through the sails of the boat that floats lazily just off the coast of Trinidad. Seagulls cry in the distance, their wings cutting through the heat as waves lap softly against the hull. The air tastes like salt, and stillness, and peace. For once, the world is quiet.

You lay stretched across a sun-bleached lounge chair on the deck, skin warm, drink sweating in your hand. A lazy breeze rolls over your bare stomach, ruffling your hair. Sunglasses shield your eyes, but you’re not really looking at anything. Just the endless blue horizon.

It’s been six months.

Six months since the compound. Six months since Madame Lim fell. Since you screamed into the comms for someone—anyone—to come and save the man bleeding out in your arms.

And now—this. The boat. His boat.

The one he joked about right before you came up with that ridiculous plan to take on your bosses. The mythical exit plan. A sailboat docked and waiting off the coast of Trinidad for a day that might never come. But it did come.

You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes.

The sun presses hot against your skin. Your breathing slows.

Then— A creak of wood.

Bare feet padding across the deck.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You know who it is.

Reina’s voice floats out from the cabin, bright and amused. “I swear, this place is turning me into a whole new woman.”

You lift your sunglasses to peer at her. She emerges wearing a bikini that somehow manages to be both functional and designer, two fresh cocktails in her hands.

She walks over and hands you one before plopping down in the chair beside yours with a content sigh.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

The boat rocks gently, and the sea stretches out in all directions.

Reina swirls her drink, then glances at you. “You know,” she says softly, “Seungcheol was onto something, keeping this boat stashed away.”

You smile, a slow curve of your lips. There’s something bittersweet in it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He definitely was.”

The silence between you shifts. Not heavy, not sad. Just full. You both sit with it. With the past. With what you lost. With what you kept.

Then—

“Is that how you talk about me when I’m not around?”

The voice cuts through the stillness like lightning. Familiar. Deep. Teasing.

A shadow moves at the stern of the boat.

Then, emerging from the water with a grin and a sun-drenched gleam in his eyes—

Seungcheol.

Shirtless, drenched, water trailing down his broad chest. His swimming trunks cling to his hips. His hair is dark and wet, pushed back by the sea. His towel is slung casually over one shoulder, and his smile—lazy, wicked, alive—makes your heart skip.

The scar on his leg is visible, faint against his tan skin. He walks with a slight limp still, but he’s upright. Strong. Getting better every day.

You stare, lips parted in a grin that spreads like a sunrise across your face. “You’re supposed to warn a girl before you sneak back on deck.”

He approaches, towel-drying his face, and when he leans over, he kisses you. Softly. Warmly. His lips linger, just long enough to remind you that this—he—is real.

“I heard you talking shit,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “You heard wrong.”

He slides into the space beside you, pulling your legs gently over his lap, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. Because it does.

“When are you coming in for a swim?” he asks, nudging you with a grin. “Water’s perfect.”

“When I feel like it,” you reply, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy clink.

Reina groans. “Ugh. You two are disgusting.”

You and Seungcheol both smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

The three of you laugh, and for a moment, everything is light.

Beep.

A sound breaks from the cabin. Muffled. Sharp. Urgent.

Your heart stutters.

You’re on your feet in an instant. So is Seungcheol. Both of you race below deck, Reina on your heels. You slide into the cabin, heart already pounding in your chest.

There it is.

You recognize it immediately. One of your old encrypted devices, the ones you used when Lim & Associates was still in operation, the one on which your bounties arrived.

You reach for it, hands steady despite the fear unfurling in your gut.

The screen flickers to life. Code scrolls. Then—

A name.

Target: Kim Mingyu.

Alias: Fireball.

Bounty: 3 Million.

Your blood turns to ice.

Seungcheol reads it beside you, lips parting in disbelief. “What…”

Reina appears in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

You turn the screen toward her.

She sees the name. And freezes.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?”

A/N: Andddd, it's here! After how much you guys seemed to love part one, I couldn't not write this second part. Hope you all enjoyed the rollercoaster that was Gwisin and S.Coups. Are you ready for the second storyline? 👀💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

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heeseungshim · 27 days ago

Text

CLOSING SHIFT — LEE HEESEUNG (teaser)

Since you’ve started working at Target, you’ve always been scheduled with Heeseung as your closing shift manager. Zone, organize, stock, assist—things that were outlined in your job application and employee handbook. Now, nowhere in your job description did it lay out an affair with your manager, Heeseung.

PAIRING: retail manager!lee heeseung x employee!afab reader

WORDCOUNT: 15k (est.) TEASER: 0.7k

TAGS: smut, (semi)-public sex, oral (male-receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, jealous heeseung, and more…

As you rounded the corner, you passed the Women’s section, where someone had shoved what seemed like every style of jeans Target sold haphazardly throughout the display. You started sorting it properly, muscle memory at this point, when a shadow fell across the display.

“Helping out outside your zone again?”

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

Heeseung.

You looked up too quickly and regretted it instantly. Why was the lighting in this store so flattering on him?

“Just making sure no one dies in a Universal Thread avalanche,” You said, forcing a smile. “You know. Hero stuff.”

Heeseung crouched next to the cart and started folding jeans alongside you. “You always this dedicated to the greater good?”

“I like my job.”

“I can tell.”

There was something in his voice—not teasing exactly, but thoughtful. Like he was cataloging something. Taking note.

You cleared your throat. “Did you need something?”

Heeseung glanced up at you. “No,” he said. “Just saw you and figured I’d say hey.”

“Oh,” You said, very articulately. “Cool.”

Cool?

Fuck, Heeseung.

The moment you clocked in, you knew it was going to be one of those shifts.

The store was understaffed—as usual—and the Ready to wear department looked like a tornado had swept through it. You were halfway through untangling a pile of graphic tees when Heeseung’s voice broke the silence, calling for you, of course.

Heeseung's voice was calm, professional, but you'd worked here long enough to hear the undercurrent of something else. Something that made your fingers tighten around the hanger in your hand.

You pressed the button. "Ready to wear. Doing go backs."

A beat of static. Then: "Copy. Need you in Shoes for a zone check."

Sunoo, who was pretending to organize the jewelry counter nearby, didn't even bother hiding his smirk. "Oh wow. Shoes. How urgent," he drawled, stirring his iced coffee with exaggerated innocence. "Should I become HR Sunoo now or—"

Shoes was empty when you got there—no guests, no team members, just rows of perfectly stacked shoes and the distinct feeling you were being watched.

"Zone looks fine to me," you said to no one in particular.

"Does it?"

You turned to find Heeseung leaning against the shelving unit, arms crossed, red tee a little more disheveled since the last time you saw him. His gaze dropped to your name tag,then back up to your face. "I think you missed a spot."

You arched a brow. "Really? Where?"

He stepped closer, reaching past you to adjust some boots that didn't need adjusting. His sleeve brushed your shoulder. "Here."

The air between you thickened, the scent of his cologne—something expensive and woodsy—filling your space. His fingers lingered on the shelf's edge, knuckles grazing your hip—contact you unconsciously welcomed.

It felt dangerous, for some reason. Your body’s willingness to accept him and not resist one bit was telling. Yet still, you were speechless at the situation you found yourself in, pinned between your ETL and some shelves.

No movement, no words. A small gasp is all he got out of you, and perhaps he was expecting more. The way Heeseung had you trapped under him, staring you down as if he were going to pounce on you at any moment, made your heart race faster than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Say,” he started, “how observant do you think I am?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Do I make you nervous?”

And again, you were at a loss for words, zoning in on the sight in front of you—he was mere inches away from you, gaze tracing from your eyes, to your lips, and back again. Still, so attentive through his lashes and half-lidded eyes.

In a low voice, he spoke, “I’d like to ask,” quiet so as to not stir attention, “why do I make you nervous?”

You could practically feel his voice dripping with satisfaction, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I…Hey, this is—”

“Do you like me or something?” he prodded, bringing his arms down to again graze your side, almost resting them along your hips as he steps closer, almost pressing his hips against your—

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heeseungshim · 27 days ago

Text

Ｐｏｉｓｏｎ - N.R

| angel of the night, drown between your thighs.

> pairing ~ husband!riki x f!reader

> summary ~ riki had a long night at work and was exhausted, all he wanted to do was see his beautiful wife but a flip switched in his head as soon as he walked in the door tho, seeing you so...angelic.

> warnings ~ husband!riki, smut, p in v unprotected, desperate f!reader, fingering, masturbation, pussy eating, slight degration?, praise, dom!riki, creampie, rough sex..etc. 18+

> song ~ poison by brent faiyaz

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

your ears perked up as soon as you heard keys fumbling to unlock the door. you glance at yourself in the mirror, a nice white lace covered your figure. riki had bought you the lace set. he loved seeing you in white, especially when it came to those seductive ass lace sets.

the nerves set in as you moved to sit on the bed that you and riki shared, you didn't know how he'd react. you bit your lip nervously and kept fumbling with your bra strap.

"baby?.." jesus, his voice made you wanna hide and just forget about ever wanting to put the damn set on.

footsteps grew louder as they finally stopped at the bedroom door, "angel, are you-" his sentence cut short seeing you sitting so prettily on the nicely made bed. all he could do was stare.

riki walked closer to you, and you could tell just by his gaze that he loved what he was seeing. his hands slowly reached out to caress your thighs

"all this..for me, baby?" his voice was rough but soft. you nodded and chewed your bottom lip anxiously as you squirmed a bit from his cold, soft hands.

a smile plastered across his face before he cupped your face, kissing you with need and affection. rikis hands wouldnt stop touching you.

your breasts, your hips, your thighs, your stomach, your neck.

everything needed attention.

you loved his hands being all over you, it turned you on a little too much. "riki-..please" you were the first to break the kiss, looking up at riki who was already looking at you. his eyes dark and needy. fuck..the look he gave you made you squeeze your thighs tight.

riki, noticing this, softly put a hand on your thigh and spread your legs before resting in between them. he was on the floor on his knees, looking at you like a mad man.

"you look so fuckin' pretty, baby" he kissed your inner thighs and kept moving downwards till he was where you o-so desperately wanted him. his breath warm as it fanned over your clothed and soaked cunt.

your body jerked a bit from just that tiny bit of nothing, "riki-" a small whimper left your lips as you looked down at riki who was smirking up at you.

without warning, riki leaned up a little more and bit one side of the waistband and slowly pulled down the soaked panties with his teeth. his hands helping him here and there. after he successfully got them off, he still had them in his mouth while he softly dragged his fingers in between your folds.

the action triggered a gasp from you, "ahh-" that small gasp turned into a loud moan when riki shoved his digits inside you. "fuck angel, your soaked.." his voice gave you the thought that he was mesmerized by you being this soaked.

"shit-..angel, so fuckin' wet for me" riki threw your panties on the floor before diving in like a mad man, his lips latched onto your swollen clit, sucking and slurping your juices like he was starving and you were his last meal.

your body spoke before you did. your eyes rolled in your head as you stiffened, you came that quick. "fuckfuck- yes!.." riki didnt stop not even for a second.

"oh god, nishi~.." your whimpers made riki rock fucking solid. his cock twitched, begging to be inside you, wanting to feel your velvety walls clamping around him. "say my name like that again, angel.." you looked down seeing him looking at you with a flushed face, he was desperate to hear it again.

"faster, nishi—please, please," you cried out in desperation. the sight of him looking desperate really was rare anytime you two had sex or did anything intimate. you loved seeing him like this.

"shit, angel.."

he abruptly stopped his motions and quickly stood up, fumbling to get his belt undone, "your gonna be the damn death of me" he smiled, kissing your cheek.

butterflies filled your stomach as he finally got his belt off, shoving down his trousers and boxers. fuck, you almost foamed at the mouth. his cock stood hard and proud against his stomach, his tip a angry red color.

he fucking needed you, you needed him and there was no way he wasnt gonna give you his all. especially after a fucked up day at work.

rikis cock perfectly rested in between your folds, he teased your clit with his tip and let out a satisfied groan. "don't tease.." you whined, spreading your legs wider before you felt the wind almost get knocked out your lungs. "fuck!—.."

"just like that angel..damn" riki thrusted into you in one swift motion, filling you up instantly. the stretch had you seeing stars. "baby..riki.." you squirmed under him and gripped his shoulders, your nails leaving visible red marks on his shoulders.

riki smiles at you and starts thrusting into you, slow, deep and lovingly, making sure he can feel the way your velvet walls form around his cock like your body was reorganizing for him. a deep groan left his lips as held your legs up, bending your body in a mating press.

"oh god.."

"so good fa' me, angel..fuck—" you couldve sworn you heard a whimper leave him as he rested his head on your shoulder. "s-shit, hold on for me angel.." riki sat up and held your legs up towards your chest, his thrusts speeding up at an inhuman pace.

"shitshitshit!, take it angel.."

moans and whimpers collided with the sound of skin on skin contact as rikis thrusts made you damn near hit your head on the headboard. "nishi—baby, fuck.."

riki was far gone, his head fogged up and far to gone with lust and pure need for you. he brung his hand up to your face and gently wiped the tears on your face, "look at you— fuck!," he grunted, trailed his hand down to your neck, squeezing tightly while looking at you with dark eyes. "look at you taking me so fuckin' well, good girl angel..my good fuckin girl"

"nishi, 'm gona cum.." your voice breathy and dry, shutting your eyes tightly as you were about to reach your peak. you saw riki's ears perk up, a wicked smile on his face.

he slowed down his thrusts and released his hold on your throat, "not yet, angel. let me have you a little longer.." riki held your hips down seeing as your whimpering in protest and trying to desperately fuck yourself on his cock. "nishi please—..mm"

riki switched your guys positions, now you were on top of him, his cock lined back up with your entrance. "make yourself cum." his words firm and teasing as he rested his hands on your hips, easing you on his cock.

"hah—shit, nishi.."

"fuck, you feel so goddamn good."

riki watched as you moved your hips, he was mesmerized by the scene in front of him as you leaned back, holding yourself up by placing your hands on his legs. "holy shit—..you look pretty baby" riki was in love with the whole sight he had to himself.

you spread open for him as you fucked yourself dumb on his thick cock, he watched as his cock disappeared inside you. riki almost came on the spot but he held himself back. "wanna cum..nishi please" you whined and bounced on his cock faster, before reaching for his hand and bringing it to your puffy clit.

"t-touch me—..please"

riki chuckled, obeying your desperate command. his thumb circled your clit and pushed its way past your leaking core, loving the way you squirmed at the slight stretch. "shit im close baby.." riki grabbed your arm and pulled you to his chest. wrapping his arms around your waist before thrusting up into you like a animal. "cum with me baby..please okay?.." a low whimper left his dry lips as his grunted, feeling his release building up.

"nishi..—'m cumming, oh god.."

"take it angel, fuck!—take it"

riki released inside you, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your velvet walls white. riki thrusted the cum deeper inside you, panting from the intense heat between the two of you.

"atta' girl angel you made yourself cum, im proud" riki kissed your neck and shoulders lovingly, while also rubbing your thighs, your ass and your lower back. "my beautiful beautiful wife" finally riki lifted your head and kissed your lips sweetly.

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heeseungshim · 29 days ago

Text

# . BUT DADDY…⠀⠀✧

‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇ʼ𝗍 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽

𝑓─── olderboyf!jay ㅈ f!rea ✶ smut ⏜ daddy kink finger fucking pussy slapping petnames jay’s a tiinnyy bit mean ✿ 𝐜𝓲𝐞𝓁 ｡ ⠀

REBLOG4 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 𓏼 ◜ ᴗ ◝ 𓏼

YOU NEVER meant to say it.

really, you didn’t.

but jay’s hand was on your thigh, warm and heavy, his voice was low in your ear, and he looked too good in that black button-down with the sleeves rolled up. two drinks in, and you were already so gone for him. tipsy and light, fingers fidgeting with the silver chain around his neck while you sat sideways across his lap at some rooftop party you barely remembered getting invited to.

he hadn’t even kissed you yet. not tonight. not since he said “be good while i talk to heeseung” and you waited like you were told. didn’t interrupt, didn’t whine, didn’t tug at his shirt or lean into him too much even though every part of you ached to.

so when he finally pulled you back into his lap, one big hand curving around your waist and the other resting over your bare thigh like he owned it—you melted.

and that’s when it slipped out.

“you’re so pretty, daddy,” you whispered, barely realizing it left your mouth.

everything stopped.

his thumb twitched against your leg. his head tilted slightly, the chain you’d been toying with catching the light.

“say that again,” he said, softly. calmly.

your heart skipped. “say what?”

he didn’t smile. didn’t blink. just leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath when he murmured, “that word you just used. say it again.”

you swallowed. your fingers curled tighter around his chain.

“…daddy.”

the effect was immediate. his grip tightened. his eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower—trailing down your body like he was counting every curve, every inch that belonged to him.

his next words were growled.

“fuck. you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

now, you’re on your back.

legs spread wide, panties shoved aside, dress bunched around your waist—and jay’s fingers buried deep inside you. his knee presses to the couch cushion beside your hip, keeping him steady as he works you open, slow and deep, like he’s making a point.

“you say something like that in public,” he says, voice low, “and you expect me not to lose my mind?”

your fingers curl into the cushion. your body jerks with every press of his fingers—two of them, thick and wet and curling up into that spot that makes you tremble.

“i didn’t mean to—i swear—”

“but you did.” he leans in closer, free hand gripping your jaw, tilting your head back until you have no choice but to look at him. “you said it so pretty. like you wanted me to hear it.”

you whimper. his thumb brushes your clit once—barely there—and your hips jolt.

“god, you’re soaked,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “fuckin’ knew it. my good girl’s been thinking about it. calling me daddy. getting ruined for it.”

“i have,” you breathe, desperate. “i have—”

“yeah?” his voice dips even lower. “what else do you think about, huh? me talking to someone else while you sit there lookin’ all innocent on my lap? wondering when i’m finally gonna take you home and fuck the brat out of you?”

you moan, back arching. his fingers pick up pace, wet and messy now, the sound of it obscene.

“you like when i call you that?” he asks, cocky now. “my little brat. my needy baby. my filthy girl who can’t even sit still on my fingers without grinding down.”

you can’t even form a word. it’s just gasps, whimpers, every muscle in your body coiled and tight.

he laughs—dark and dangerous. “say it again.”

you’re not sure what he means, but then his fingers go even deeper, and your head falls back, voice breaking—

“daddy—!”

and just like that, he groans.

“there she is.”

he pulls his fingers out just to slap your pussy once—light, but enough to make you cry out.

“don’t stop. say it again.”

“daddy—daddy, please—”

“mmh.” he kisses the side of your face. “such a perfect little mess for me.”

you sob when he shoves his fingers back in, harder this time. the rhythm is relentless, perfect. your thighs start to shake, and jay watches with fire in his eyes as you fall apart, clenching around his fingers and chanting that one word like it’s the only thing you know.

and even when it’s over—when you’re a trembling mess, face buried in his shoulder, body twitching from the aftershocks—he doesn’t stop.

he cups your jaw again, tilting your face toward his.

“that wasn’t even close to what you’re getting tonight,” he says, voice rough. “you call me daddy, you better be ready to handle all of me.”

and the way you whimper? wrecked and eager and soaked again already?

he knows you are.

1K notes · View notes

heeseungshim · 30 days ago

Text

Till Death Do Us Part

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Wordcount: 14.5K (Yikes, my longest one yet.)

Playlist: 'Flawless' - The Neighbourhood | 'War of Hearts' - Ruelle | 'See You Bleed' - Ramsey | 'Scorpio' - Pour Vous | 'Terrible Thing' - AG

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral receiving (F.) - Rough Play - Hair pulling - Face slapping (y'all, they try and kill each other before doing the dirty) - PIV - Unprotected intercourse - Use of petnames

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

The chicken is roasting in the oven, filling the open-concept kitchen with the smell of lemon, garlic, and rosemary. You stir the sauce on the stove slowly, absently, the motions muscle memory after five years of this routine. The marble counters gleam under the recessed lighting. The wine—your favourite Châteauneuf-du-Pape—is already breathing on the island beside two empty glasses. His glass is always on the right. Yours on the left.

You glance at the clock. 6:42 PM.

Right on time.

The sound of the garage door humming open cues your body before your mind catches up. You smooth your blouse, run a hand through your hair, and put on that soft, wifely smile you’ve perfected over the years. Not too eager. Not too cold. Just domestic enough to look real. Even if everything about your life is a lie.

Seungcheol walks in like he owns the world. Black slacks, white shirt rolled up to the elbows, collar slightly unbuttoned—just enough to make you pause for half a second longer than necessary. His wedding band gleams under the kitchen lights when he sets down his leather satchel by the counter. Not too fancy. Not too cheap. Just believable enough to pass for a self-employed contractor with a few wealthy clients.

“Smells amazing,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek like he always does.

“Roasted lemon garlic chicken,” you reply, turning off the stove. “Figured we should use the good thyme from the garden before it dies again.”

He chuckles and pulls his chair out at the dining table. “You mean before you forget to water it again?”

You raise a brow. “I have a busy job, babe. Not all of us get to spend our afternoons measuring structural load capacities.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing his fork at you once you plate the food and set it down in front of him, “developing office towers and commercial buildings is an art.”

You laugh, sipping your wine as you sit across from him. He leans back slightly, watching you for a moment, and there’s that fleeting flicker in his eyes—the one you’ve never been able to pin down. The one that makes you think he’s hiding something. But then again, you are, too.

“The curtains look different,” he says, eyes drifting toward the large windows facing the garden. “When did you change them?”

You glance toward them. White, linen, sheer, with silver grommets. “Yesterday. The old ones were too heavy for spring. I wanted light, breezy. Open.”

He nods. “Makes the room feel bigger.”

Silence settles between you for a moment. Comfortable. Familiar. Until he says, almost casually, “Thinking of redoing the backyard.”

You spear a piece of asparagus, chew, and swallow before replying. “Again? That’s the third time in two years.”

“The koi pond doesn’t flow right. Feng Shui’s off,” he mutters.

You hide a smile behind your glass. What a load of shit. He doesn’t believe in Feng Shui. But the first rule of your kind of marriage is: always let the lies live in peace. Challenging them only brings unnecessary fire.

“We’re invited to Kim and Soojin’s baby shower,” you say next, leaning your chin into your palm. “Next Saturday. You’ll come, right?”

He exhales a sigh that borders on a groan. “Do I have to? It’s gonna be baby-themed everything and forced small talk with people pretending they like children.”

“So… normal Saturday then?”

He grins. You grin back. It’s routine. Polished. Perfect. This suburban domesticity you’ve curated over five years of marriage—it’s nothing short of an illusion built brick by brick. The neighbours believe you’re the golden couple. You believe it, too, sometimes. Right until the phone in your shoe closet buzzed this morning.

“By the way,” he says, reaching for more wine, “I’m going to be out of town this week. Client in Busan wants me to redesign his outdoor deck. Real high-end stuff. Might take three days.”

You take another sip of wine to give yourself time. “That’s funny,” you say carefully. “I’ve got to fly out for a case, too. Some corporate merger—kind of messy. I’ll be in Tokyo until at least Friday.”

You both pause for a moment. You tilt your head. He doesn’t blink. There’s no suspicion. Only understanding.

Of course, what you don’t tell him is that your “corporate case” is a sheikh in Shibuya who’s been secretly funding illegal arms trades across the Pacific. The briefcase hidden within a closet contains three fake passports, a suppressed Glock 19, and a single vial of poison discreetly hidden in a lipstick tube.

You think he’s consulting engineers and overseeing concrete pours. He thinks you’re in meetings arguing over contracts and legal strategy.

“I’ll be back Friday,” he says.

“Me too,” you lie.

You both smile.

After dinner, you rinse the dishes while he dries them. He hums a song—something old, you can’t place it—and you listen, eyes scanning the subtle tension in his shoulder. The way he tucks away the wine bottle too precisely. The too-casual stretch of his fingers over the dish towel. You wonder—not for the first time—What if he knows? What if he suspects me?

But no. That’s just habit. Paranoia bred into your bones after a decade in the field. You’re too good to get caught. Too careful to leave traces.

You fall asleep beside him like you always do. His body warm and steady, one hand slung lazily over your waist. His chest rises and falls, breath even, slow. But you can feel it; your instincts have never failed you before.

A shift in the air. Something is about to change.

Tokyo glitters beneath you like a fractured mirror. Sleek, sharp, reflective. Just like you.

The job is simple—child’s play, really. You’ve done more complicated hits in less time and less forgiving cities. But what makes Tokyo special is the sheer absurdity of how easy this one is going to be. All it takes is a certain kind of lingerie, a well-composed photo for your “ad,” and the universal male weakness: ego.

You don’t even roll your eyes when your target—the sheikh with too much money and far too many skeletons—responds within six hours. The meeting is set at the rooftop bar of his hotel. You’re already three steps ahead.

By the second night, you’ve laughed at all his jokes, played coy, offered just enough intrigue for him to feel like he’s getting something exclusive. He discusses his preferences like he’s bartering over silk—submission, obedience, a woman who knows how to give orders and isn’t afraid to bite. You smile, legs crossed, swirling your drink with one finger as you look at him like he’s a king. He believes it. They always do.

By the third night, the suite door clicks open. You’re in your trench coat, tall black stilettos clicking against the marble as you step inside. The lights are dim. You glance around, clocking everything: one camera, unplugged. Two exits. No bodyguards in sight. Idiot.

He’s sipping champagne, eyes glittering with anticipation. You face him, slowly undo your coat, and let it fall to the floor.

The look on his face is pure awe.

The black leather lingerie hugs your curves like sin. Thin straps, silver hardware, strategic cutouts. A blend of dangerous and divine. You step forward, heels clicking against the tile.

“On your knees,” you command, voice low, sultry.

He lets out a chuckle, half-impressed. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you?”

“That’s what you asked for, isn’t it? Someone who knows how to take control?”

He kneels. You circle him slowly, like a lioness. He doesn’t flinch when your fingers trail down the back of his neck. That’s his final mistake.

In one swift, silent movement, you grab his head and twist. The crack is sharp and clean. He slumps forward.

You step over him without blinking, grab your phone, snap the picture, and send it to your handler.

Within minutes, you’re back in your coat and heels. Earlier that afternoon, you had already stashed your luggage, passport, and backup cash in the hotel’s laundry chute. Everything else is clean.

You keep the lingerie on underneath the coat. Always easier that way. No suspicion. No loose threads. No wasted time.

At the airport, you change in a bathroom stall. Simple wrap dress. Low heels. Hair in a bun. Lipstick wiped clean.

Back to your other self.

You arrive home first.

The late-afternoon sun casts long golden lines across the immaculate front lawn. You park the sleek black sedan in the driveway like any respectable suburban professional might—precise, not showy. Your eyes sweep the cul-de-sac before exiting the car, a habit you’ve never shaken. Two kids ride their bikes across the street. Someone’s dog barks. Mr. Park is watering his azaleas again. Perfect suburbia. A flawless, manicured illusion.

The moment you step inside, the temperature shifts. Cool, quiet, untouched. Home.

You close the door silently behind you and lean against it for a breath. This is the part you hate the most—returning. The shift between identities. Going from the woman who killed a man, to the woman who folds laundry and shops at the farmers market on Saturdays.

But you do it.

You carry your luggage upstairs, heels clicking against hardwood. Once in the bedroom, you head straight to the walk-in closet and kneel beside the third shelf from the left. With practised ease, you access the hidden panel and slide your suitcase inside the compartment. You place your heels neatly in their usual spot. Everything in order. Everything back to “normal.”

Inside the bedroom, you drop your coat over the chair, peel off your dress, and let it slide to the floor. Then comes the lingerie. You unbuckle each piece with methodical care and toss them into a loose pile with your dress. You’ll hide it in a minute. Right now, the steam of the shower is calling, and the ache in your shoulders is starting to settle.

He won’t be home until later, you remind yourself. He said evening. That buys you time.

You step into the ensuite bathroom and turn on the shower, the glass fogging up almost instantly. The water is hot—too hot—and that’s the way you want it. You stand under the spray, letting the pressure hit your spine and loosen your mask.

And that’s when you hear it. The front door.

Your breath stalls in your chest.

“Honey, I’m home,” Seungcheol calls from downstairs.

Shit.

“You’re back early?” you manage, pitching your voice into that sweet, casual tone. The one you use at neighbourhood barbecues.

“Took an earlier train,” he replies, his voice carrying him to your bedroom. “Got bored in Busan. You just got in?”

“Just now. Thought I had a little time to unwind before you arrived.”

You run your hands through your hair and try to slow your heartbeat. You can’t see him through the foggy glass. You pray he didn’t walk too far into the room. That he didn’t look down.

“How was the job?” you ask, still facing the tiled wall.

“Same old corporate mess,” he says easily, his tone not betraying anything. “Engineers screwed up the plan, had to clean up after everyone. Nothing new.”

You smile like you believe him.

“Join me?” you offer. Better to keep him close than to let him wander around.

He pauses for a beat too long. Then: “Absolutely.”

You hear him undress behind you, the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of his belt against the counter. You keep your eyes closed as his arms wrap around your waist under the stream. You press your body back into his. You touch him like always. You even kiss him the same way. And he responds. His hands are familiar. Comforting. Steady.

Seungcheol heads downstairs first. Something about garlic and butter and “making up for all the garbage food I ate this week.” You nod and wrap a towel around yourself, moving into the bedroom with practised calm.

The first thing you do is gather his clothes from the bathroom floor. His shirt, socks, pants—crumpled and smelling faintly of clean sweat and travel. You carry them into the bedroom, where your dress and lingerie still lie in that careless heap.

Stupid, you scold yourself, picking up the leather and bundling it in your arms with your dress. You walk toward the hamper in the corner of the room, shifting your hold.

And then—something falls.

A soft thud on the floor. You frown and bend down.

It’s a badge. Rectangular. Laminated.

Grand Palace Hotel Busan – Event Staff

You blink once. Twice.

This wasn’t part of the story he gave. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near an event space. Especially not as staff. This isn’t a building site. It’s something else entirely.

Your blood chills.

Slowly, you crouch, pick it up, and study it again. What the hell?

You slip it into the pile of his clothes in the hamper and push it to the bottom, hiding it beneath his pants.

You’ll retrieve it later. When he’s asleep. When the house is still.

Your expression smooths again as you grab your brush, run it through your damp hair, and slide into a fresh sweater and leggings. You head downstairs, footsteps light, shoulders squared.

He’s plating dinner when you walk in. The scent of garlic and butter wraps around the kitchen like a warm lie.

“You used the fancy pasta,” you comment, voice airy.

He grins over his shoulder. “Only for special occasions. You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

You kiss his cheek. “Barely. Tokyo traffic is a nightmare.”

He pours wine. You set the table. You talk about “contracts”, “clients”, “blueprints”, and “boardroom blowups.”

You laugh at his jokes. He holds your gaze just a little too long. The wine is smooth, the dinner perfect, the rhythm between you effortless. But as you lay awake that night, Seungcheol sleeping peacefully beside you, your mind drifts back to the ID card in your hamper.

From the outside, Lim & Associates looks like any other high-end boutique law firm in Gangnam.

The fourth-floor office has all the trappings—frosted glass doors, minimalist furniture, soft grey carpeting, and tasteful art in the hallway. The name etched above the door in elegant serif font gives off the exact kind of authority clients expect from corporate litigation experts.

But once you pass the seemingly standard reception desk and slide your hand across the biometric panel behind the framed Business Insider article on “Female Founders in Finance,” everything changes.

The glass seals. The lighting adjusts. The air shifts from ambient calm to calculated intensity. No paralegals. No phone calls. Just encrypted servers, blueprints for extraction routes, and a killboard that updates in real-time.

Welcome to the real Lim & Associates.

Not legal. Lethal.

You’re in the war room this morning—sleek and sharp, like everything else in this place. A long table stretches across the space, the wall lined with oversized displays streaming drone footage, internal comms, and heat-sensor readings from satellites you’re not supposed to have access to.

You sip your Americano in silence as Reina, your tech lead, flips through the feed. She’s always first in, last out, perpetually in dark lipstick and heels sharp enough to stab.

“Target codename: Jackal,” Reina announces, pulling up a grainy image of a man half-hidden by shadows. “Real name unknown. Hacker for hire. Specializes in creating secure logistics software for some very unpleasant people—cartel brokers, traffickers, smuggling syndicates. Lives completely off-grid somewhere in the desert, near the New Mexico border.”

Jiwoo whistles under her breath. “Is this the guy who ghosted an entire CIA comms network last year?”

Reina nods. “Same signature. This one’s a ghost. Doesn’t trust anyone. Doesn’t surface. Doesn’t stay in one place long. Even the locals are afraid of him.”

You set your coffee down and cross your arms. “And the bounty?”

“Twelve mil, dead or alive,” Reina replies without looking up. “But dead is preferred. No one wants this guy alive long enough to talk.”

Hyerim leans forward with a smirk. “Which means we’re not the only ones going after him, are we?”

Reina confirms it with a simple nod. “Intel shows chatter from at least one competing agency. Possibly more. First come, first kill.”

You stare at the flickering map overlay. It’s red, dry, dotted with heat zones and blinking movement pings. A fortress of heat sensors, drone tripwires, and scrambled signals. The man built a paranoid compound.

“So infiltration’s out,” you murmur. “He’s not gonna fall for anything face-to-face. Too smart. Too cautious.”

Samira rolls her eyes, perched as always on the edge of the table like a cat. “So you’re not going to slap on one of your lingerie sets and waltz into his trailer like you did in Tokyo?”

You smirk. “Not unless his type is women with RPGs.”

That earns a chorus of laughs until Bora says, “Alright then, Gwisin. What’s the play?”

You narrow your eyes at the monitor. The team’s teasing you with your code name again—Gwisin—equal parts fondness and awe. It started as a joke after your first kill with the company, but it stuck. Probably because it makes you sound like some legend to be feared in the dark.

Perhaps that's exactly what you are.

“He’s got a self-sufficient power grid, solar backup, and an underground comms relay. The place is a bunker.” You pause, then point at the screen. “We can’t get close, not without setting off every countermeasure he’s got. We’re going to have to take him from a distance. High-precision rifle. Possibly drone strike.”

“I’ll start prepping satellite positioning and recon angles,” Reina says, already moving.

“We’ll need at least a week,” you add. “Maybe more. I’ll go in. Do the groundwork myself.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Hyerim raises a brow. “You sure your doting husband will survive a week without you? I thought he was going to implode the last time you were gone more than three days.”

You chuckle softly. “He’ll manage. He knows I work long hours.”

“Yeah, but does he know what kind of hours?” Jiwoo quips.

You smirk and grab your coat. “That’s classified.”

But as you leave the war room, your smile fades. You’re already spinning the lie in your mind. New York. That’s what you’ll tell him. Complex corporate case. High stakes. All-consuming.

It should work. It always does.

The house smells of braised soy and garlic by the time Seungcheol walks through the door.

You’re at the stove with your sleeves rolled up, watching the rich brown sauce bubble around glistening short ribs, carrots, and daikon. The scent of galbijjim fills the kitchen like comfort.

You hear his steps before you see him—soft, unhurried—and then the creak of the door closing.

“You’re home early,” you say, not looking back yet.

“I missed your cooking,” he says as he walks up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist, warm and solid. Presses a kiss to the curve of your neck.

You stir the pot gently. “I thought you hated galbijjim,”

“I hate the bones,” he murmurs. “Not the flavour. And definitely not the cook.”

You smile faintly. But it’s automatic.

You eat together at the table like always. Warm light. Matching bowls. A small side dish of kimchi between you. The silence isn’t heavy, but it’s aware of itself.

Halfway through the meal, you speak.

“I have to leave again,” you say softly. “New York this time. High-profile merger. Might be gone for more than a week.”

You watch him, the way he doesn’t tense. Just nods, as if he already knows.

“Actually,” he says, pausing to set down his spoon, “I just got word from one of my old clients. A hospitality group in Dubai. They want me to fly in—finally starting construction on that coastal resort. I’ll be gone about the same time.”

You blink. Smile. “Really? What are the odds?”

He chuckles. “We’re always in sync.”

You clink your glass of water to his. “Power couple.”

But your hand doesn’t feel as steady as it should.

The New Mexico desert doesn’t breathe.

It bakes. It stretches. It waits.

It’s the kind of place where everything is wide open and still somehow claustrophobic. The silence stretches too long between radio pings. The air is dry enough to crack skin and make your lips peel.

For the last three days, you’ve been waiting.

You’re perched inside the creaking shell of a forgotten farm shed, abandoned sometime before the world got smart. Its rusted bones groan with every gust of wind, but it provides the cover you need. You call it the crow’s nest—high enough, shielded enough, just barely out of reach from Jackal’s tech-laced scanners. You’ve checked the thermals. Twice. Then again, for good measure.

Your rifle rests steadily against your shoulder, nestled into a carefully constructed groove in the shed wall. You’ve adjusted the bipod angle a hundred times. Calculated wind, dust, temperature, and solar position. At this distance, everything matters.

You don’t miss.

Not unless someone else gets in the way.

Back at the safehouse—hidden in the skeletal outline of a closed-down auto shop on the edge of town—Reina and Jiwoo are monitoring everything. Screens line the makeshift desk they’ve rigged up with cooling fans and portable comms. Reina’s fingers fly across the keyboard while Jiwoo tracks movement through satellite pings.

The girls are locked in, just like you.

“Jackal’s gone quiet,” Reina says through your earpiece, her voice a hushed echo of static. “Minimal movement. Looks like he’s gone full mole mode. Bastard hasn’t left his house once today.”

“He’s prepping,” you murmur, eyes still on the house through your scope. “He knows the deal is risky.”

“And get this,” Jiwoo cuts in. “We finally confirmed the client: Ricardo Delgado.”

Your pulse flickers.

Ricardo Delgado.

A trafficker so brutal, entire border towns whisper his name like a curse. If Jackal’s about to sign with him, he’s moving up in the world—from data mercenary to kingmaker. The kind of connection that could make him untouchable.

Or a bigger target than ever.

“Delgado wants to meet in person,” Reina adds. “We think he’ll show today. Still waiting on final satellite confirmation.”

“Jackal never meets face-to-face,” Jiwoo says, sceptical.

“Money changes minds,” you answer, low and steady. “Everyone has a price.”

You settle further into your nest, pulling your scarf higher to block the sun. The scope is aligned. The distance marked. The wind is calm. You wait, like the predator you are.

And then—

“Convoy incoming,” Reina says. “We’ve got eyes on three black Suburbans coming in from the north ridge.”

You squint through your scope and spot them—kicking up dust as they make their way toward Jackal’s compound. The sun glints off their armoured bodies like black beetles crawling across sand. You hold your breath.

One car. Two. Three.

They come to a slow, calculated stop.

Doors open.

Men get out—Delgado’s men, judging by their posture and the high-end weapons. Then comes the man himself. Dark suit. Sunglasses. And that aura of arrogant menace, even from this distance.

You don’t need to hear the words to know this man smells blood in everything he touches.

Then finally—

Jackal emerges.

He’s cautious. Almost jumpy. Wearing a hooded vest, shoulders hunched. You’ve studied him for days, memorized his gait. He walks like someone used to moving through walls, not around them.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles softly in your ear. “That’s him. Target confirmed.”

“You’ve got one window,” Reina says. “If you miss, we’ll lose him again.”

You don’t answer. You watch.

Jackal steps forward. The two men approach one another, wary but curious. You feel the moment stretch, breath caught at the edge of your ribs.

This is it.

The wind is perfect.

You steady your finger on the trigger.

But then—

Flash.

A glare of light. Just a second. Just long enough for your trained eyes to catch it.

You shift your scope instinctively—away from Jackal, toward the rocky ridgeline to your far right.

There. Tucked into the edge of the hillside. Another perch.

Another sniper.

“Reina,” you bark. “Talk to me. Someone else is here. Right ridge, northwest. I saw a scope glint. Can you confirm?”

Reina curses under her breath. “Give me five seconds. I’m shifting the satellite angle.”

You realign your sight, but it’s too late.

The other sniper fires.

The sound is distant—muffled by distance—but you see it. The bullet rips through the air and grazes Jackal’s arm. He stumbles backwards with a shout.

Chaos erupts.

Delgado’s men react instantly, almost too fast. A bag goes over Jackal’s head. They drag him to the second car. Tires scream, kicking up clouds of red dust as the convoy peels away.

You swear loudly. “Dammit! Dammit, dammit!”

“They’re on the move!” Jiwoo says. “Southbound highway, but we don’t have eyes beyond the ridge.”

You leap from your perch, adrenaline boiling. “Reina, track that shooter. Now.”

“Already on it,” she mutters. “Give me a minute to isolate heat signatures.”

You throw your rifle into its case and strap it to your back, jumping onto the quad you hid behind a brush wall earlier. The engine growls to life beneath you as you tear across the dirt, heading toward the opposite ridge where the mystery sniper took their shot.

The trail is faint, but you see it. Flattened brush. Dust still settling. Tire marks. Another quad. But no shooter in sight.

You dismount and crouch low in the sniper’s nest. Still warm. Still fresh.

“Empty,” you hiss into the comms. “He’s gone. Left no trace.”

“Still scanning the sat feed,” Reina says.

You grit your teeth. The kill was stolen. Jackal is gone. And someone else is playing this game far too close to your level.

The hum of electricity is the only sound in the room. You stand over Reina and Jiwoo as they re-run the satellite footage frame by frame.

Every flicker of motion. Every shadow. Every heat signature is pulled apart under your scrutiny.

“He’s good,” Jiwoo mutters. “He knew how to avoid camera angles. Hid his face the entire time. Tactical blackout gear. This isn’t some merc-for-hire.”

“Freeze it,” you say suddenly.

Reina does.

There—on the edge of the screen—the sniper climbs onto a quad and turns away from the camera. But the wind catches the back of his shirt.

A flicker of skin. A mark.

“Go back. Zoom in,” you say, heart hammering.

The image sharpens.

A tattoo.

Just below the neck. Barely there. A tree. Roots. Branches.

You don’t breathe.

“What the hell is that?” Jiwoo says.

You say nothing.

You reach for your phone with numb fingers and swipe through your albums until you find it. A photo from a summer in Bali. Seungcheol in the pool, his back to you, laughing. You zoom in.

Same tattoo. Same ink. Same impossible detail.

You connect your phone to the screen. The photos are side by side now—one from the desert, one from the pool.

Reina is the first to speak, her voice nearly a whisper.

“That’s your husband.”

You’ve only been back in Seoul for four hours.

The sky outside is the colour of ash, stuck between dusk and full night. Traffic hums below the windows of Lim & Associates, but up here, above the city’s glittering noise, the office is thrumming with something far more chaotic: curiosity.

The second you stepped through the biometric doors, you felt it. The shift in energy.

The subtle glances. The way conversations stopped half a beat too long. Even the silence tasted like blood in your mouth.

By the time you make it to the war room, it’s no longer a rumour—it’s evidence.

Reina’s pulled every image from the last five years of your marriage.

Honeymoon photos. Anniversary dinners. A weekend in Jeju where he made you coffee with cinnamon and called it your signature. Your wedding—Seungcheol’s hands on your waist, your smile so real you remember feeling it in your ribs.

Jiwoo has financials pulled up on another screen. “His offshore account matches the timeline of that Riyadh hit we missed last spring,” she says aloud. “Same week, we got beat to the contract.”

“That wasn’t luck,” Hyerim mutters, dragging a file onto the main screen. “The Novgorod job, too. S.Coups took it from under our noses. We assumed it was Black Wing Agency. It was him.”

You’re standing still, arms folded, lips tight, eyes dark.

But inside, everything is shattering.

You don’t speak. Not really. Just nod when asked something directly. Your voice feels caught in the hollow space between rage and disbelief. You know they’re not trying to be cruel. They’re doing what this job requires: gathering intel. Building profiles. Pattern recognition.

But it’s your life they’re peeling back.

Your marriage. Your memories.

“Gwisin,” Samira says gently, using your codename with an edge of caution. “Did you know?”

You shake your head. “No.” Voice clear. Controlled. Flat.

And it’s the truth.

You had no idea that the man who held you at night, who kissed your neck before work, who made you laugh when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking after a job—was the same person beating you to every high-level target for the last five years.

Seungcheol—S.Coups.

The most elegant chaos you’ve ever encountered in the field. A ghost of his own making.

Second only to you.

Your colleagues believe you. They can see it—your silence, your withdrawal, the shell of who you usually are. They’ve seen you after bad missions, messy kills, intel gone sideways. But not like this.

This isn’t mission failure. This is betrayal.

Still, Reina says it out loud, her voice quiet but not unkind. “Do you think there’s a possibility he might’ve known?” She glances at Jiwoo, who replies softly. “It’s possible. He’s good. Maybe better at long-game infiltration than we realized.”

“You know what they say,” Bora adds, not meeting your eyes. “Keep your friends close…”

“But your enemies closer...” Samira finishes.

The words hit harder than you expect. You swallow, but your throat is dry.

You stare at the wedding photo still up on the screen. Your hand in his. Your laugh caught mid-movement. His eyes on you like you’re something rare.

Was it a ploy? Was any of it real?

Did he kiss you because he loved you—or because he wanted to know your pulse?

You drift through the rest of the night in the war room like a ghost.

They keep talking. Listing hits. Mapping overlaps. Everything you lost—every target you missed, every mission that slipped through your fingers—lined up beside S.Coups’ confirmed contracts.

And there it is: the pattern.

You’ve still got more kills. More high-level hits. More precision.

But he’s your closest competitor.

You’ve been unknowingly locked in a rivalry with your own husband for five years.

Five years.

Five years of brushing your teeth beside your biggest threat.

Of sleeping with your enemy.

Of loving him.

Hours pass. One by one, they begin to gather their things.

It’s almost midnight. No one’s gone home yet. Not with the storm you dropped into their hands. But they don’t press you any more. Not tonight.

Jiwoo lingers last, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We believe you,” she says. “But we need to know you’re not compromised.”

You finally look up, your voice low and controlled. “Don’t worry.”

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer.

You manage a smile so convincing it hurts. “I know what I need to do.”

You sleep in one of the auxiliary offices—a cold couch and a folded blanket left by some junior operative who probably thinks sleeping here makes her look ambitious. The overhead lights stay off, and you don’t bother changing. You just curl in silence, arm under your head, eyes wide open.

You think about the way he held you. The softness no one else got to see. The long showers. The bruises left on your hips. The secret glances in public places. The night he said, I could kill for you.

You thought he meant it metaphorically.

Now you wonder if he was warning you.

At 3:45 AM, your phone buzzes on the table. You reach for it, heart already hollow.

The message reads:

Target: S.Coups

Status: Active

Payout: $1.7 million

Confirmed kill required.

The screen glows against your face.

You don’t move. You don’t sleep.

You’re a ghost.

But tonight, you’re not sure who you’re haunting.

Seungcheol’s office doesn’t look like much from the outside.

It’s nestled between a dental clinic and an architectural firm in a sleek high-rise in Mapo, hidden in plain sight. Floor twenty-one. Clean lines. Frosted doors. A minimalist logo stamped in bronze: ARGOS CONSTRUCTION & DESIGN

Officially, it's a boutique firm known for luxury hotels and high-end corporate real estate. Beautiful portfolios. Flawless branding. Seungcheol’s name is listed as Senior Project Lead. Clients think he spends most of his time in Dubai or Busan, consulting on zoning permits or high-rise scaffolding.

But once you pass the biometric scan and elevator override, everything changes.

The real heart of the operation lies beneath the surface. Literally. Two floors below ground. A bunker of blinking servers, reinforced steel, and silence so absolute it hums in your bones.

It’s here that Choi Seungcheol—known across the world’s most elite kill networks as S.Coups—stumbles back into reality.

The mission was a failure.

Jackal is gone.

And he missed his shot.

He never misses.

He walks into the main debriefing floor around 1:45 PM, still dusty from New Mexico, carrying tension in his shoulders like a weight welded to his spine. His eyes are bloodshot. His jaw is locked. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s waiting for someone to hit him.

They don’t.

Instead, his team is already there. Mingyu, Woozi, Wonwoo, Joshua—all gathered around the central command table, every screen alive with footage. Satellite captures, thermals, drone loops, and stills pulled from the perimeter cameras. Joshua looks up first.

And he doesn’t greet him. Doesn’t smile. Just says one word:

“Hyung...”

Seungcheol freezes. His hand twitches slightly at his side.

Mingyu turns the main monitor toward him with a grim expression. “We found out who the other sniper was.”

Woozi, who rarely shows emotion unless someone’s bleeding out, actually exhales before adding: “You’re not gonna like it.”

Seungcheol steps forward.

And there you are.

Frozen in time, high-res satellite shot, sunlight catching your jaw and cheekbone as you shift just enough to reveal your face through your scope. Your hair is tied back. Your eyes deadly calm. Your rifle perfectly aligned.

“No,” Seungcheol breathes.

“That’s her,” Mingyu confirms. “Codename: Gwisin.”

Another screen pops up. Kill logs. Confirmed contracts. Locations.

Dozens of missions—some he knew about. Others he’d missed because of you. Targets that disappeared just before he reached them. Jobs he thought were rerouted or reassigned.

It was you.

The person who’s been beating him, matching him, trailing him and haunting him for years... Was you.

His wife.

The silence breaks all at once.

“Hyung, what the fuck—”

“Did you know? You had to know, right?”

“There’s no way she got this close without—”

“What kind of long game is she playing? Five years married? That’s next-level infiltration.”

“She’s better than we thought. Shit—she’s better than almost anyone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t speak. He stares at the image like it’s going to shift. Like it’s a glitch.

But it doesn’t. It’s you.

His mind races, grabbing for anything—a mistake, a sign, a moment—but the truth settles in slow and cruel:

He had no idea.

Not once did you slip. Not once did you flinch. Not once did you let the mask fall.

Not even with him.

And then the grief rises. Ugly. Raw. Red.

He slams his fist into the wall.

The first time, it cracks.

The second time, it bleeds.

The third time, the others rush to pull him back.

“Hyung, stop!” Joshua grabs him from behind, dragging him away from the dented panel, blood dripping from his knuckles.

Seungcheol breathes like a man drowning, shoulders heaving, chest too tight. He sits down hard in the nearest chair. Joshua hands him a bottle of whiskey without a word.

He takes it. Unscrews the cap. Drinks.

The warmth hits his throat, but it doesn’t settle. Nothing does.

He leans back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The memories start to rush him. And he hates that he can’t shut them out.

Their wedding day. Your laugh echoing off the high ceilings of your home. Your hand in his on long walks. Your moans in the dark. Your head on his chest after a stormy night. The time you surprised him with a bottle of bourbon after his mother died.

Five years. Of everything. Of you.

And now he can’t tell if any of it was real. Or if he was just a mark—another mission. A long-term assignment you handled better than anyone ever has. What if you married him to stay close? What if the way you touched him was all a lie?

He doesn’t want to believe it. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.

“You think she knew?” he asks the room, voice raw.

Wonwoo answers quietly. “She had to. No way she didn’t. Not with your record. You’ve crossed paths too many times.”

“She married me,” Seungcheol whispers. “She married me while stealing jobs out from under me.”

“Maybe it was about dominance,” Woozi mutters. “Take down your rival and smile at him over breakfast.”

“Or maybe...” Mingyu says hesitantly, “She didn’t know either.”

“No,” Seungcheol snaps, suddenly venomous. “She knew. No one’s that good without knowing.”

He stands and drinks again. And again.

The others leave around 2 AM, after enough whiskey has numbed most of his edges. Mingyu throws him a look that says call if you need me, and Woozi doesn’t bother hiding the sympathy in his eyes.

Seungcheol stays.

Alone in the office, he sits at the edge of his desk, tie loosened, shirt rumpled. One hand bandaged and bloodied, the other gripping the bottle. He doesn’t turn off the lights. Doesn’t turn off the feed.

Because he can’t stop watching.

Watching you.

The way you moved behind that scope. The way you tracked your shot. The way your lips moved when you muttered commands to your team.

The way you looked like a stranger in skin he’s touched a hundred times.

3:45 AM.

His phone buzzes once. The tone is different. Urgent. Priority.

He blinks the alcohol-induced haze from his eyes, swiping across the screen.

New Contract Uploaded

Target: Gwisin

Status: Active

Payout: $1.7 million

Confirmed kill required.

The screen burns.

His fingers curl around the phone. His chest aches like something inside him has cracked clean open. There’s blood on his knuckles, whiskey in his veins, and your name on the hit list.

And for the first time in years, Seungcheol feels truly, utterly lost.

Because no matter what the file says—

he loves you.

You wake before the lights do.

The room is dim and cold, your body curled up uncomfortably on the worn leather couch in one of the smaller offices. Your neck aches. Your back is stiff. The blanket you used is halfway to the floor.

You didn’t sleep. Not really. You drifted in and out of hazy dreams, caught between the heat of memories and the frost of betrayal. His voice haunted the edges of your mind. His laugh. The scent of his cologne on your pillow. The feel of his lips at the nape of your neck, from a lifetime that feels like yesterday.

The first sound that drags you fully awake is the faint click of heels and muffled voices outside. Your colleagues are arriving.

You sit up slowly, blinking through the grey light.

Get up.

You push off the couch, shake the sleep from your limbs, and make your way to the restroom down the hall. The mirror is merciless. Your hair is tangled, your eyes shadowed. You turn on the faucet, splash cold water against your face, and force yourself to breathe. One. Two. Three.

Then, you meet your own eyes in the mirror.

You stare too long. You don’t recognize yourself.

You crack your neck once, wipe your face, and tie your hair back. When you emerge again into the hallway, your mask is in place. Crisp. Composed. Not a crack in sight.

The war room is quieter than usual.

Your girls are already gathered—Reina, Jiwoo, Samira, Bora, and Hyerim—all doing a masterclass in pretending not to be watching you.

“Morning,” you say as you walk in, voice smooth, calm.

“Morning, Gwisin,” Jiwoo replies gently, the nickname laced with caution today.

You nod. Set your coffee down. No one mentions the message from last night. But it’s there. Humming in the air like static. You feel it on your skin.

Then, your tablet buzzes.

You glance down.

Message from LIM HQ: Report to Executive Level – 9:15 AM

You check the time.

9:14.

Your breath stills. You lift your gaze and meet Reina’s eyes briefly. She nods once, understanding everything without needing a word.

You straighten your jacket. The floor falls silent behind you as you head to the elevator.

You rarely go to the executive level. Most assassins don’t. The higher-ups keep themselves wrapped in glass and shadows, their voices drifting down through encrypted comms and one-way messages. So when you’re summoned, it means something irreversible is about to happen.

The elevator doors open onto a floor that doesn’t look like any other in the building. It’s brighter here. Sleek. Clinical. Too clean.

The door to the boardroom is already open when you arrive.

Three of them sit behind the curved obsidian table: Madame Lim herself in the center, flanked by Director Oh and Mr. Kwon, both stone-faced and unreadable.

You step inside, your spine tall and your heels precise.

You greet them. They waste no time.

“Gwisin,” Madame Lim begins, “you understand why you’re here.”

You nod once. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your judgment is not under question. Not yet,” Director Oh adds. “But the situation has become... delicate. Dangerous.”

“S.Coups has proven himself a formidable asset,” Mr. Kwon continues. “Which makes him an even more formidable threat. Not just to you, but to this organization as a whole.”

You say nothing.

“We do not take betrayal lightly,” Madame Lim says. “We understand his appeal. Handsome. Charismatic. Intelligent. But even the sharpest agents sometimes fall for the wrong weapon.”

You clench your jaw, but your face does not change.

“We don’t care about your marriage,” Director Oh says coldly. “What we care about is the information he may have extracted from you.”

“Knowingly or not,” Mr. Kwon adds.

“This is your one chance,” Madame Lim finishes, voice cutting like glass. “Your marriage was a mistake. But you have the opportunity to clean it up. Efficiently. Permanently.”

They watch you.

You inhale. Hold it. Then:

“Understood.”

“Do you have any objections?” Director Oh asks.

You shake your head. “I know what’s expected of me.”

A pause.

Then Madame Lim nods. “You are dismissed.”

Back in the war room, your girls are waiting.

Not subtly.

They look up the moment you enter, expressions shifting between concern and restraint.

“So... what did they say?” Samira asks finally, carefully.

You’re just about to answer when your desk phone rings.

Jiwoo, sitting closest, picks it up with practised ease. “Mrs. Choi’s office. This is her assistant Jiwoo speaking.” Her eyes narrow. “Who may I ask is calling?”

Her expression changes. Freezes. Her breath catches.

She puts the phone on mute.

“It’s your husband,” she says, barely a whisper.

Everything in you goes still.

You stare at her.

If your cover was still intact, he wouldn’t know you were back.

He knows.

You lift the receiver slowly, your voice light as air. “Honey,” you say, the smile on your lips a perfect weapon, “you know you’re not supposed to call me at work.”

There’s a silence on the other end. Then—

“I wasn’t expecting you to be back in town already,” Seungcheol replies calmly. Measured. Unreadable.

Your pulse ticks up, but you breathe through it. “Contract fell through,” you say sweetly. “Competing firm swooped in. Happens.”

He hums. “That’s a shame.”

You flip the script. “I thought you were still in Dubai?”

A beat.

Then his reply: “Had a little... ghost from a past job show up. Complicated things. Now I’ve got a mess to clean.”

Your stomach turns.

Still, your voice doesn’t flinch. “Will you be home for dinner? Since we’re both in town.”

A pause. Then: “Yeah. Seven, right?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll bring wine.”

“See you then, babe.”

You hang up.

The room is dead quiet.

You look up. Your mask drops—just a little—and you meet their eyes.

“It’s official,” you say.

You leave the office the second the line goes dead.

You don’t wait to explain. You don’t give your girls more than a look. They don’t follow, but they don’t stop you either. They saw your face. They heard the call. The game has changed.

You drive like a woman possessed—silent, laser-focused, heart pounding beneath the illusion of calm. The city blurs around you, neon and shadows slipping past the windshield. When you pull into the driveway of the house you built with him, the sun is beginning to dip below the skyline.

Your house is quiet. Still.

Too still.

You park in the back, kill the engine, and enter silently through the side door. Every footstep is light. Calculated. You’ve walked these floors a thousand times before. In heels. In silk robes. In nothing but a towel and a glass of wine.

You sweep the house. First the kitchen, then the hallway, the garage, the basement. Your breathing is low and controlled. When you reach the second floor, you head straight for the master bedroom and pull the closet door open.

Inside, your armoury waits—hidden in secret compartments behind shoes, false panels, inside the lining of old garment bags.

He never knew.

You pull out three weapons: a Glock, a semi-automatic Sig Sauer, and a compact shotgun that fits snugly under your arm. You load them quickly, efficiently, your hands as steady as your heart is wrecked.

Ammo in your waistband. Glock in your thigh holster. Sig against your back.

You wait.

And when you hear the click of the backdoor handle—fifteen minutes later—your breath catches in your throat.

He’s here.

He moves quietly.

No keys. No footsteps. Just the low shift of floorboards under careful weight.

You can hear him moving through the kitchen, then toward the hallway. His pace is slower than usual—like a man searching a house he already knows is dangerous.

You’re perched on the second-floor landing, crouched behind the hallway mirror, shotgun firm in your grip. And then—you see it.

His reflection.

Tall. Broad. Dark eyes scanning every corner. A gun in his hand.

He sees you, too. His eyes flick up. You fire.

The bullet punches through the wall and splinters the wood frame, but he dives behind the doorframe just in time.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” his voice calls.

You don’t respond. Your answer is the clink of a new shell being slammed into place.

The house erupts.

He fires up from the stairwell. You dart down the hall, ducking into the guest room as bullets tear through drywall behind you. You spin around the corner and return fire. You graze his shoulder as he rolls across the dining room floor and smashes into the wine rack.

“This what marriage looks like to you?!” you yell as you move, switching the shotgun for the Glock.

“I should ask you that,” he barks back. “What was the plan, huh? Marry me so you could win every job?”

You scream as you fire again. “I didn’t know who the hell you were!”

He grits his teeth, vaulting over the coffee table, firing as he moves. The hallway mirror shatters beside you.

You fall back into the living room, ducking behind the couch. Your shoulder’s bleeding. You don’t even know from what. You reload with a snarl.

“Liar!” he roars from the hallway. “You think I didn’t recognise the pattern? Gwisin always beat me by a step. You were right there. In our goddamn bed.”

“You think I knew I was married to S.Coups?” you shout back. “You think I’d sleep next to you every night if I did?”

You both burst into the living room at the same time—guns drawn, bodies moving too fast—and collide.

Your weapons hit the floor with a twin clang as your fists meet flesh.

You throw the first punch. He blocks. He shoves you back into the coffee table, and it shatters under your hip. You swing a silver vase at his face. He ducks and kicks you square in the ribs.

The wind rushes out of you.

You collapse but sweep his legs out with yours, dragging him down. You scramble, blood running from your lip, hand catching a glass tumbler and smashing it against his shoulder.

He grabs you by the waist and slams you against the wall.

“Was it real?” he growls into your face. “Any of it?”

You spit out blood. “You want the truth? I don’t know anymore.”

You break his grip, duck under his arm, roll across the carpet, and reach for your Glock under the couch.

You stand—gun in hand, and you turn.

But he’s already there. He’s holding the semi-auto.

Both of you freeze.

Guns pointed. Breathing ragged.

Your finger trembles just once.

He doesn’t shoot. Instead—he lowers his weapon. Slowly.

Eyes locked on you. He looks at your face—bloodied, cut, lips split; something inside him snaps.

“Do it,” he says.

You blink. Confused.

He steps forward, just one step.

“You want the bounty,” he says, softer this time. “Take the shot. Isn’t that what this is?”

Tears blur your vision. Your hand tightens around the grip as your jaw clenches shut.

“Come on,” you scream. “Fucking do it! Shoot me! Come on!”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t raise his hands. He just… stands there.

No defence. No deflection.

Just him. Standing still. Silent surrender.

“Shoot me,” you whisper, voice shaking now. “Just fucking shoot me.”

He shakes his head. Slowly.

He lets the gun fall.

A soft clatter as it lands on the floor.

The Glock in your hand trembles.

You can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The air is thick—hot with adrenaline, grief, and rage. The scent of smoke and gunpowder still clings to your skin.

“I love you,” Seungcheol says, and it’s not a whisper. It’s a confession dragged out from deep inside, full of wreckage and devastation, the sound of a man who’s lost something he never thought he could.

You stare at him. For a long moment, nothing moves. Not the wind outside. Not your finger on the trigger. Not your fractured heart.

And then—he makes the choice for you.

He moves faster than your breath can catch. A sharp flick of his wrist sends the Glock clattering from your grip, skidding across the wood floor. You don’t react in time—not with a punch or a step back or a scream. Because before you can, his hands are on your face.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like a man possessed, like he’s been choking and you’re the pull of oxygen back into his lungs. It’s messy, bruising, desperate. You gasp into it, shocked and enraged—but that flame turns into something else, something hot, and your hands grasp his shirt, pulling him closer.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

This is years of love and fury and betrayal colliding between your teeth.

Your back slams into the nearest wall with a muffled thud, and the sound you make is halfway between a gasp and a groan. You want to scream at him, hit him, hurt him for what he’s done—but instead, your nails dig into his shoulders, and your mouth crashes into his again.

His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, gripping your hips like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold tight enough. You pull at his shirt, fists curled in the fabric, and when you feel the buttons tear loose beneath your hands, the sound only fuels you both.

“You think this changes anything?” you hiss against his lips.

“No,” he breathes, dragging your shirt over your head. “It changes everything.”

The wall digs into your spine as he kisses down your neck, your chest, his hands frantic. Your bra is unhooked and discarded in seconds. You’re half-naked, heaving, trembling—not from fear, but from everything else you’ve buried for five long years suddenly clawing to the surface.

You shove him hard, dragging him through the wreckage of your once-pristine home, stepping over shattered glass and kicked-over furniture. Neither of you cares. The cuts on your face sting. His knuckles are split open and bleeding. It doesn’t matter.

He backs you into the kitchen. It’s the only part of the house not completely wrecked.

You end up pressed against the island, his mouth claiming yours again, slower now, deeper. His touch is still rough but laced with something gentler beneath it, something like regret.

“Say it,” you whisper between kisses, voice shaking. “Say it wasn’t fake.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“It wasn’t.” His voice is hoarse. Honest. “Not for a second.”

Your breath catches, and then he’s lowering himself to his knees.

You blink, watching him.

“What are you doing—”

He doesn’t answer. Just kisses the skin of your belly, trailing lower.

You grab onto the counter’s edge as he slides your pants down with a roughness that feels like an apology and a plea in one. He leaves kisses across your thighs as you kick them away. Then his hands go to your underwear.

He looks up. Eyes locked on yours. And you’re staring back, equal parts hunger and hesitation, rage and need. And then—he tears them.

The lace snaps, cool air rushes over the glistening skin of your cunt, and you don’t have time to say a word before he picks you up and places you on the counter. His mouth descends on you, lips wrapping around your pulsing clit.

You cry out at the sensation, hand shooting into his hair, anchoring yourself to him and gripping him tightly as his tongue moves with the kind of precision only a devoted lover could master. Every flick, every slow lick of his tongue between your folds has you gasping, trembling, moaning his name like it’s been carved into your body all along.

Your head tips back, mouth parted as you suck in sharp, broken breaths. You feel his hands steadying your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your hips, grounding you but also not letting you move away from his onslaught.

“Cheol—Fuck.” you gasp, the name caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

One of his hands leaves your hip, and then two of his fingers slide inside your core—slow, deliberate, coaxing. The sensation is too much and not enough, and when he curls them just right, hitting that spot deep inside you only he seems to find, you nearly sob from the relief of it. Seungcheol can’t help but groan out in pleasure himself, your walls gripping his digits like a vice.

“I’m close,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

But then—he stops. His fingers don’t stop curling inside of you, but his mouth leaves your core.

Your eyes fly open. “What—” You stumble out.

“Look at me,” he says softly, his voice gravelly and low, broken in all the right ways. “I want your eyes on me when you come.”

You try. You really do.

It takes everything in you to lift your head and find his gaze. But when you do, the sight undoes you. His mouth glistening with your arousal, his hair a mess, pupils blown wide. And those eyes—God, those eyes.

You nod, unable to speak.

And then he lowers his mouth again.

You keep your eyes open—barely—as his mouth and fingers bring you over the edge, your body tensing, breath catching. You come hard, clenching around his fingers, the sensation crashing through you like a tidal wave breaking all the walls you’d built.

“Seungcheol—Yes. God—Fuck.”

And he guides you through it. But he doesn’t stop.

Even when you’re gasping, trembling, barely able to breathe, he keeps going—his tongue soft, slow, patient. It’s too much. You’re too raw.

You whimper, hand pushing at his head weakly. “Cheol—stop, please—too much.”

Only then does he lift his head, lips swollen, chin wet, gaze still locked on yours.

He doesn’t speak. But that smirk? It says everything.

You don’t give yourself even a second to recover before you’re dragging him up by his neck, crashing your mouth into his again, tasting your release on his tongue.

The kiss between you hasn’t stopped—it’s just changed. Slower, deeper, heavier. You’re breathing into each other’s mouths like the air outside of this is too thin, too sharp, too cold.

But something shifts.

This time, you take control.

You slide off the counter, legs trembling slightly beneath you, but your hands never leave him. You tilt your chin, deepen the kiss, and spin the two of you with a firm grunt, forcing his back to the kitchen island.

He lets you. His chest heaves and you feel the way his breath hitches in surprise. But the moment you reach for his belt, he groans—low and guttural.

“Baby...” he rasps, his voice raw and strained as your fingers work his buckle, undo his button and slide the zipper down.

You hum against his lips, tugging the fabric down just enough to feel the heat of his hard member pressing against the fabric, your touch brushing over him as he throbs beneath your fingers.

“Let me,” you whisper, beginning to lower yourself.

But his hands catch your arms—firm, trembling.

“No,” he breathes, eyes burning. “Not tonight. I need to be inside you. I need—” His voice catches. “I need all of you.”

You don’t argue. The desperation in his voice floors you.

He shucks off the rest of his pants and boxers in one motion, and his mouth is back on yours before you can draw another breath. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, his back, dragging him closer.

Together, you stumble toward the floor.

There’s broken glass everywhere. Bits of plaster and wood from shattered frames. Ruined furniture lying in jagged silhouettes around you. But neither of you cares. Not really.

You fall together, skin against skin, your bare back hitting the floor.

You hiss.

“Ow,” you wince, a sharp piece digging into your shoulder.

“Shit—” he tries to shift, to help you up, but you shake your head with a breathless laugh, hand catching the back of his neck.

“I’m fine,” you whisper through a smile. “Don’t be soft on me now, Cheol.”

He looks at you for a beat—bruised and bloodied and smiling beneath him—and his heart clenches painfully.

“God, I love you,” he says before his mouth crashes on yours again like he’s never going to get the chance to say it twice.

And then he’s lining himself up between your thighs, his tip probing your entrance.

His hips press forward, one steady thrust, and your gasp gets lost in the curve of his throat as he fills you. You both cry out at the stretch, the relief, and the way everything that’s broken suddenly makes a kind of violent, perfect sense.

“Jesus, baby...” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel—fuck.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your back arching to meet him. “Move,” you whisper. “Don’t you dare stop.” And he doesn’t.

He finds a rhythm quickly—urgent, deep, relentless. His cock slams into you with force, but every thrust is layered with something else—anger, heartbreak, love so twisted it feels like it could split you open.

You cling to him. Your nails scratch down his back as he pants against your mouth, your name escaping him like a curse and a prayer.

“Cheol—harder,” you whimper, breath catching.

He groans at your voice, his hand curling into your hair, tugging just a little too sharply.

You yelp, then slap him. A clean, fast smack across his cheek.

He freezes, stunned, blinking at you. But you’re grinning—feral and breathless. He lets out a broken laugh. “You’re insane.”

“You married me,” you fire back, grabbing him by the face and dragging him down for another kiss.

The sounds in the room are frantic—moans, gasps, skin slapping against skin, the scratching of glass shards against hardwood floors under your movements. Every kiss is frantic. Every bite leaves a mark.

Your body tightens around him, trembling. He feels it.

“You close?” he asks, voice ragged, lips at your ear.

You nod, helpless. “So close—don’t stop—please, Cheol—”

His hand snakes between you, finding your clit easily, rubbing fast, tight circles.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

And you do.

You fall apart beneath him with a sob, your whole body convulsing as the orgasm crashes over you like a wave you never saw coming. He watches you, eyes wide, lips parted, whispering your name like it’s salvation.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Good girl. Just like that.”

You barely register his thrusts speeding up, his breath stuttering.

He groans into your neck—long, low, desperate—as his cum spills inside you, hips jerking once, twice more before he collapses against your chest, spent.

The only sound for a long while is your breathing—shaky, uneven, tangled together.

His weight is heavy, but comforting. His hand slides to your side, his thumb gently stroking your ribcage, careful not to touch the bruises blooming your skin. His breath fans over your neck.

You run your fingers through his damp hair and the back of his shoulder blades.

And when you finally find your voice again, it comes out as a whisper—barely a sound. “I love you.”

He stills. You think maybe he didn’t hear it.

But then he lifts his head slowly, eyes locking with yours, and you see it there—the emotion breaking over his face like ice shattering on a frozen lake.

He doesn’t say it back. He doesn't have to.

You wake up in the aftermath.

The sun is already high in the sky, soft gold spilling in through the cracked blinds and dust-speckled windows. It touches the edges of your ruined home—highlighting the bullet holes in the walls, the debris scattered across the floor, the stillness that follows chaos.

You’re wearing one of Seungcheol’s shirts.

It’s oversized, hanging off your shoulder, barely buttoned. The collar is stretched, and there’s a streak of dried blood near the cuff—yours, probably. Your hair is a mess, and when you reach up to scratch your scalp, your fingers brush against something soft.

A pillow feather.

You snort. Of course.

After last night’s explosion of violence and desire, you somehow made it upstairs to what was left of your bed. It was mostly frame, broken slats, and torn linen—but you made do.

Now, your bare feet pad carefully down the stairs. You avoid the glass fragments and splinters with the expertise of someone who has navigated minefields—literal and metaphorical. The floor creaks beneath your steps, and for the first time in days, it doesn’t sound like a warning.

Seungcheol is already in the kitchen.

He’s standing in front of the open fridge—barely hanging on its hinges—wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey pyjama pants. His hair is wild, sticking up in tufts, and his back is covered in faint scratches and bruises—yours. His fingers move slowly through the wreckage of what used to be a well-stocked refrigerator.

You watch him for a second before stepping in.

“Any luck?” you ask, voice soft.

He glances over his shoulder, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “We’ve got orange juice... one slightly bruised apple... and what I think might be cereal.”

“Luxury,” you murmur, joining him, peeking inside the fridge beside him. “Any milk?”

He scoffs. “Glass bottle took a bullet. It was a clean kill.”

You both laugh, and it surprises you how natural it feels. How easy. Like this is just another morning, and your home doesn’t look like a war zone.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of your hair back—fingers grazing over the feather tangled there.

“You’ve got something,” he says, tugging it free with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes but lean in when he kisses you.

It’s slow. Unhurried. Familiar.

His hand cups the back of your head. Yours rests over his bare ribs. No weapons, no lies, no blood between you this time.

“You sore?” he asks, murmuring against your lips.

“Everywhere,” you smirk. “But especially my shoulder. Got stabbed by something sharp on the floor last night. Could’ve been you. Could’ve been a piece of a chair leg. Hard to tell.”

Seungcheol huffs a short laugh and grazes your shoulder with the backs of his fingers, eyes narrowing where the skin is slightly red. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the broken glass from the vase. That thing exploded like a grenade.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “You shouldn’t have thrown me into it.”

He raises a brow. “You tackled me through the coffee table.”

You grin. “Fair.”

There’s an unspoken truce between your bodies now. Your muscles ache, your joints are sore, and you’re both peppered with bruises—some purple with impact, some half-faded fingerprints, others... not entirely from violence.

The two of you end up sitting side by side on the floor of the living room, backs against the only intact wall, legs stretched out over the wreckage of your home, your salvaged breakfast lying between you.

You pass the box to Seungcheol. He pours a handful into his palm and tosses it into his mouth like it’s nothing.

“So,” you start, still a little out of breath, “you were the Istanbul embassy hit?”

He turns to you, mouth still full. “2020? Yeah.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, laughing. “I almost took that one. Client offered me triple last minute, but someone reported the route was compromised.”

He raises a brow. “That was me. Took out one of the scouts on the perimeter. Probably spooked ‘em.”

You shake your head. “You know how many contracts I lost because of you? I thought I was cursed.”

“And I thought someone was copying my blueprints,” he admits, wiping juice from his chin with the back of his hand. “Every time I planned a clean hit, someone beat me to it by hours or days.”

You blink slowly, realization dawning.

“Oh my god. Jakarta. The oil exec.”

“I was on a rooftop two blocks away,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Had my sights lined up, trigger halfway pulled, and bam—he drops dead. Heart shot.”

You grin. “Silenced pistol. Through the crowd. Red scarf.”

He stares. “That was you?” You shrug.

You pass him the juice bottle. He swigs.

“Kuwait?” you ask. “Royal cousin, private airstrip, 2023.”

He squints. “Nope. Morocco that same week, though. Oil refinery director.”

You nod slowly. “Close... but still not the same contract.”

You lean into his shoulder, warm and bruised. For a while, you just sit in the silence. Sharing cereal. Trading names of cities like souvenirs. Comparing scars. You hold out your left arm, turning it over. “Costa Rica. Machete. Wasn’t even the target—just his cousin.”

He flexes his hand, then touches his ring finger and pinky, his wedding band still on, catching the light. “Vietnam. Lost feeling here in a blast. Pipe bomb rigged under a bar stool. I leaned in to light a cigarette, and the damn thing blew.”

You hiss. “How long to recover?”

“Ten weeks. Didn’t tell my team.”

“I went deaf in one ear,” you admit. “Turkey. Close-quarters detonation. I still sleep on my right side.” He tilts his head to look at you. “I know.” You glance at him. “You noticed?” He nods. “Always.” You breathe through that.

And then, you ask the one question that’s followed you your entire career.

“Do you ever have trouble sleeping? After?”

He doesn’t even pause.

“No,” he says simply.

You nod. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“You know,” you start, voice soft, “my first contract was in Singapore. Hotel hit. Clean. Nerve-wracking as hell, though. Didn’t sleep for three days after.”

Seungcheol, who had returned to the kitchen in search of a surviving bottle of water, turns slightly, raising his brows at you still sitting on the floor. “First?”

You nod, smiling faintly. “When I joined the game back in 2015. Back then, I had to smuggle the gear in a violin case like it was a goddamn spy movie. I was twenty-one, still using my real name. Green as hell.”

He laughs as he leans against the counter, unscrewing the cap of his newfound treasure before taking a sip. “You? Green? I don’t buy it.”

“Swear to God,” you grin. “Nearly botched it. Took me forty minutes to get into the suite. He walked in while I was setting up. I had to improvise with a steak knife from room service.”

He winces, impressed. “That poor bastard.”

“Nah,” you reply. “He was a war criminal. No one misses him.”

You��re about to ask Seungcheol about his first hit when something catches your eye through the living room window. A flash of movement. A shape walking past the hedge by the front walkway. A mail truck parked across the street.

Your brows draw together. You shift up slightly on your knees.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?” he answers, still in the kitchen.

You squint. “Why the hell is the mailman out on a Sunday?”

There’s a beat of silence. And then he’s at your side in seconds.

He moves so fast that the bottle of water still in his hand clatters against the floor as he drops it mid-stride, crouching beside you and peering out the same window.

“Our mailman doesn’t work Sundays,” he mutters, voice instantly low and cold. You don’t move. “Then who the hell is that?”

Before he can answer, a clinking noise rattles from the front door. You both snap toward the sound at once. The mailbox slot creaks.

Something metallic drops through.

And in a split second—his body slams into yours.

“Flashbang!”

You’re dragged across the floor in one fluid motion just as a deafening pop erupts behind you. A white flash floods the room, followed by a shockwave that rattles what’s left of the walls.

Your ears ring. Your vision blurs. But you’re on your feet a second later, adrenaline surging through your blood like fire.

All warmth is gone. There’s no time to ask questions. You’re running.

“Garage!” he shouts. “Now!”

Bullets rip through the hallway drywall behind you as two armed men breach the front door, already firing. The wood splinters, glass explodes in a cascade from what’s left of the windowpanes.

You both sprint, ducking low, weaving through the wreckage of your own home as if it’s muscle memory. He covers you with a hand against your back as you reach the inner garage door.

It slams shut behind you.

He locks it. Not that it’ll hold for long.

“Which car?” you gasp, spinning toward the two luxury vehicles parked beneath the hanging light.

He points. “Mine has ammo inside.”

“Mine’s faster.”

“Mine’s armored.”

“Fine,” you mutter, already rounding toward the matte black Audi Q8. “But I’m picking the music.”

“Like hell you are.”

You reach the passenger side and yank open the door, only to pause.

“Where’s the—” you begin, gesturing.

He slides into the driver’s seat, reaching under the dash with a practised hand and flips a latch under the steering column. A panel in the centre console pops open with a mechanical click.

“There,” Seungcheol mutters. “Top tray. Guns and extra clips. Take your pick.”

You reach in and grab both handguns without hesitation. Toss one to him.

“You could’ve told me we had an armoury in the car,” you snap.

“You married me. I thought you knew I was full of surprises.”

The garage door starts opening with a mechanical groan as he slams the car into reverse. The moment the path is clear, he floors it. Tyres scream against the concrete as you rocket backwards, then spin into a clean arc down the driveway beside your home.

Bullets fly as the gunmen breach through the garage door. The back window shatters.

“They’re following!” you shout, twisting to return fire through the shattered rear glass.

You hit one of the attackers in the leg. he falls down, but the other keeps up the pursuit on foot.

Seungcheol veers around a corner, nearly clipping a fire hydrant and barrels down a side street.

It takes thirty minutes to ensure nobody is following you—twisting through the city, cutting through narrow alleys, blasting through tunnels, jumping red lights with seconds to spare.

You finally pull up to a rusted building tucked between two loading docks on the edge of the port. It looks condemned. Empty. But the moment you step out of the vehicle and scan the perimeter, you know this place isn’t what it seems.

“Where the hell are we?” you ask, sweeping your gun up automatically.

Seungcheol rounds the car, guiding you toward the side of the building. “Safe house. Belongs to a friend.”

You eye him. “Define friend.”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him to a rusted steel door that looks like it hasn’t been opened in a decade. He raises his fist and knocks—four beats, short-long-short-short.

You wait.

Footsteps.

The door creaks open—and standing there, in a robe, dishevelled, and holding a toothbrush in one hand—is none other than Mingyu.

Your eyes widen. “You?”

He blinks at you. Looks from you to Seungcheol, then down at your bare legs, the blood stains on Seungcheol’s naked chest, the pistol still in your hand, the way you’re both still in your morning clothes.

Then he mutters, “Jesus. What the hell happened to you two?”

Seungcheol shoulders past him with a mutter, “You tell me.”

You trail behind, brushing past Mingyu, who still looks completely stunned. He glances around before slamming the door shut and locking it with three bolts, then follows you both into the industrial-style kitchen.

You drop your gun on the counter, exhaling heavily.

Mingyu plants his toothbrush in a mug.

“You bring your wife to work often?” he asks dryly.

“You and Mingyu work together?” you turn to Seungcheol, the words half an accusation.

He doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

You let out a breath through your nose and tilt your head, arms folding tightly over your chest. “So that whole speech at our wedding about how you and Mingyu ‘went to college together and grew apart’ was just another lie?”

Seungcheol doesn’t miss a beat. “You had eleven aliases on our wedding registry. I think we’re even.”

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you step away. “Unbelievable.”

“Is this really the time for an argument?” he snaps, rubbing his temple with one hand.

You’re about to fire back when Mingyu sighs dramatically behind you, arms crossed as he leans against the counter.

“Alright, alright,” he drawls, tone lazy but eyes sharp. “You two wanna pause the little lovers’ quarrel for a sec? Because you are, in fact, in deep shit.”

Seungcheol turns toward him, exasperated. “No shit. They shot at my wife and my damn car. I’m aware.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes like an exasperated sibling. “No, you’re not. Hold on.”

He’s back a moment later, laptop in hand. He tosses it onto the counter and opens it, the screen’s glow casting sharp light across his face. With a few taps, he spins the laptop around to show you both.

“Argos posted a bounty on your head,” he says, eyes flicking to Seungcheol. “It’s live. International boards. Deep channels. They’ve basically lit a beacon over your body for every hired gun from Moscow to Macau.”

Seungcheol stares at the screen, silent.

His hand shoots out, dragging the laptop closer. He scrolls down with a twitch in his jaw, reading every line, every bounty detail. Finally, he speaks, voice tight:

“What?”

Mingyu’s voice stays calm, but beneath it is a warning. “All of our contracts were terminated this morning. No explanation, no reassignment. Nothing. They gave you—what—twelve hours? Maybe less. They expected proof of your kill. When they didn’t get it, this was their answer.”

You blink, reeling. “But... Cheol’s their top asset. Why the hell would they—”

“Because,” Mingyu cuts in, “he didn’t pull the trigger. That’s all the proof they needed that he’s compromised. He failed to kill you. That makes him a liability.”

You feel your pulse in your teeth. “Okay... but why cut the rest of you loose?”

Mingyu shrugs, only half-joking. “I’m just waiting for my bounty to go live any day now.”

You raise your brows.

“Seriously,” he says, tone turning grim. “They know we’re loyal to Cheol. Everyone on his team is. Argos knows if they kept us around, we’d try to protect him. Help him go underground. So... clean sweep.”

Seungcheol is still staring at the screen, jaw clenched, eyes burning. His voice is low when he finally speaks:

“That explains me... but why were they shooting at my wife?” He glances at you, eyes hard. “You weren’t part of this. Yet you were a target, too.”

Mingyu sighs, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. I only have their side of the board. For all I know, someone jumped the gun. Or they wanted to ensure you didn’t get a second chance to prove loyalty.”

You frown, folding your arms as you turn toward him. “Is this thing encrypted?”

He gives you a long look. “I’m the tech lead, Gwisin. What do you think?”

You roll your eyes and pull the laptop toward you. Seungcheol grins softly at the familiar exchange. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, typing in a series of commands only a seasoned ghost like you would know.

After a few seconds, an encrypted video line blinks to life on screen.

Two rings.

Reina’s face appears.

“What—” she starts, then her expression twists into visible relief and panic at once when she sees your face. “Holy shit. You’re alive.” Her voice is louder than expected. “We thought—God, I saw the bounty hit, and then everything went dark and—”

“Reina,” you say firmly. “Slow down.”

She exhales sharply, calming just enough to speak. “Lim & Associates has gone dark. Completely shut down. Doors are locked. HQ’s offline. We think the top brass has scattered. No comms. No trace. And about twenty minutes after you were supposed to confirm the kill—” she gestures, “a bounty for your head goes live.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mingyu says, leaning in.

Reina’s gaze shifts to him—and darkens.

Her voice flattens. “You.”

Mingyu grins, dimples showing. “Hi, Sweetheart. You look good.”

“Don’t.”

Seungcheol watches, confused. You, however, know exactly what this is. And so does Mingyu.

“Reina,” you warn, amusement tugging your lips. “Focus.”

“I am focused,” she bites, eyes not leaving Mingyu. “I’m just surprised he’s still breathing. I figured karma would’ve taken care of that by now.”

“Now honey,” Mingyu says, pretending not to be amused. “you know how much it turns me on when you're mad at me.”

Seungcheol blinks.

You sigh. “Long story. Don’t ask.”

“Gyu,” Reina snaps, crossing her arms. “Can you please, for the love of God, not think with your dick for two seconds?”

“You’re right,” Mingyu says, pulling the laptop toward him. “Let’s table our unresolved sexual tension and uncover corporate conspiracy instead.”

You and Seungcheol exchange an exhausted look as both techs begin furiously typing—throwing jargon and protocols across the feed faster than either of you can keep up.

“Did they just start flirting mid-catastrophe?” he murmurs.

“Apparently,” you reply, massaging your stiff neck.

Minutes pass in tense silence, the sound of keys clacking rapidly. Your pulse ticks higher.

Finally, both Reina and Mingyu stop. Mingyu stares at the screen.

Then, softly: “Oh my god.”

You and Seungcheol lean in instantly. “What?” you ask, sharp and focused. Reina’s voice is brittle. Controlled.

“Lim and Argos have been playing under the same table.” You go cold. “What?”

“They’ve been bidding against each other for years—driving up contract values, undercutting competition to steal clients, making the freelance market a bloodbath... all for mutual profit. Every ‘coincidence’? Every ‘competing company’? All engineered.”

“The hit on both of you...” Mingyu continues, voice low now, “was pre-planned. They marked you as a threat years ago, even before you married each other. Too skilled. Too independent. Too close.”

Reina nods. “They wanted to burn it all down. Kill the evidence. Clear the board. They weren’t expecting you two to survive.”

You feel like the floor’s been ripped out beneath you.

“Thank you, Rei,” you say, fingers hovering just over the laptop’s keyboard. “Truly. I mean it.”

On the other end of the call, Reina’s features soften.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she replies. “I’ll rally the others. We’ll get you everything we can. You say the word, we’ll move. You know we’ve got your back. Always.”

You nod slowly. “I’ll end this. I swear it.”

Reina holds your eyes for a beat longer, then the line cuts off.

The screen goes black.

You close the laptop slowly, and when you look up, Seungcheol is already watching Mingyu. The younger man is still frozen in place, arms folded tightly across his chest, a storm building just behind his eyes.

“What is it?” Seungcheol asks him, voice level but taut. “You’ve been quiet since she hung up. What are you thinking?”

Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Hyung... look. I hate to be the one to say this... .” he starts, then hesitates. Finally, he does. “But if you two separate, you have a shot at survival. Not a good one. But a shot.”

You feel Seungcheol tense beside you, the words like acid between them.

“If you stay together,” Mingyu continues, “you’re dead. They’ll find you. You’ll be too busy trying to keep each other alive to do it properly. You know I’m right.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth, about to snap something back, but you cut him off before he can.

“He’s right.” The words fall out before you even realize you’re saying them. And the moment they’re spoken, the air in the room changes.

Seungcheol turns to you, disbelief and anger flickering through his eyes. “So, what...” he says, quieter now. “You want me to leave you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because you don’t want that—not at all—but you also know it might be the only thing that buys you time.

The silence between you stretches until it’s taut. Until it’s unbearable.

He stares at you. You stare back. And in your shared look, there’s more said than either of you can articulate aloud. Fear. Anger. Love. Frustration. That goddamn sense of duty that’s somehow stronger than either of your instincts.

Mingyu’s voice cuts the silence with a well-placed sigh.

“You’re safe here tonight,” he says, voice intentionally casual. “Reina will loop us in with the rest of her team tomorrow. You can figure it out then.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond.

Mingyu pushes away from the counter, walks to a cabinet and tosses a fresh towel onto the table. “Bathroom’s down the hall. There’s a closet full of old gear and clothes—should fit.”

You nod silently.

“I’ve got some rice, eggs, and canned soup. It’s not five-star, but it’ll feed you.”

Seungcheol glances at him. “You going somewhere?”

Mingyu shrugs, heading for the door. “Yeah. Wonwoo’s. Now that I’m harbouring the two biggest walking bounties in the world, I figured I should be... I don’t know—armed to the teeth.”

You raise a brow. “Wonwoo, the quiet, lanky guy with the glasses from our wedding?”

“Yup. My best friend and Argos’s designated weapons guy. His safe house is basically a missile silo. I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before either of you can say anything else.

Later, after showers, dressing your wounds and forcing yourselves to eat what little you can keep down, you’re both lying side by side on a stiff mattress in one of the spare rooms. The sheets smell like old laundry detergent and sea salt. The room is dark except for a sliver of streetlight coming through the high window.

Neither of you is asleep. You’re staring at the ceiling. So is he.

You can feel the weight of the last two days in every inch of your body.

The silence is unbearable, so you speak.

“My default plan,” you say softly, “was always the Alps.”

Seungcheol turns his head toward you slightly. You don’t meet his eyes.

“Cabin in the Swiss mountains. Remote. Disconnected. Wood-burning stove, solar panels. Buried communication line. I have everything I need stashed there—documents, money, identity resets. It’s quiet.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Then—

“Mine’s a fishing boat.” His voice is hoarse. “Docked off an island near the border of Venezuela and Trinidad. Nobody ever asks questions there. Just sun, salt, fish, and radio silence.”

You nod. Let the silence stretch again.

Then you speak again, even quieter than before.

“We could leave tomorrow.” You feel his head turn toward you more fully now. “Leave it all this shit behind. Run. Disappear. You go south. I go east. No one finds us.”

His voice is so low you barely catch it. “Is that what you want?”

You close your eyes. The answer aches in your throat. “It’s not about what I want,” you whisper. “It’s about what keeps us safe. What keeps our teams safe. What keeps you safe.”

Another pause.

You feel him shifting beside you, his muscles tense.

“Cheol,” you say gently. “Please say something.”

And finally—he does.

“You run now,” he says, staring up at the ceiling, “and you’ll never stop running. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. Cabin or boat, it doesn’t matter. There’s no cave on this planet that can keep us hidden forever. They’ll find you. They’ll find me.”

You look at him then; his profile is drawn tight, jaw clenched.

“I’m not running,” he says. “I’m fighting.”

His hand finds yours in the darkness, rough fingers curling around your palm until they reach the ring on your finger. His thumb brushes over it slowly.

“I made a promise,” he says. “I said, ‘Till death do us part.’ I’m not abandoning that. Not now.”

You close your eyes and exhale—long, slow, exhausted. But your fingers close around his hand.

A/N: Soooo, this happened? For those who know me well, know that Cheol is my second ultimate bias, so I couldn't not write for him at one point. What was intended as a short piece turned into whatever the hell this is. Hope y'all enjoy! 💟 PS: I have plenty of ideas for a second part, so if anyone is interested, let me know! (Maybe even a separate story featuring Mingyu? 👀)

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

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heeseungshim · 1 month ago

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 (s.jy)

PAIRING: boxer-dad!jake x mom!reader (f)

SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.

WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 12th May 2025

WC: 9.2k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside

a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!

You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.

The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.

Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.

And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.

Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.

You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.

He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.

“Toast?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”

You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”

“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.

Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.

“Morning, champ.”

“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”

Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”

James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.

Jake noticed. Of course he did.

After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.

“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”

Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”

James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”

“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”

You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.

At the innocence behind them.

And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.

You sighed. “We’ll see.”

Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.

That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.

He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.

Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”

“He’s five.”

“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”

James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.

Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”

“Daaaaaaad!”

“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”

“Yeah! One punch!”

You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”

“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”

James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”

Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”

Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.

You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.

The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.

Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.

He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.

Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”

“I see him, baby.”

The bell rang.

The fight started.

And something was wrong.

You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.

Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.

Your stomach twisted.

“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”

“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”

But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.

His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.

And your son started to panic.

“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”

“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”

But your words weren’t fast enough.

James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.

Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.

“Jihoon!”

He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.

Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.

“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”

The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.

Jake blinked down— and froze.

“Champ?”

James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”

Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.

Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.

Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”

“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”

“You were bleeding.”

Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”

You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”

The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.

Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.

Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.

You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”

Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Jake.”

He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”

And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.

☆.

It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.

The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.

It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.

This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.

You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.

But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.

You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.

The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.

Violent, sudden.

Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.

“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.

You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.

There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”

Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.

“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.

You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”

Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.

But it was James who surprised you.

He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.

“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”

You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”

Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”

You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.

You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”

That madew him pause.

He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.

“Late?” he asked.

You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”

Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.

His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.

He held it up. ��This?”

You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”

“But—Mommy—”

“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”

James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.

You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.

“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.

“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”

He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”

The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.

You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.

You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.

Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.

You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”

Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”

“That was different,” you said.

He met your eyes. “Was it?”

You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.

His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”

“I threw up everywhere.”

“Still not alone.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.

Just a little.

Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.

When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.

Jake turned it over.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.

You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.

You saw the two lines.

Pregnant.

Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.

“Oh my god.”

Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“That’s real,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.

Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”

You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”

“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”

Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”

“He’ll boss them around.”

“He’ll protect them.”

You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”

Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”

You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”

He nodded. “Just ours.”

There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.

But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.

Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.

☆.

You never liked hospitals.

They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.

But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.

She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.

“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”

True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.

She didn’t let go of your hand once.

AAnd there it was.

That flickering heartbeat.

Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.

You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.

You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.

Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”

You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”

“You’re stronger than me.”

“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”

She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”

When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.

James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.

Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.

“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”

James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”

Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

James blinked again. “What?”

You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.

You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”

His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”

“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”

James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”

“We don’t know yet,” you said.

He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”

“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.

James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”

You smiled. “Only if you want to.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”

“Deal,” Jake said.

And just like that, James accepted it.

Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?

But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.

☆.

The first trimester was cruel.

The toilet became your closest companion.

Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.

Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.

Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.

But what surprised you most was James.

He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.

And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.

He never complained.

He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”

Jake started calling him your bodyguard.

James puffed his chest with pride every time.

Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”

It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.

☆.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.

You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.

Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.

But this year felt different.

You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.

Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.

And you were tired. So tired.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.

James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”

You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.

Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”

“Mommy should have both,” James declared.

“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.

His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”

James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”

“After lunch,” you said, laughing. “But yes. Later, we’ll eat cake.”

Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.

James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.

The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.

You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.

You didn’t even make it to the drawer.

Pop.

The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.

Warmth gushed down your legs.

You froze.

Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”

You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.

“Oh my god.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”

“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”

James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”

“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”

James blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.

He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.

Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.

“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”

“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”

He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”

“You’re not calm!”

James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”

“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”

“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.

“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”

“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.

Yunjin picked up after two rings.

“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”

You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”

“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”

“I’ll tell him if I survive.”

You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”

“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”

“Jake—”

“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.

James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”

You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”

He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”

Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m

The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.

Not yet. Not until it got worse.

And god, it got worse.

Nine hours of it.

Jake never left your side, not for a second.

You yelled at him at least three times.

“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.

He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.

Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Got it.”

“Wait, no— touch me again.”

He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”

You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.

And when it finally happened,.

the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.

Then—

A cry.

High and raw and brand new.

They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.

She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.

You sobbed.

Jake sobbed more.

Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”

Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”

“She’s so small,” you whispered.

“She’s perfect.”

You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.

You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.

Your daughter.

And she was worth it all.

☆.

The world came back slowly.

Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.

Familiar.

Jake’s cologne.

Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.

Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.

Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.

But now—now it was night.

The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.

You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.

He was there.

Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.

His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.

He was crying. Quietly.

Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.

“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”

You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.

He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.

Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.

Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.

This was a father. Again.

You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”

Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.

He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”

That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”

You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.

But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”

“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”

Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.

“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”

“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”

You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”

He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”

“Which part? I said a lot of things.”

“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”

Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”

You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.

After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”

You snorted. “Poor girl.”

He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”

“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”

Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”

You were quiet for a while.

Just breathing. Just holding her.

And him holding you.

Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Jake blinked. “For what?”

“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”

His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”

☆.

Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.

Jane was still asleep.

That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.

Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.

Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.

His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”

“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I want this moment to be good.”

You looked over at him. “It will be.”

James had been waiting by the window.

The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.

Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”

James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.

He blinked.

Then frowned.

“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.

Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”

“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”

“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”

“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”

James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”

You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.

Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”

James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”

James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”

“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”

He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”

☆.

The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.

Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.

Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.

Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.

You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.

But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.

James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.

“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.

“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.

Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.

Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.

Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.

“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.

You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”

He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”

And Jake— Jake was different, this time.

The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.

But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.

But not now.

Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.

He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.

He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.

He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.

He wasn’t perfect.

He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.

But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.

What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.

And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.

You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.

You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.

Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.

Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.

James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.

Your heart cracked open.

Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”

“I did,” you whispered.

“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”

You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”

“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”

You did cry then.

And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.

You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.

And that was everything.

☆.

Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.

The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.

Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.

His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.

Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.

You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.

James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.

“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.

Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”

James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”

You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.

Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”

James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”

But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.

The way he pressed his lips together.

You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.

“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”

James groaned. “Noooo.”

Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”

James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”

“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”

James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”

Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”

Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.

Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.

“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”

“What?” James blinked. “Why?”

You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”

“I wasn’t that late.”

“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”

“Okay, one time—”

“Every time.”

Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”

“I was tired.”

“Exactly. So mysterious.”

James giggled.

“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”

You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”

Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”

James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”

“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”

“Darn right I did.”

“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”

“I didn’t like you.”

Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”

You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”

“You brought me soup.”

“Because I’m not a monster.”

James cut in. “Did you kiss?”

Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.

You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”

James made a face. “Ew.”

“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”

Your chest squeezed a little.

“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”

“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”

James giggled again.

“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”

“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.

Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.

“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”

James squinted. “Why?”

“Because it’s for grown-ups.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”

James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”

“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.

“Jaeyun.”

Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.

“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.

Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”

Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”

You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”

“Even then.”

James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

☆.

It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.

The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.

You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.

Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.

He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.

He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.

He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.

His eyes didn’t close.

It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.

But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.

It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.

It had sounded like comfort. Like home.

And that’s what triggered it.

That memory.

The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.

The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.

The night he almost lost you.

It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.

You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.

You had just stormed off, away from him.

Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”

“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”

“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.

His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.

“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”

Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.

And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”

The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.

Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”

“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

Jake’s hand finally reached you.

His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.

“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”

“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”

“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”

The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.

You were shivering. He was freezing.

The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.

It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.

Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.

Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.

“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”

And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.

Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.

Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.

Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.

Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.

He breathed you in.

You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.

And so was he.

☆.

The light was soft when you stirred awake.

You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.

Jake.

Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.

His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.

Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.

You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.

His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.

His eyes met yours right away.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.

You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.

You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.

“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.

He hesitated.

Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”

Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”

But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.

The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.

Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing

You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.

He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.

Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.

“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”

Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.

“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”

You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”

His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”

You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”

His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

Even after all those years.

Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.

“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.

And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.

Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.

The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.

Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.

His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.

You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.

He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.

“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”

You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.

His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.

You tugged his mouth back to yours.

When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.

You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.

He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.

“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.

You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.

“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”

You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.

After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.

You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.

And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.

You both froze.

Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”

You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”

Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.

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heeseungshim · 1 month ago

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Do y’all think peacock!hybrid bf has a massive praise kink?

I mean of course, when he spreads out his beautiful tail feathers in a display for you, he’s expecting some compliments.

When his cock is twitching and leaking, all pretty and pink for you, aren’t you going to tell him he’s just mesmerizing?

Or how about when he’s fucking into you, wanting so badly to breed his pretty mate… won’t you moan and tell him how good he feels inside you?

He tries so hard, keeping up a vigorous self care routine and always preening his feathers just for you. No one else’s opinion matters, he just wants you to adore him.

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heeseungshim · 1 month ago

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⋆˚࿔ walking on water - 엔하이픈

[ SCENE ] ⟡ wet with enhypen

━ ⋆.˚ warnings: nsfw, mostly soft dom enha, sex in watery places wc. 1000~ per member

⋆˚࿔—minors dni | 18+ only | nsfw—⋆˚࿔

did not test read ㅜㅜ but i hope you likey @ taglist

⋆˚꩜｡ ──── REBLOG FOR A KiSS AND A GiFT !

Jungwon | Private Onsen in the Mountains

Setting: Late evening, deep in the Japanese mountains. A private onsen shrouded in thick steam and moaning cicadas. The mineral water is hot. The air is cold. And Jungwon’s eyes are starving.

The wooden steps groaned under your bare feet as you stepped into the open air. Cold mountain wind kissed your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms—but the steam from the onsen rolled over you like silk. Thick. Heavy. Almost alive.

You spotted Jungwon already waist-deep in the hot spring, arms outstretched along the edge, head tilted back. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his throat, jawline glistening with droplets. His eyes opened slowly, locking onto you like a predator spotting prey.

“Finally,” he said, voice low, already thick with heat. “Took you long enough.”

Your bikini clung to your curves with every movement, the thin straps digging in just right. You stepped down into the water, inch by inch, hissing as the heat licked up your calves, then thighs. Jungwon watched you like he couldn’t blink. When the water reached your hips, you paused, heart thudding.

He didn’t move. Just waited.

Then, finally, you lowered the rest of your body in, sitting across from him.

“You gonna come closer or sit over there pretending you’re shy?” he asked, tone teasing but eyes sharp.

You met his gaze and slid through the water—closer, closer—until your knees touched his. The heat wasn’t just from the spring anymore. It pulsed beneath your skin. Between your legs. In every inhale that tasted like steam and him.

His fingers reached for your wrist, guiding your hand to his thigh under the water. He was already hard.

“I’ve been like this since you said onsen.”

You bit your lip, heart slamming, as your fingers brushed up his inner thigh. He hissed, jaw clenching.

“You like the view?” you whispered, smirking.

“You have no fucking idea.”

The mist curled around you both like a curtain, shielding the rest of the world. His hands slid along your waist, thumbs dragging under the water. You moved closer, straddling his lap slowly, your knees digging into the rocky seat as his cock pressed up against the fabric of your bikini bottoms—thick, heavy, pulsing.

No towels. No barriers. Just thin soaked fabric and want.

Jungwon’s lips ghosted over your neck, mouth warm and wet. His hands smoothed down your back, then slipped beneath your bikini top, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples until they stiffened.

“You’re so soft here,” he murmured. “So fuckable.”

Your hips rolled against him involuntarily, making both of you gasp. His cock throbbed against you, and you reached between your bodies, fingers curling around him under the water. He groaned into your mouth when you stroked—slowly, then faster. You traced the veins, teased the head with your thumb, your wrist flicking just right. His head fell back.

“You wanna be in me,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw.

“I want to wreck you,” he growled.

He grabbed your ass with both hands, lifting you just enough to align. The fabric was yanked aside, your bikini bottoms tugged roughly to the side by his fingers, and then—

He slid in.

Thick, slow, stretching you inch by inch as the water rippled around you both.

The heat of him inside you was blinding. You buried your face in his neck, teeth scraping skin as you adjusted to the feeling—full, tight, deliciously overwhelmed. His hands didn’t stop moving—up your back, into your hair, gripping your hips as he started to move.

Slow.

Deep.

Each stroke was a punishment and a gift. The sound of water sloshing mixed with breathy gasps, moans, skin hitting skin under the steam. Jungwon fucked like he wanted to leave a mark on your soul. Like every thrust was a signature on your body.

You rolled your hips, grinding down, and he cursed hard, gripping you tighter.

“That’s it,” he whispered, teeth at your earlobe. “Fuck yourself on me, baby. Take all of it.”

And you did.

You rode him, water splashing against rock, steam clinging to your skin. His cock hit every spot inside you just right—every thrust making your vision blur. He played with your clit under the water, fingers fast, relentless.

When your orgasm hit, it was violent.

You clenched around him, back arching, a cry tearing from your throat that echoed off the mountains. He fucked you through it, growling, fucking harder—until he suddenly pulled out and came all over your stomach, hot and thick, groaning your name into the steam.

You collapsed against his chest, shaking, water lapping at your skin.

He stroked your back as you came down, lazy and warm. Then he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “We’re not done. The moon’s still out.”

Heeseung | Rain Shower in a Penthouse Suite

Setting: High-rise penthouse suite. The shower is all glass, wide open, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Outside, rain streaks the glass like tears. Inside, he’s about to make you forget how to breathe.

The water poured from above like rain, hot and steady, soaking your hair and skin. You stood still for a moment under the rainfall showerhead, hands braced against the cool tile, letting the heat wash away the tension in your shoulders. It was late, past midnight, the city outside glowing like a circuit board—cold blue and violet light flickering through the full-length windows.

And then you felt him.

Heeseung’s presence behind you—close, confident. You didn’t even hear him come in, but now his body heat licked your spine through the rising steam. A whisper of breath at your neck.

“You look so fucking good like that,” he murmured.

You turned slightly, the strap of your bikini sliding off your shoulder. Heeseung’s eyes dropped immediately, fixated. He was shirtless, damp already, swim trunks low on his hips and clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was wet, dark and tousled, drops sliding down his jaw.

“Is this how you imagined it?” you teased, voice quiet.

His hand touched the small of your back. “No,” he said. “This is better.”

He stepped closer, chest brushing your back, one hand sliding up your arm with an almost reverent slowness. You could feel his breath on your neck, his nose grazing your skin. The rain from the shower soaked you both, water running in rivulets between your bodies.

His hand reached around, fingers splaying over your stomach. Slowly. Purposefully.

“You get shy when people look at you,” he whispered in your ear, voice low and rough. “But right now you want me to see everything, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. His fingers slipped down, brushing the waist of your bikini bottoms.

“I want you to say it.”

You hesitated, breath catching. “I want you to see me.”

“Mmm.” His hand dipped lower. “Good girl.”

He peeled the soaked bikini from your hips with both hands, letting it drop to your feet. His mouth kissed down your spine, slow and wet, until he knelt behind you. You felt his hands spread you apart—bare, dripping, exposed to the open glass and glowing city lights.

He didn’t touch you there.

Not yet.

He just breathed.

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re already so wet. You need me, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He stood, slowly, the shift of his body up your back maddening. You reached behind, grabbing his wrist, guiding his hand between your thighs. His fingers slipped through your slick folds, circling your clit, teasing your entrance.

You moaned, forehead pressed to the glass. It was cold, but you burned.

He kissed your shoulder, bit your neck.

“I want you to feel everything,” he said. “The water. The window. Me.”

You felt his fingers curl inside you, slow and firm. His other hand reached up, bracing on the glass next to yours, boxing you in. His hips pressed forward, his cock hard against your ass through his trunks.

“Can I?” he asked, voice strained.

“Take them off.”

The trunks were gone in seconds. You felt him line up behind you—thick, already twitching—and then he was pushing in, slow, deep, dragging a groan from both of you.

Your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, Heeseung—”

“I got you,” he whispered, lips at your ear.

He fucked you against the glass. Long, slow strokes that hit deep, grinding at the end of every thrust like he wanted to feel you shatter. The water ran between your bodies, down your thighs, making everything slick and obscene.

His hand wrapped around your throat—firm, possessive.

“Look outside,” he whispered. “Let them watch you come.”

You opened your eyes.

Rain painted the skyline in streaks of light. Your reflection glared back at you—wet hair, flushed cheeks, parted lips as Heeseung fucked you hard from behind. You could see the way his hips snapped, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you in place. The way your tits bounced with every thrust.

You wanted to scream.

You pressed back into him harder, grinding, chasing the orgasm building like thunder in your spine. His other hand slipped around to rub your clit—fast, tight circles—and you broke.

Your legs shook. The glass fogged up. You came with a moan that echoed against tile and sky, trembling in his arms as he fucked you through it, lips at your ear, voice rough and shaking.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”

Then he cursed—deep and desperate—and pulled out just enough to come against your lower back, hips jerking, thick ropes spilling hot onto your skin as the shower washed it away.

You both collapsed to the floor of the shower, steam curling around your bodies. His arms wrapped around you from behind, holding you close, lips on your shoulder.

The rain kept falling.

The city kept watching.

You didn’t care.

Jay | Luxury Hotel Jacuzzi

Setting: Late night, rooftop suite. The jacuzzi is sunken into marble, surrounded by glass and gold, with champagne chilling nearby. The stars are out. The bubbles are high. And Jay? He’s sitting there, spread wide, watching you like you’re dessert.

The air was warm with a hint of champagne and night breeze, the rooftop city view glittering beneath you like spilled diamonds. The jacuzzi gurgled softly, hot bubbles fizzing to the surface in lazy, rhythmic pulses.

Jay sat in the water like he owned the entire hotel. And maybe he did.

One arm draped along the edge, the other holding a champagne flute, legs spread under the water just enough to be disrespectful. His black swim trunks clung to him like a second skin, soaked and outlining the thick shape beneath. The lights under the water turned the bubbles golden around him.

His eyes were already on you as you stepped out onto the marble.

Bikini, tiny, black. Skin glowing. Your hair was slightly damp from the shower. You walked toward him with a sway in your hips that wasn’t entirely innocent, and Jay’s lips curled like he knew exactly what you were doing.

“You took your time,” he said.

You stepped into the jacuzzi slowly, one foot after another, the hot water lapping up your calves, thighs, hips. You slid in with a little shiver, breath catching at the warmth.

Jay’s eyes dropped immediately to your chest. Bubbles clung to your skin, gathering between your breasts. You sank down until the water kissed your collarbones, settling across from him.

“I wanted to make sure you were thirsty,” you said.

He raised the champagne to his lips, sipping slow. His throat moved as he swallowed, and then he set the flute down with a soft clink.

“Oh, I am,” he said. “But not for this.”

Your foot brushed his leg under the water.

Then his thigh.

Then his cock.

Hard already.

You smirked. “I didn’t even touch you.”

“Baby,” he said, leaning forward, voice low and deep, “you’ve been touching me since you walked in that bikini.”

You crawled across the water toward him, bubbles fizzing around your thighs, arms slipping around his neck as you settled into his lap. His hands found your waist instantly, gripping like he’d been starving for it.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel perfect.”

His cock pulsed against your core, only the thin layers of wet fabric separating you now. You shifted your hips—grinding—slow and taunting, making his breath hitch.

His hand grabbed your ass, hard. The other snaked up your spine, fingers threading into your hair.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fuck you right here, with the whole fucking city watching.”

You leaned in, your lips ghosting over his. “Do it.”

Jay’s eyes locked with yours.

And that was it.

He kissed you like he was claiming territory—tongue deep, teeth grazing, lips devouring. You gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips up into you, cock grinding against your folds under the water. You rocked against him, pace matching the rise and fall of the bubbles.

“Take these off,” he growled, yanking at your bikini bottoms.

You obeyed.

He didn’t wait.

He pulled the waistband of his swim trunks down, just enough. And then he grabbed your hips and guided you down—onto him.

You moaned, loud, as he filled you in one slow, slick thrust. The water surged around you. His cock stretched you just right—thick, pulsing, deep.

“Eyes on me,” he said, voice low and wrecked.

You looked at him.

And fuck, it made your walls clench. His stare was molten, unreadable, full of restraint and possession.

“Look how good you take me,” he whispered. “So fucking tight.”

You rolled your hips, grinding in slow circles. He hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into your skin. He pulled your bikini top down, freeing your breasts, watching them bounce as you rode him.

“Fuck. Look at these.” He cupped them, thumbs flicking your nipples, voice husky. “You wanna come just from this? From being so full?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, Jay—yes.”

“Then ride it, baby. Come on. Ride this dick.”

You moved faster.

Up and down, rocking into him, moaning shamelessly. The water splashed with each motion, wet sounds filling the air between your gasps. His cock dragged in and out, thick veins rubbing your walls, tip hitting the perfect spot inside.

His mouth was everywhere—neck, collarbone, sucking your nipples between teeth, groaning against your skin.

You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, legs shaking, voice breaking as you came on him, walls spasming tight. Jay held you through it, biting your shoulder, grinding slow and deep as you shook.

Then his hands gripped your hips, and he fucked up into you hard.

Once. Twice. Three sharp thrusts—then he came, hot and thick, deep inside, voice low and broken against your throat.

You collapsed against him, chests heaving together in the bubbling water.

He kissed your cheek. “Next time,” he whispered, “we’re doing it on the edge of the tub.”

Ohhh yes.

Jake | Beach at Night

Setting: Midnight. A secluded private beach, moon glowing high, waves crashing just feet away. You’re walking barefoot in your bikini, and Jake’s right behind you—eyes low, voice deeper, hungry. The sand is warm, the air sticky, and your patience? Gone.

The sand was still warm from the day, clinging to your feet as you stepped off the wooden path. Wind whipped your hair around your face, cool with salt and ocean mist. The sound of the waves was constant—loud, rhythmic, endless.

And Jake was behind you.

He’d followed you down without a word, barefoot in nothing but his loose black swim trunks, a towel slung over one shoulder, that damn look in his eyes.

You stopped near the edge of the water. The sea foam reached for your ankles like fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing back.

His answer was a smile. Slow. Sharp.

“I’m great,” he said. “But you’re killing me in that bikini.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve seen it all day.”

“Exactly.” His voice dipped. “And I’ve been hard all day.”

Your breath caught.

He dropped the towel.

Then stepped right into you.

His hands slid to your hips, fingers brushing the knot of your bikini bottoms, thumbs teasing just under the fabric. His eyes roamed your face, your lips, your chest, like he was still debating whether to worship or devour.

“You walk ahead of me on purpose, huh?” he murmured. “Swishing that little ass. Pretending you don’t know I’m about to lose it.”

You smirked. “You say that like you didn’t stare the entire way.”

“I always stare.”

His mouth met yours before you could sass back—warm, sweet, but needy. Tongue sliding past your lips, hands grabbing your ass, grinding his hips forward until you could feel just how hard he really was.

You whimpered into his mouth.

The waves crashed nearby, but your body drowned in him.

“Lie down,” he said, tugging you toward the sand.

You hesitated. “Here?”

He just raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”

You dropped like a challenge.

The sand was soft. The night wrapped around you like heat. Jake knelt between your thighs, eyes locked on yours as he untied your bikini bottoms—slowly. Like he was unwrapping a gift.

He tossed them behind him. His fingers slid up your thighs, spreading them open until the ocean breeze kissed your bare pussy.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered.

Then he bent down.

His mouth on you was heaven.

Hot. Wet. Starving.

He licked slow at first, tasting every inch, then locked onto your clit and sucked. Hard.

Your back arched. You grabbed his hair, moaning, grinding up into his face as his tongue pushed inside you, his hands keeping you open. The ocean roared behind him, but all you could hear was your own breathy gasps.

He pulled back only when your thighs started shaking.

“Not yet,” he said, crawling up your body. “I wanna come with you.”

You grabbed at his trunks. He helped, yanking them down, cock springing free—thick, flushed, dripping at the tip.

You both groaned as he lined up, teasing your entrance.

“Ready?”

You nodded.

Then he pushed in.

Slow.

The stretch made your breath catch, your legs wrapping around his waist as he filled you inch by inch.

“Jake—fuck—”

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So fucking wet already.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He started thrusting—deep and slow, hips rolling like the waves, every stroke grinding against your sweet spot. His hands were everywhere—your tits, your waist, your throat. He kissed you hard between moans, tongue messy, hips snapping faster.

The sand shifted beneath you. The stars blurred above.

Your orgasm built fast, dizzying.

“Jake—fuck, I’m close—”

He grabbed your face, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me when you come.”

You did.

Eyes locked, pussy clenching around him, mouth open in a cry as you came hard—shaking under him, vision gone white.

He fucked you through it, then growled your name as he spilled inside you, cock twitching deep, hot cum flooding your pussy as his hips stuttered.

He collapsed onto you, both of you breathless, waves brushing your toes.

You laughed, gasping. “You’re insane.”

He grinned against your shoulder. “And you’re gonna walk back to the villa with my cum dripping down your legs.”

Sunghoon | Indoor Pool, Low Lights

Setting: A private indoor pool, lights dimmed to dusky blues and shadows, water cool enough to bite. Echoes of your breath bounce off the walls. You’re alone. Just you. And him. And nowhere to run.

The pool was silent.

Empty.

Still.

Only the low hum of underwater lights filled the space, glowing cool blue beneath the surface. Shadows rippled across the tiled walls, and the air smelled of chlorine and something electric.

You stood at the edge, bare feet on the tile, the sleek black bikini hugging your skin like sin. You could feel his eyes on you before you even looked up.

Sunghoon stood waist-deep in the water, arms resting on the edge behind him. Black swim trunks. Hair pushed back. Face unreadable—until you caught that glint in his eye. That flicker of hunger he always tried to hide.

You stepped in, slowly. The water was cold. Sharp.

You hissed as it hit your skin.

Sunghoon smirked.

“Too cold for you?” he asked, voice echoing in the cavernous stillness.

You took another step, the water licking up your thighs. “Not if you warm me up.”

His gaze dropped to your hips. “I could do that.”

By the time you reached him, the water was up to your ribs. You paused in front of him, not touching, heart pounding.

He reached out lazily, dragging one finger up your stomach. You shivered—part chill, part anticipation.

“That bikini’s illegal,” he muttered.

You smirked. “Do something about it.”

And just like that—the switch flipped.

Sunghoon grabbed your waist, yanking you against him with a splash. You landed on his lap, straddling him in the water, your bare thighs bracketing his as his cock pressed thick and unmistakably hard against your soaked bikini bottoms.

“You feel that?” he growled against your neck.

You nodded, grinding your hips forward.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice tight. “You’re already soaked.”

You leaned back just slightly, letting your breasts rise above the water. His eyes went dark. He cupped one through the fabric, squeezing slow, then tugged the top down with one sharp pull.

Cold air met your nipples. So did his mouth.

He sucked hard—no teasing. No build-up. Just filthy, wet pressure, tongue lapping, teeth scraping. You moaned aloud, back arching into it.

His hand slipped between your legs, under the water, pulling your bottoms to the side. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. One finger slid inside you, then two—deep.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, clinging to his shoulders.

“You like being fucked in the water?” he growled. “Like a dirty little secret?”

You clenched around his fingers in response. He grinned, then pushed them deeper, fucking you slow, hard, relentless. The water rippled with every movement.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he said.

“Then do it,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to hear more. Sunghoon lined up his cock—already bare under his trunks, slick and heavy—and with one sharp thrust, he was inside you.

You cried out, nails raking his back.

He fucked up into you in hard, cold snaps, water splashing around your hips. The chill made every nerve fire like lightning, made his cock feel hotter, thicker, deeper.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so tight,” he groaned. “So fucking good around me.”

You held on for dear life as he bounced you on his cock, fingers bruising your hips. Your moans echoed off the tile—sharp, desperate, drowning out the splashing water.

His teeth found your neck, biting, marking.

“You gonna come for me?” he demanded. “Come on my cock like a filthy girl?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, Hoon—don’t stop—”

He reached between you, thumb circling your clit with perfect pressure. Fast. Mean. Exactly what you needed.

You came so hard your vision went white.

Your scream hit the ceiling, your pussy clenching like a vice, milking his cock. He cursed violently, then thrust hard—once, twice—and came inside you, thick ropes filling you up as he buried himself deep, holding you down with a growl.

Your legs shook. Your head fell to his shoulder. Water lapped lazily around you, cooling the heat that burned in every inch of your skin.

He kissed your temple.

“Still cold?” he murmured.

You laughed, breathless. “Not even close.”

Sunoo | Scented Bubble Bath, Candlelight

Setting: A massive tub carved into stone, lit only by dozens of flickering candles. The water smells like jasmine and vanilla. Bubbles float over the surface. Sunoo waits inside, back against the curve of the tub, hair pushed back, eyes already dark with intention.

The bathroom glowed gold.

Hundreds of tiny flames flickered in the candlelight—lining the tub, the counters, even the floor. Shadows danced on the marble walls, and the scent of jasmine mixed with the thick steam curling in the air. The bath itself looked like something carved for royalty—deep, wide, with milky, foaming water bubbling gently over smooth stone.

You stepped inside slowly.

Sunoo was already in the bath, half-submerged, hair damp, skin glowing in the golden light. His arms were spread along the edge, legs splayed just wide enough to pull the breath from your lungs.

He looked at you like he’d ordered this moment. Like you were exactly where you belonged.

“I was about to come pull you in,” he said.

You dropped the towel from your hips, the black bikini clinging tight to your skin. “Then I guess I’m lucky I made it in time.”

His smile turned wicked.

“Take those off.”

Your fingers moved without thinking, untying the strings, the soft whisper of wet fabric falling to the floor. You stepped into the water slowly, letting the heat swallow your legs, then thighs, then hips. Bubbles curled around you, hiding nothing from his gaze.

When you reached him, he pulled you into his lap like it was instinct. His hands slid up your back, wet and warm, until your chest was pressed to his. His cock was already hard, throbbing against your core under the water.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, lips brushing your neck. “You always do.”

You rolled your hips forward—slow, teasing—and his breath hitched. He gripped your ass with both hands, squeezing, grinding you down on him harder.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, voice low.

You grinned. “I always finish.”

His eyes flashed. Then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not gentle.

Sunoo’s kiss was heat and teeth, tongue pushing in like he wanted to taste your soul. His hands tangled in your hair, dragging your head back as he bit your lip, sucked it between his teeth.

You moaned into him, grinding harder, faster.

“Fuck—stop,” he muttered suddenly, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth.

“Why?”

“Because if I fuck you like this,” he growled, “I’m going to spill before you even scream.”

You swallowed hard.

He gripped your hips and lifted you. One hand grabbed his cock under the water, guiding the thick head to your entrance, and he looked you dead in the eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded.

And he dropped you onto him.

You cried out, hands clenching his shoulders, as he filled you—slow, stretching, deep. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your skin.

Then he snapped his hips.

Once.

Twice.

Fast.

Hard.

You screamed, fingernails raking down his back.

“Fuck—yes,” he hissed. “That’s it. Take it. Take all of it.”

The water splashed over the rim of the tub with every sharp, filthy thrust. Your moans bounced off the stone, echoing between the candles. His cock hit deep, grinding against your sweet spot with punishing precision.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Rub that clit while I wreck you.”

Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers trembling. You rubbed circles fast, gasping, body starting to tremble. He watched you do it—eyes locked, mouth open, moaning your name as you clenched around him.

“You wanna come, baby?” he growled. “You wanna soak my cock?”

“Please—”

“Then beg for it.”

You sobbed.

“Please, Sunoo—don’t stop—fuck me, please, harder—”

That’s all it took.

He slammed up into you, grip bruising your hips, and your orgasm exploded—so intense you nearly blacked out. You screamed his name, thighs quivering, water thrashing around you as your body convulsed.

Sunoo held you down and fucked you through it, biting your throat, groaning into your skin.

Then he came inside you.

Hot, thick, endless. His cock pulsed deep inside, filling you up as he groaned your name like a prayer and a curse.

You collapsed against him.

The water stilled.

The candles flickered.

His hand stroked your back as he whispered, “You’re mine now, you know that, right?”

You smiled against his skin.

“I always was.”

Ni-ki | Dance Studio Shower Room

Setting: Late night. Everyone else is gone. The studio’s quiet, the locker room lit in low flickering fluorescents. Steam clouds the air from the showers. You’re both sweaty, flushed, and still in your practice clothes. You weren’t supposed to be alone with him.

The music had finally stopped.

The studio was dead quiet, except for your breathing and the dull thump of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. Your skin was slick with sweat, body trembling from the intensity of the last run-through.

You leaned on the barre, chest rising and falling, when you heard his steps behind you.

Slow.

Controlled.

Predator.

Ni-ki.

You turned your head just enough to see him in the mirror. His shirt was sticking to his chest, hair damp and hanging in his eyes. He was still breathing hard—but not from the dancing anymore.

“You pushed me hard tonight,” you said, voice light, teasing, though your pulse was already racing.

He stepped closer. “You always act like that wasn’t the point.”

You met his gaze in the mirror.

“Wasn’t it?”

That was it.

In an instant, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back as his mouth found your neck—hot, wet, desperate. You gasped, hands scrambling for the barre as he pressed his body flush to yours from behind, cock already hard against your ass through his joggers.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he growled. “Every time you bend over in front of me… every time you moan during warmups?”

“I wasn’t moaning—”

“You were,” he cut you off. “And now you’re gonna really make noise.”

He dragged you toward the locker room—fast, rough, hungry.

The moment you crossed the threshold, steam hit your face. The showers were still running. Warm mist rose around you, mixing with the echo of dripping tile.

He shoved you up against the cold wall.

His hands yanked down your leggings, your soaked sports bra already halfway off before you could blink. You weren’t wearing underwear. His breath caught as he saw how wet you were—not from sweat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.

You braced yourself against the tile as his mouth met your pussy, tongue immediate, no warm-up. He ate you like he’d been starving, lips sucking, tongue flicking your clit in fast, precise strokes that had your knees buckling.

“Ni-ki—shit—fuck—”

He moaned into you, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as you writhed, hips grinding against his face. His tongue slipped inside you, curling, and your hands slammed against the wall as the first orgasm tore through you—sudden, sharp, spine-arching.

He pulled away, lips wet.

“You done?” he asked, cocky.

You glared down at him. “Not even close.”

His smile turned feral.

He stood, shoved his joggers down, and lined his cock up without ceremony. He grabbed the back of your neck, shoved you hard against the shower wall—and slammed into you in one thrust.

You screamed.

He didn’t stop.

Ni-ki fucked you like he’d had this fantasy for months. Fast, deep, dirty. His hips slapped against your ass, wet skin smacking loud in the tiled room. His hand tangled in your hair again, yanking your head back so he could hiss in your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Fucked like a slut in the locker room?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

“You gonna come again on my cock?”

“Ni-ki—”

He pulled out. Flipped you around. Lifted you against the wall with raw strength, one hand under your ass, the other choking you softly as he slammed back in.

You wrapped your legs around him, water streaming down your bodies.

He was deeper now—angled just right, cock hitting that spot that made your whole world flicker. You clawed at his back, shoulders, kissed him hard as your second orgasm built—fast, unstoppable.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “Tight, warm—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You broke apart with a cry, body clenching down on him, soaking his cock as your orgasm rocked through you. He fucked you through it, eyes locked on yours.

Then with one guttural moan—he came inside you, cock pulsing deep, filling you up until it spilled out around him, mixing with the water.

You stayed like that. Pressed to the wall. His breath panting against your mouth.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “You were waiting for this.”

You smirked, voice wrecked. “I was waiting for you to snap.”

should i make more ot7 scenarios??

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