bitchless

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ (Pt.2)

“In which reader finds herself tangled in a complicated, secret relationship with her bodyguard.”

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content:+18MDNI

fem! reader x sunghoon, popstar x bodyguard, a little bit angsty and emotional, jake is a side character, ni-ki is a side character, a bit of comedy relief, romantic sex, rushed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f. rec), fluffy.

READ PART 1 HERE.

notes: finally finished pt2. i hope y’all like it <3 this is one of my fav works until now, although i hope this part 2 doesn’t feel rushed i wanted to close this story but not in a very dramatic way.

taglist at the end, likes and reblogs are appreciated, hate comments will be deleted and blocked !!

Weeks passed in a blur, turning into a couple of months. In the outside world, everything started to slowly go back to normal. You were still working on your stunt with Jake, still went out on dates, public events, photoshoots where you held his hand and smiled for the cameras like nothing had changed. You still had you solo schedules too, practising for your upcoming tour, dance practices, wardrobe fittings, all the things that should bring you joy, but you knew exactly why they didn’t.

You felt hollow. Every interview, every flash of the camera, every compliment about how beautiful and in love you and Jake looked, it all scraped against your skin like slow punishment. You smiled through it anyway, nodded, laughed on cue, let yourself be styled and polished and praised. Let the world believe the lie.

But at night, when you got home and found yourself in the loneliness of your penthouse, that was the worst part. Your apartment was a mess now, not visibly, but emotionally. The silence was heavier than ever. Your new bodyguard was perfectly kind, polite, and good at his job. But he wasn’t Sunghoon. He didn’t know the way you liked your coffee or when to step closer in a crowd or when you just needed to be left alone. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t see through you.

Some nights you didn’t even make it to your bed, you just curled into the couch with a blanket and your phone in hand, scrolling through old photos and videos, watching old interviews or red carpet clips where Sunghoon was just barely in the background, sunglasses on, earpiece in, jaw tight. Or some blurry photos you took of him just to annoy him, the affection and the tease in his eyes.

It wasn’t just that you lost him, it was that he lost too, the job he so much cared about, he was one of the most remarkable agents, and now, with this happening, you didn’t know if he would be ok.

You missed him so much it was physically hurting you, you didn’t have appetite, your eyes were tired and baggy all the time, you didn’t make it our of your house unless it was extremely necessary. Even Jake noticed something was wrong, but he didn’t want to push you.

One of those nights, you sat wrapped in your hoodie, barely able to keep your eyes open, your cheeks still wet from crying again. An unfinished noodle bowl sat on the coffee table, your TV playing some old series you weren’t watching.

You were too drowned in your own depression you didn’t even hear the door open. It was too late for visitors, and you were already falling asleep, so you didn’t react properly, but you heard him. A quiet rustle, the sound of shoes coming off, then the scent hit you before anything else, cinnamon. Warm, sticky, fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice broke the silence softly.

You blinked, blurry-eyed, as he stepped into the living room with a paper bag in one hand and two milkshakes in the other. He was wearing sweats and a hoodie, hair messy and still damp, he looked like the boy next door, not the vocalist of one of the biggest boybands. But his eyes were soft, like he already knew the state you were in.

“Thought you might needed some sugar” he said gently, placing the bag on the coffee table.

You didn’t say anything at first, just watched him quietly as he sat next to you, not too close, but not too far. His presence was familiar in a different way. He always felt like a warm light, even when everything around you was cold. He smiled softly, but you saw a bit of pity on his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, voice dry.

He handed you a napkin, chuckling sweetly.

“You’re crying into your couch cushions and your mascara’s halfway down your cheek.”

You sniffled, wiping your face.

“Thanks.”

Jake didn’t push, just opened the bag, pulled out two still-warm cinnamon rolls, and handed you one. You took it even if you weren’t really hungry and chewed slowly. The sugar stuck to the roof of your mouth, soft and sweet. Jake just stared at the screen in front of you, like he was scared to say the wrong thing, but also scared of leaving you alone.

Finally after a few minutes, he took a small sip of his milkshake and asked:

“You’re not ok, are you?”

You blinked down at the floor for a long moment before you finally whispered:

“I miss him.”

Jake nodded once.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked. “I know you don’t deserve to get dragged into this mess, I never wanted this to happen like this.”

Jake leaned back into the couch, tilting his head toward you, his smile was bittersweet.

“You never really lied to me, you know. About the way you looked at him.”

You just looked at him, another tear falling down your cheek.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” he continued, “because I knew it wasn’t my place. But I’m not stupid. I knew this wasn’t real, I just wanted to make it easy for you, but I saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to fall apart again.

“Do you love him?” Jake asked, softly.

You nodded, almost ashamed.

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” he said. “What’s stupid is the world making you hide it. And not to be mean, but seeing how powerful of an icon you are, I’m kind of disappointed, you should be fighting for him.”

You chuckled softly, and the silence stretched between you again, then Jake nudged your foot with his gently.

“Come on. You? Crying over some man while the world still thinks you’re on top of it? That’s not the you I know.”

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, heart aching and throat too tight.

“I don’t even know where he is.”

Then a lazy, mischievous smirk appeared on Jake’s lips.

“Good thing you’ve got me then,” he said, cracking his fingers and pulling out his phone “Because I’ve got some... morally questionable connections.”

You frowned.

“Jake—”

“No, listen. I’m not letting you rot on this couch like some tragic indie heroine when you’re you. I know a guy who knows a guy who’s maybe been in a few tabloids for hacking into celebrity itineraries. If anyone knows where your hot ex-bodyguard is, it’s him.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief.

“You’re serious.”

Jake didn’t even move.

“Dead. Just gimme a couple of days while I blackmail a couple of people.”

You laughed, breathless and tearful, but still a laugh.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked at you then, his expression soft.

“Because I know what it’s like to love someone and have to keep it secret. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially not you.”

The words hit you like a punch straight to the chest, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, holding him tight. He hugged you back just as fiercely, but so softly, scared of hurting you.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel so alone.

Ever since he was as a kid, Sunghoon had always been good at silence. He was the type to keep things to himself, he bruises, the pressure, the fears. He learned early on that staying quiet kept you safe. So he built walls, never let anything in too deep.

But no one ever told him what to do when someone slipped past them anyway.

He didn’t talk about you anymore. He kept you buried, folded behind duty and discipline, tucked deep into the corners of his mind where no one could find you. He did his job, he kept the kid safe, he answered emails, drank his coffee black, made his bed with tight corners every morning like clockwork.

But you were fucking everywhere. He didn’t let himself look at the magazines or watch the late-night interviews. But he saw you in the smallest things, like the way your breath used to skim across his collarbone. The soft hum of the AC at night that reminded him of your half-asleep voice calling his name. The warmth of the sunlight through the car window that made him think of your smile.

He didn’t show how much it affected him, just blinked once, slow, took a deep breath, and kept walking.

Ni-ki — the rich teenager he was in charge of now whose parents were always too busy to even be at home — was yelling about something from the penthouse kitchen. Sunghoon didn’t really register it. He was standing by the window, arms folded behind his back, eyes fixed on the skyline like it had answers he wasn’t brave enough to ask for. He liked Tokyo, it was a big city, futuristic, full of distractions and the most important, it was very far, far away. From you and all the disaster that he causes by being so unprofessional and letting his feelings take him over.

Sometimes he dreamed of you, but just fragments. The curve of your neck, the glint in your eyes when you were teasing him, the way your fingers used to reach for his hand when you thought no one was looking. Your sweet scent, the way you whispered his name with wrecked voice when he kneeled in front of you to worship you, the little sounds you made when he was inside of you. He’d wake up with clenched fists, jaw tight, heart pounding like he’d run miles. But then he’d push it all away again.

He wondered if you missed him. If you hated him for leaving. If you’d found comfort in Jake’s arms, arms that had always been, easier, more acceptable. He wouldn’t blame your if you had. He’d never had the right to ask for more.

But he was hurting, silently. Because everything you had was still a secret. A private moment locked away in his chest like a forbidden thing he was too scared to touch.

Two days later, the sound of the penthouse doors swinging open echoed through the apartment like a wind shift in a still room.

You were in the kitchen, barefoot, clutching a half-finished smoothie you hadn’t touched since you poured it. The blender still sat unplugged beside you, and your reflection in the dark marble countertop looked like a stranger, tired, unwashed, hair tangled, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. You hadn’t showered, hadn’t slept properly, hadn’t cried again either. Just floated in a numb haze.

The door clicking shut snapped you out of your trance.

Jake stood there, breathless in the golden light spilling in from the windows, wearing his usual oversized hoodie and that persistent soft worry behind his eyes. But this time, there was something urgent in the way he held his phone and the way his gaze scanned you from head to toe, like he’d been waiting for the exact right second to say something.

“Jake?”

He stepped forward slowly, not speaking yet. He crossed the room in a few slow strides and gently reached out, placing a hand over yours, the one still wrapped around the glass of your smoothie.

The warmth of his touch nearly undid you.

“You’re not okay,” he said quietly. Not as a question, but as a truth.

You said nothing.

“I have something,” he said after a pause. “You should sit.”

You stared at him, heart thudding unevenly.

“What is it?”

Jake hesitated for the briefest second.

“I found him.”

The world stilled and you forgot how to breathe.

You didn’t react right away, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words while your body stayed frozen. Your throat tightened, heart fluttering in a sick rhythm. What Jake said registered, but not fully. It echoed and echoed, growing fainter each time, trying to reach a version of you that hadn’t been shattered.

Your body stayed frozen and you felt the rush of blood in your ears. The faint hum of the fridge, the way your bare toes curled against the cold tiles. And above it all, the ringing silence inside you, deafening.

“Sunghoon’s in Tokyo,” Jake continued softly. “He’s working. New job. He’s in charge of some rich kid, someone saw him at a gala.”

Your hand trembled. Jake gently took the smoothie from your fingers and placed it on the counter behind you before stepping closer.

“He’s ok.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, and it caught painfully in your throat. Your eyes burned, but you refused to cry. You had spent months becoming a ghost of yourself, too hollow for tears.

He’s okay.

Somehow, that hurt more than if Jake had said he was miserable.

Your knees nearly gave out. Jake caught your elbow before you could fall into yourself, grounding you with a steady hand and a softer voice.

“Hey,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “breathe for me, yeah?”

“I—I thought he didn’t want to be found,” you whispered eventually, voice fragile “I thought he was done.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He didn’t try to comfort you with words that would sound fake.
Instead, he just stood with you like he always did. You turned your head slightly, eyes flickering toward him. Jake’s expression was unreadable for a second, a bit protective, something like love that didn’t belong to him.

He didn’t hesitate when he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin envelope.

“I got us tickets,” he said. “Flight leaves in the morning. First class.”

Your heart stuttered. You stared at it, unmoving, while your insides twisted with something sick and bittersweet. A strange mix of want and fear, a longing so sharp it almost tasted metallic in your mouth.

What if he didn’t want to see you?

What if he had changed? What if he hadn’t?

What if he hated you?

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold. The kitchen that had felt so still just minutes ago now felt too loud with your thoughts, too full of questions you weren’t ready to answer.

“Only if you want to go,” Jake added. “You don’t have to do anything. But you deserve to know, okay? To see him with your own eyes. And tell him that you love him.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, brokenly.

Jake smiled, small and a little sad.

“I would never leave you alone in this,” he said simply, “and part of this mess is my agency’s fault too.”

And in the silence that followed, you finally let yourself fall, not into despair, but into the truth of it all. You would never get over Sunghoon, so you’d better fight for him.

The next day came faster than you imagined. Maybe because you didn’t sleep much, or maybe because part of you was still in that strange half-dream where Sunghoon held your face and looked at you like he never left.

Tokyo was hazy through the plane window, all gray skies and silver buildings, so unfamiliar but welcoming in some way. You’d been there before a couple of times before for your last world tour, but still, you were nervous as hell.

The good thing was that Jake hadn’t let you go the entire flight. A hand on your wrist when the turbulence hit, a pillow passed to you without a word, his shoulder, warm and steady, when your body finally gave in to sleep for a little while.

Now, in the passenger seat of the sleek black car that Jake rented speeding through Tokyo streets, your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“This is crazy,” you whispered, voice cracking as you stared at the neon blur outside. “I feel like I’m dreaming. I—I don’t even know what I’ll say if I see him.”

Jake looked at you gently from the driver’s seat.

“Then don’t say anything. Just... let him see you.”

You shook your head, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as a shield for your burning heart.

“What if I fall apart in front of him?”

Jake smiled, soft and sad.

“Then I’ll be right there.”

You didn’t reply, throat too tight. But you turned your gaze toward him, and for a second, you weren’t completely drowning in nerves.

Jake had arranged everything. He had connections, people who talked. Word had it that Sunghoon was now working for a high-profile family with a teenage son, some spoiled, ridiculously wealthy private school kid. His job was low-key, private, very behind-the-scenes. But like all secrets in elite circles, it didn’t stay hidden for long. He also contacted both of your agencies and convinced them that this was a little gateway couple trip, that it would be good for the stunt, and both of your managers agreed not knowing the real intentions. But it didn’t matter, it was worth trying.

“He picks the kid up from school every day at 2:45 sharp,” Jake said, glancing at his phone as the car slowed down. “It’s a school just outside the city. Uniforms, gates, the whole thing. If we wait near the side entrance, we’ll see him.”

You pressed your forehead to the cool window glass and closed your eyes.

2:45.

The time felt burned into your chest now. A countdown, suspended between everything you were terrified of and everything you still wanted. The idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist, your lungs feel too small. You weren’t entirely ready. But you’d come this far.

And maybe that meant something.

Jake reached for you and slipped his fingers into yours.

“We don’t have to do anything today,” he murmured. “We can just look. Just make sure he’s there.”

You nodded shakily.

In front of the school gates, the car stopped. It was a quiet, ivy-covered place tucked behind rows of manicured trees, a very obvious elite school made for sons and daughters of millionaires. A line of sleek black cars was already beginning to form along the curb, the drivers waiting in patient silence.

Jake leaned forward in his seat and glanced at the time, it was 2:41 PM. Just four minutes, and you couldn’t breathe right. You stared at the school entrance, at the polished brass gate where kids in tailored uniforms were to spill out in twos and threes, laughing, shouting, slinging bags over their shoulders. Your fingers dug into the sleeves of your hoodie. You felt everything at once: the heat under your skin, the tremble in your ribs, the dull roar in your ears.

What if he saw you and turned away?

Jake glanced over at you, noticing how you were practically curled in on yourself.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low and calm. “We don’t even have to get out of the car. Just wait. You’re okay.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t really ok, you were close to having a panic attack. Because for all the ways you’d imagined this, every sleepless night, every “what if” and “maybe someday”, you had never been prepared for the weight of now.

Jake sat up straighter, eyes narrowing slightly.

“There.”

Your heart stopped.

There he was. Walking down the path, half-shadowed beneath the swaying trees, one hand casually in his coat pocket, the other holding a drink tray with two iced coffees balanced perfectly.

Sunghoon.

He hadn’t changed much. Still lean and untouchable, moving like he didn’t belong to this world. His black button-down was half unbuttoned under a navy coat, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the curve of his veins. Tall and handsome and so perfect and so… yours.

He had sunglasses on, but you would’ve known him even blindfolded.

Your heart slammed so fast against your chest it felt like it might give out.

He stopped beside a parked car near the curb and waited, glancing towards the school. Like he was just another man doing his job.

Panic rose in you like a tide, your hands gripped your seat, nails digging into the leather. Tears stung your eyes before you even knew they were coming.

Jake noticed. He shifted instantly, reaching for your hand.

“Hey,” he whispered, “you’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay?”

But you couldn’t. Because you hadn’t seen him in months. You’d mourned him, you’d missed him in ways that never got smaller. You’d kissed him a thousand times in dreams you never spoke of.

And now he was standing thirty feet away.

“I want to get out.”

The words left you before you could stop them, you didn’t even realize you were moving until your fingers found the cold door handle, heart racing so violently it made your breath stutter.

Jake turned sharply toward you, concern written all over his face.

“Wait—”

“I have to,” you said, voice trembling, eyes fixed ahead, on him, scared that even if you turned just a little, he would disappear “He’s right there. I can’t— I need to—”

He was standing besides the car now, leaning against it with that same calm posture you used to love watching from across dressing rooms, hotel lobbies, crowded airports. You moved again, ready to push open the door, but Jake’s hand reached out gently and rested over yours.

“Wait,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Not yet.”

You turned to him, panic laced into every muscle, into your voice.

“Jake, I have to—he’s right there. He’s—he’s right there.”

“I know,” Jake said, his voice low and calm. “I know. But this isn’t the right place.”

You blinked, disoriented, the world blurring at the edges. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. Jake glanced at the school, the cars lining up, the few parents still standing around, teachers chatting on the steps.

“If you go now, it’ll be messy. Too public. You’ll scare him. You’ll scare yourself.”

You swallowed thickly, your grip tightened on the fabric of your hoodie, knuckles white.

“Let’s wait till he drives off,” Jake continued gently, “and we’ll follow. Somewhere quiet. We’ll stop him there.”

The words made their way through the fog in your head, and slowly, the panic eased. Of course, you forgot for a second who you were, and even in the other side of the world, people would still recognise you. So you nodded.

Jake gave your hand a squeeze, bringing you back to reality.

“You’ve come this far, haven’t you? What’s a few more minutes, star?”

Outside, the doors of the school opened. A tall, lanky teenager walked out with an easy stride—Ni-ki, obviously—and jogged towards the black car, his uniform jacket slipping off one shoulder. He was saying something to Sunghoon, who looked down and gave him a barely-there smile, a flash of softness you hadn’t seen in months. Sunghoon opened the door for him like it was muscle memory. He waited until Ni-ki got in, then circled the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat. The black car pulled out of the driveway, blending seamlessly into the afternoon traffic.

Your fingers dug into the edge of the leather seat.

“He’s leaving.”

Jake turned the key.

“So are we.”

He pulled out carefully, merging a few cars behind, keeping distance like a shadow. You leaned your head against the window, watching the back of Sunghoon’s car. The city passed by in golden waves, soft light slipping through power lines, painted across glass buildings.

You didn’t know what you would say when you saw him, but you needed to let him know that you wouldn’t give up on him again.

The late Tokyo sun dipped golden through the buildings, brushing across Sunghoon’s face in uneven patches as he drove. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on the window ledge. The streets pulsed with the slow after-school traffic, a rhythm he knew too well. It had become routine, 2:45 PM pickup, Ni-ki always dragging his feet, hair a mess, tie half-undone, and some ridiculous snack in hand. Today was no different.

“Your shirt’s untucked again,” Sunghoon murmured without glancing away from the road.

Ni-ki grunted in response, mouth full of something crunchy.

“You’re no fun, man.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun.”

“You’re supposed to be chill,” the teen muttered dramatically, sprawled in the passenger seat like he was on a beach instead of a luxury car. “This is why you’re single.”

Sunghoon let out a small, humorless huff through his nose.

“I’m single because I don’t want to get shot in front of someone.”

“Romantic,” Ni-ki deadpanned.

The car slipped through a quiet stretch of road lined with trees. Shadows filtered over them in a moving pattern of soft grays and oranges. It was calm for long minutes, Sunghoon was already thinking about some schedules Ni-ki’s parents had emailed him earlier that day.

“Bro…” Ni-ki said suddenly, shifting in his seat.

Sunghoon didn’t look at him at first. Just kept his gaze on the road, fingers tapping the wheel absently.

“I’ve told you to not call me bro—”

“I don’t wanna, like, alarm you or anything, but…” Ni-ki leaned forward, squinting out the side mirror, “I think we’re being followed?”

That made Sunghoon blink slowly. The words didn’t jolt him like they used to at first, no rush of panic, he just stayed very still and checked the rearview mirror. One, two… three cars behind them. But his eyes locked onto one. A black car, civilian-looking, the type you’d forget the second it passed, unless you knew what to look for.

His mind slowed everything down. The way it used to when things got dangerous.

He changed lanes.

So did the car.

He took the next turn earlier than he normally would and the black car followed. Smooth, fffortless. Too effortless.

He swallowed.

“You were right,” Sunghoon said quietly.

Ni-ki sat up, suddenly a little less cocky.

“Wait—seriously? Oh my god my parents’ enemies finally got me.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. His right hand dipped calmly under the seat and retrieved the cold metal tucked in a hidden compartment. His grip on the gun was tight but not nervous. Just… resolved.

Ni-ki saw the motion and went stiff.

“You’re—what the hell—Sunghoon?! Are you serious right now?”

“Get your head down.”

“Wait—what do you mean—”

“Now.”

That tone, it didn’t need to be loud, it was that razor-thin, ice-calm voice that only came out when things were serious. Ni-ki obeyed.

Sunghoon made another turn, this time into a back alley path just beyond the bridge. Golden-hour light pooled on the pavement like liquid amber, spreading long shadows that danced as the wind stirred the trees. The hum of the engine was the only sound.

He brought the car to a slow, controlled stop.

And waited.

The car stopped again just like the whole world around you. Your heart was a hammer inside your chest, beating so hard you could feel the pain in your ribs. Every sound around you faded until there was only the messy rhythm of your breath. You saw the black mercedes and your stomach turned, because you knew he was inside.

“Ok, he’s here—”

Before you could think, before Jake could stop you, you shoved the car door open and stepped into the heat of the afternoon, the sound of your sneakers striking pavement echoed louder than it should have. Your hands were trembling, your fingers curled into fists trying to keep yourself steady, but it didn’t really help.

“Y/n, wait!” Jake’s voice called after you with warning, but he didn’t grab you.

The sun caught on the mercedes’ door as it opened, the metallic click hit like a gunshot in your chest.

Sunghoon stepped out.

It felt like time folded on itself, the past months collapsing into a single heartbeat. He was exactly as you remembered him, but even more devastating. That that grace, that tight jaw, his mouth set in a grim line, his hair tousled from the wind.

And he had a gun in his hand.

It should’ve scared you, but it didn’t, because that was him. Always protecting, just for the first time it wasn’t you who he was protecting.

He didn’t see you at first, his dark eyes scanned the street, narrowing at the unfamiliar car idling behind him. His shoulders shifted with suspicion, tension rolling over him. And then, with a flick of his wrist, he reached for his holster and brought the gun up, arm steady.

The driver’s door of your car opened, and Jake stepped out with his hands raised, calm as ever.

“Hey, man… no need for that.”

Sunghoon’s expression changed then, a flash of recognition, the disbelief that hardened in his gorgeous face.

“…Jake Sim?” His voice was guarded “What the hell—”

But then, he saw you.

It happened so fast but so slow at the same time, his head turned and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, locked on you like they’d been starving. All the steel in his stance faltered, the gun in his hand lowered an inch, his mouth parted just barely, like he forgot how to breathe.

Your name slipped out of him in a whisper, soft and broken.

Everything inside you cracked open at once, you felt weightless, almost like the ground was tilting under your feet. Because after missing him and dreaming of him countless nights, he was finally in front of you again.

You took a step forward before you realised it, his eyes followed like you were gravity itself, but he didn’t move, he just stood there with every muscle drawn tight. The gun slipped from his fingers, landing on the pavement with a muted clatter that didn’t completely registered over the pounding in your ears.

For a long moment neither of you spoke, the air between you was filled with every night wasted, every ache buried deep.

“…What— why are you here?” his voice came like the words had scraped their way out of his chest. Not anger, just a confession of disbelief.

You stared at him, frozen. All the speeches you rehearsed on the plane, all the ways you imagined this moment, they scattered like dust. Your throat tightened so hard it hurt, but you managed his name.


“Sunghoon.”

It was like the sound of it cracked him open. His body tensed, shoulders pulling tight, and his breath hitched audibly. For a second, you thought he might walk away, might slam that wall of distance back up, but then he moved.

In three sharp strides, he closed the gap and gripped your wrist, not hard but firm, almost trembling, his touch burning through your skin like a brand. He pulled you with him, out of sight, deeper into the narrow alley. The moment you stopped, your back brushed the cold brick, and his body was right there, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. His gun lay forgotten on the ground, but his eyes were the real weapon now, dark, glassy, devastating.

“Are you out of your mind?” he breathed, voice shaking. His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he didn’t trust them not to touch you again. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done showing up here like this?”

You didn’t back down.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

Something flickered across his face, pain, longing, fury. His jaw locked so tight you saw the muscle twitch, and then he dragged a hand down his face like he needed the grounding. When he looked at you again, it was fire and ruin and everything you remembered.

“You should care,” he said, almost a plea now. His voice cracked on the last word. “You should care. This—”

He broke off, breath harsh, before bracing one palm against the wall beside your head. His forehead dipped, almost touching yours, close enough that your lashes nearly brushed. His scent hit you, cedar, smoke, the faint coldness of mint gum, and it was too much. Too familiar and too him.

“Why?” he rasped, his breath warm against your cheek. “Why did you come?”

You didn’t even hesitate this time.

“Because I couldn’t live without you.”

The words spilled out like blood from an open wound, raw and unstoppable. His head dropped, eyes squeezing shut for one ragged second, and when they opened again they were completely wrecked.

“Don’t say that—” His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t say that—”

“I love you,” you said, because if you didn’t say it now, you’d drown in it. “I love you, Sunghoon. And I don’t care about the headlines or the contracts or the stupid rules. I just—God, I love you so much.”

The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all, it was more a scream. It was a crash of months and mistakes and every heartbeat you’d spent apart, colliding in the space between you. Something inside him shattered audibly in the way he exhaled. His shoulders slumped, and for a single, devastating second, he looked like a man fighting for his last breath. Then he broke.

His hands came up to your face so suddenly you gasped, palms cradling your cheeks like he was afraid you’d vanish. And then his mouth was on yours. It was a savage kiss, desperate, aching. His lips crushed yours like he’d been starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive. You clutched at his shirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, pulling him closer until there was no space left, until you felt his heartbeat slam against your ribs like it wanted to fuse with yours. He kissed you like months of silence and distance had all built to this, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breathless and wet and hot. His body pinned yours to the wall, not gentle, but not harsh either, just needing.

When he finally tore his mouth from yours, it was only to breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours, both of you gasping like you’d run for miles. His voice when it came was rough and trembling, brushing against your lips.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “But fuck—” His breath stuttered. “I’m so glad you are.”

Sunghoon’s chest rose and fell like he’d run miles, his fingers twitching at his sides as if touching you might set the earth on fire. His mouth opened once, then closed, his throat working around words that refused to come out.

His lips crushed yours again, bruising, hungry, his breath shaky as it mixed with yours. You whimpered into the kiss, and that tiny sound shattered him, he made a deep, broken noise in his throat and kissed you harder, tilting your head back, devouring like a man starved.

Your tears smeared against his cheeks, and he kissed them away without a thought, tasting salt, tasting heartbreak.

“I love you,” you gasped between his mouth and his jaw, every word spilling like blood. “I love you—God, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Stop—” His voice cracked against your ear, his arms crushing you tighter as his forehead pressed to yours. “Don’t cry—please—don’t cry—”

But you couldn’t stop. Your body shook against his, sobs clawing up your throat.

“I regret it—I regret everything,” you said, fists curling into his shirt like you wanted to tear it apart. “I should’ve fought for you—I should’ve told them to go to hell—I should’ve—”

His hands came up, cupping your face so gently it was a contradiction to the way his body trembled. His thumbs brushed your tears, but his eyes, they were ruined, soft and blazing all at once.

“Don’t.” he said, almost a whisper, his voice low and raw. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

But you did. Because you couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

“I’d throw it all away,” you whispered like a vow, your lips brushing his as you spoke. “Everything—the fame, the tours, the cameras—I don’t care. I just want you.”

He let out a sound between an laugh and a sob, before his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, so hard your back hit the brick wall with a muted thud. His fingers threaded into your hair, his breath ragged against your lips as the kiss turned wild, frantic, like every second apart had carved him hollow.

“You’ll ruin everything,” he breathed, his forehead still pressed to yours, lips ghosting over your mouth like he couldn’t stop. “You’ll ruin me.”

“I already did,” you said, kissing him again, your tears wetting his skin as your lips moved desperately over his.

A shudder ripped through him as he crushed you to him, kissing you like he was trying to steal every ounce of oxygen from your lungs, like he could swallow every sob and replace it with him. His hands roamed, your jaw, your waist, your back, gripping, pulling.

His mouth dragged down your cheek, your throat, your shoulder, murmuring between kisses, voice cracked and reverent:

“I tried to forget. I tried to move on. But I can’t—I can’t—”

Your breath hitched, your nails digging into his arms.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t forget me. Don’t let me go.”

His head dropped to your neck, his arms curling around you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, and you realized, you never wanted to breathe without him again.

You were drowning in him when a voice cracked through the lovingly haze.

“Uh… what the hell is happening here?”

You froze. Sunghoon froze. Both of you turned your heads slowly toward the sound. Ni-ki stood there, his expensive school blazer still on, hanging off one shoulder like he’d just walked into an alternate reality. His eyes were huge, mouth hanging open.

“Bro,” he said to Sunghoon, pointing at the two of you like he was accusing him of murder. “Explain. Right now. And it better be good.”

Sunghoon’s chest rose and fell, breath heavy, jaw tight as he instinctively stepped in front of you, shielding you from view. But Ni-ki wasn’t even looking at him anymore, his wide-eyed stare was fixed on you.

“No way,” he whispered. “No fucking way. You’re Y/N. Like—the Y/N.”

Fuck. Of course a gen z teenager would know who you were. You nodded faintly, lips still swollen from Sunghoon’s kiss. Ni-ki’s jaw dropped so hard you thought it might hit the pavement.

“Holy shit,” he said, voice cracking. “Holy actual shit. Dude, you’re—You’re hotter in person. Like, ten times hotter. No, twenty. Oh my God—”

“Ni-ki,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. “Go. To. The. Car.”

Ni-ki blinked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Go to the car? Bro, you were just making out with Y/N in an alley. I’m not going anywhere. This is history. This is… Wait! That means the rumours were true, you motherfucker—”

You stifled a laugh, hiding your face against Sunghoon’s shoulder, but Ni-ki caught it and pointed at you. Sunghoon looked like he was seconds away from strangling him.

“Ni-ki. Now.”

“No way, dude,” Ni-ki said, crossing his arms like he had leverage now. “You think I’m just gonna forget this? You think I won’t tell anyone? Please.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Unless…” His smirk was pure evil. “You let me drive the car home.”

“Absolutely not,” Sunghoon snapped.

“Fine,” Ni-ki said, pulling out his phone dramatically. “Guess I’ll just text my group chat about how my bodyguard is kissing an popstar—”

“Alright, enough.”

The new voice made everyone turn. Jake was leaning against the hood of his rented black SUV like some smug action star, hands in his pockets, calm as you’d ever seen him. The softest smirk played on his lips, though, like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos.

“What if,” Jake said slowly, “we take this somewhere a little more private before the paps find us?”

Ni-ki spun around so fast his backpack nearly flew off. His eyes widened to the size of planets.

“NO. FUCKING. WAY,” he blurted out, pointing like Jake had just descended from heaven. “You’re Jake Sim. Jake. Sim. Of all people! Bro, seriously what the fuck is going on?”

Jake chuckled, walking over like he owned the sidewalk, and ruffled Ni-ki’s hair.

“Nice to meet you, kid,” he said smoothly. “Now maybe keep your voice down before the whole block shows up with cameras, yeah?”

Ni-ki stared at Jake’s hand like he’d just been knighted. His brain looked like it short-circuited completely. Then his eyes darted between you, Sunghoon, and Jake, pure disbelief all over his face.

“This is insane,” he whispered. “I’m never gonna shut up about this.”

“Yes, you will,” Sunghoon growled like he was ready to duct-tape his mouth shut.

Jake clapped his hands once, the only voice of reason.

“Okay. Reunion? Check. Teen meltdown? Check. Paparazzi risk? Big check. So let’s move before this blows up on Twitter.”

Ni-ki raised his hand slowly, trying to look innocent.

“Can I… ride with Jake Sim?”

Sunghoon looked like someone had just set him on fire.

“No.”

“Come onnn,” Ni-ki whined. “I’ll even keep your little forbidden romance secret—”

Jake grinned, leaning down to Ni-ki’s height.

“You can ride with me if you promise not to tell a soul. Deal?”

Ni-ki’s grin stretched so wide it was almost cartoonish.

“Bro, deal.”

“Kid,” Jake muttered as he steered him toward the car, “you better keep your mouth shut for real.”

Ni-ki was still muttering under his breath in awe.

“Jake Sim. Y/N. Kissing Sunghoon in an alley. My friends are never gonna believe this.”

“They better not,” Sunghoon warned, still glaring like he was seconds away from cardiac arrest.

You tried to hold back your laughter and failed completely, your giggles spilling into the humid Tokyo night as Jake and Ni-ki disappeared toward the car, leaving you and Sunghoon in your bubble again, he still holding your hand like he didn’t dare let go. And you knew he would never do it again.

It was kind of funny that you and Sunghoon always ended up in a hotel room.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a low chime, and suddenly it was just the two of you in the narrow space, breathing the same air. You could feel him even without looking, Sunghoon, quiet, hands clasped in front of him like he was holding himself together by sheer force. His presence pressed against your skin like heat, and you swore the walls were closing in.

Your heart pounded so violently you thought he could hear it. Every inch of you ached for him, to turn around, to bury yourself in his chest and stay there forever, but you didn’t. The elevator hummed and rattled as it climbed, and in the metal reflection of the doors, you caught his eyes for a fraction of a second and they were dark, intense.

When the doors slid open, you walked fast, your breath was shallow, trembling in your throat, the keycard slick in your fingers as you fumbled to slide it into the lock. The second the door opened, you stepped inside, and then his hand slammed the door shut behind you with a force that shook the frame.

You turned, your pulse stuttered, and saw him standing there. His chest rising and falling too fast. One stride. Two. And his mouth was on yours like a storm breaking.

The kiss stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t soft or careful, it was raw and desperate. Months of silence and pain poured out between your mouths, tongues clashing, teeth scraping, wet and messy and perfect. You whimpered into him, your hands clawing at his shirt as his arms banded around you, crushing you against him like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies for another second.

You kissed him back with everything you had, with all the nights you cried into your pillow, all the mornings you woke up hollow, all the words you swallowed because the world told you to. He pressed you against the wall, hips hard against yours, and you could feel the tremor in his hands as they cupped your face like you were something fragile, precious.

When he finally tore his lips from yours, his forehead fell against yours, breaths ragged, heart pounding so loud you swore you could hear it. His voice came out low, broken.

“I tried,” he whispered, each word shaking. “God, I fucking tried to forget you.” His thumbs brushed the tears he didn’t even seem to notice were on your cheeks. “I told myself it was better for you. That if I disappeared, you’d be free and it would be easier.”

Your throat clenched, a sob climbing out before you could stop it.

“I wasn’t,” you choked, your voice breaking into a thousand pieces. “I’m not—I can’t be happy without you.”

Sunghoon let out a groan like you’d just gutted him. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw, soft frantic presses of his lips.

“I thought I was strong enough,” he murmured, his voice wrecked against your skin. “But every night, I pictured you. Wondered if you were okay. Wondered if you hated me.” His voice dropped, hoarse, trembling. “I hated myself for leaving. But if staying meant destroying your life… I couldn’t do it.”

Your fingers curled in his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline, sobs wracking your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears wetting his collar.

“Don’t,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to look at you, his own eyes glassy now, shimmering under the warm glow of the lamp. “Don’t blame yourself. I knew this would happen. I knew the risk when I kissed you that night.” His breath hitched. “And I’d do it again. A thousand times.”

Something in you broke then, shattered into light and sound and saltwater tears, and you pressed your mouth to his, kissing him with everything you had left, everything you couldn’t say. The kiss turned molten, wet and messy and endless, his hands sliding into your hair, gripping like he’d never let you go.

When you finally broke for air, your lips were swollen, your tears smeared with his kisses, and his forehead rested against yours like he needed to feel you to keep breathing. His voice was a prayer now.

“Say it again,” he murmured. “Please—say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Always yours. I love you, Hoon. I don’t care anymore, about the world, the cameras, the press. If I lose everything, I don’t care. I just want you.”

His face crumpled, his breath shaking as he pulled you tighter, burying his face in your neck.

“I love you,” he said, like it hurt. “I love you so much.”

And then his lips were on yours again, softer this time, deeper. Your body melted into him, your heart beating so hard it felt like it would burst, and in that moment, there was no world outside the walls of that hotel room. Just you and him. And the love you’d both bled for.

His lips dragged down your jaw, leaving heat and dampness in their wake. His breath fanned your neck, shaky and hot. His hands were all over your body, needy to remind himself what you felt like.

“I dreamed of this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice gravel and honey. His hands gripped your hips so tightly you could feel his pulse through his palms. “Every fucking night. I’d close my eyes and see you like this, wanting me.”

You whimpered, head tilting back as his mouth grazed your collarbone.

“Hoon—”

“Say it again,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to search your face, eyes dark, desperate. “Say you want me.”

Your throat bobbed, your lips trembling when you spoke.

“I want you.” Your voice cracked, tears stinging your lashes.

The sound he made was almost a growl, guttural from his chest. In one motion, he grabbed the hem of your hoodie and slid it out of your body, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. His hands followed the lines of your body with aching slowness, fingertips trailing and burning over your curves like he was mapping you for the first time, like he couldn’t believe you were real. And you were melting already, you missed his touch so much.

His mouth crashed to yours again, this kiss wetter, letting your lips slick and throbbing. He kissed you so hungrily, and you tasted him like salvation, clinging to him as his hands gripped the back of your thighs and hoisted you up against the wall. You gasped, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured against your mouth, his hips pinning you to the wall, making you feel him hard and thick and hot beneath his pants. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. “I’ve missed you. Missed this. I thought I’d go insane.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard which made him groan, and you bit his lip before whispering,

“Then take me, Hoon. Please.”

Sunghoon didn’t wait any longer. He carried you to the bed, barely breaking the kiss, and laid you down like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. But then he paused, his hand on your cheek, his gaze burning into yours, you smiled sweetly, biting your lip with anticipation. His mouth descended to your throat, and you felt his teeth graze your pulse before he licked and kissed the spot softly, sucking just enough to leave a mark only the two of you would know. His hands were everywhere, unbuttoning your jeans and peeling them off with rush, throwing them on the floor, then touching up your thighs, cupping your ass as he ground against you, his hard length pressing hot and heavy against your core through layers of laced fabric from your panties.

“God, you’re soaked,” he groaned when his fingers found the lace between your legs, already clinging to you, drenched. And it made him lose his mind. “All this for me?”

“Yes,” you moaned, hips twitching under his touch. “Always for you.”

His fingers slipped under the lace, slow, teasing, tracing your folds until you were trembling and breathless. He didn’t push in, just teased, showing you how much he missed having you like this. Then he looked up at you, his hair falling into his eyes, looking so beautiful and wrecked but so yours. His voice low and filthy when he spoke.

“I’m gonna taste you,” he whispered. “Every inch of you. I’m not stopping until you’re shaking so hard you can’t say my name.”

And before you could breathe, he was gone from your lips and sliding down your body, his mouth open and wet on your skin, dragging kisses down your stomach, over your hips. When his tongue met your thigh, you cried out, your back arching, your fingers fisting in the sheets. His hands curled over the fabric of your underwear, and he pushed them down before spreading your thighs with firm but sweet hands, his gaze still on you, looking at you so deeply you felt your stomach flutter. His eyes shined at the sight, a soft groan leaving his throat when two of his fingers found your dripping core, spreading your wetness and sinking just slightly, which made you whine his name again.

“Hoon…” Your voice cracked around his name as a plea.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, soft, then another closer to where you needed him most. His tongue darted out, tasting the edge of your slickness, and he groaned low, the sound vibrating through your bones.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he confessed against your skin, his breath hot, his lips grazing the sensitive flesh. “Every fucking night. Waking up hard and angry because I couldn’t have you.” His teeth grazed your thigh before his tongue soothed the sting.

You suppressed a gasp as he leaned in and finally dragged his warm tongue through your folds, in one slow, sinful stroke that left you shakinh. He humed against you, a deep sound of satisfaction, before latching onto your clit, sucking gently, then harder, until your legs trembled.

“Sunghoon—” The cry tore from your throat as his fingers slid inside you, two thick digits stretching you perfectly while his mouth worked your clit like he owned it. His pace was steady, devastating, curling his fingers just right with every thrust, hitting that spot that made your vision go white.

He looked up at you from between your thighs, his eyes burning, his lips glossy and red, his chin slick with you.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice vibrating against your clit. “Fucking perfect. Missed you so fucking much.”

You didn’t know if you were crying or just sweating under the weight of everything, his mouth, his hands, his voice wrecking you from the inside out.

“Sunghoon—” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands threading through his dark hair, tugging because you needed him closer, even though he was already everywhere. Your thighs trembled around his head, your hips twitching against his mouth as his tongue traced slow circles on your clit.

“Please—please, I can’t—” The words tumbled out in a sob, desperate and ruined. “I can’t wait anymore—”

That was when he stopped, pulling his lips from your aching pussy. He looked at you, eyes glassy and hungry, the sweat beading along his temple. His lips parted, and his voice came rasping.

“Can’t what, baby?” His fingers trailed lazily over your thighs, spreading you wider, his knuckles brushing your slick folds. “Tell me.”

“I can’t wait,” you said, breathless, tugging at his shirt needing him closer. “I need you inside me. Please. I’ve missed you so much it hurts.”

He groaned again, more primal this time and crawled up your body, slow and predatory, until his weight pressed you into the mattress and you felt every inch of him, hard and straining against his pants. His forehead pressed to yours as he exhaled, ragged, shaky.

“You have no idea,” he said finally, and his voice cracked. His lips brushed yours when he whispered, “You think you’re the only one who’s been losing her mind? I’ve been dying for you.”

He kissed you then, messy, desperate, tasting like salt and hunger and everything you thought you’d lost forever. You whimpered against his lips, your nails clawing down his back wanting to feel him closer as possible.

“Then take me,” you begged softly when he broke for air, your voice trembling against his mouth. “Please, Hoon. I don’t care about anything else. Just you.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched as he dragged his pants down in one brutal move, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, the tip flushed a furious red that made your stomach clench. He caught your eyes as he lined himself up, the head sliding against your slick entrance, teasing you until you cried out.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice soaked in sin. “How hard I am for you? Been like this since the second I saw you again. Almost lost my mind in that alley.”

You whimpered, hips rolling toward him, but he gripped your thighs and pinned you down with a dark chuckle.

“Not yet,” he whispered, brushing kisses over your jaw, your temple, your lips, making you sob softly in frustration. “Say it again.”

“I want you,” you cried, tears spilling this time. “I want you so bad. Please, Sunghoon—”

He kissed you hungry again, not waiting anymore, and then he pushed inside you. Inch by inch until the world fell out from under you. Until the air was gone from your lungs and you were nothing but his, stretched full around him, your walls clenching around him, your body showing you and him how much you missed him. You sobbed when he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, almost broken. “You’re still so tight—still fucking mine.”

He pulled back, just enough to thrust in deep, the drag of him inside you so intense your whole body jolted, he was so thick and hard and so yours, every inch made just for you, every vein. You gasped, nails digging into his arms as tears slipped down your temples onto the pillow.

“I missed this pussy so much,” he whispered against your neck, voice splintering into something almost soft, almost sacred. “Missed you. Missed us.”

Sunghoon then started to move, slow at first, long strokes that had you clawing at his back, until the rhythm deepened, rougher, needier. Your moans tangled with his groans, the hotel walls holding secrets only the two of you would ever know.

“I love you,” you gasped into his ear between thrusts, and he stilled for a heartbeat, before kissing you so hard it hurt, his hips snapping forward like the words set him on fire.

“I love you too,” he growled against your lips. “Always have. Always fucking will.”

You gasped his name, head tipping back into the pillow, body arching toward him. Every nerve felt like it was lit from within, your skin hypersensitive, your thighs trembling, your heartbeat pounding so loudly you swore he could hear it. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he thrust deeper, your fingers pressing into the dips of his spine.

Sunghoon’s mouth found yours again, messy and searing, lips swollen from earlier kisses. When he pulled away, just enough to see you, his eyes burned. His hips snapped forward again, harder now, his rhythm rough with emotion. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, your hands tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet him with every devastating roll of his hips. You felt everything, the stretch, the slide, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down in the best way. It was everything you could ever dream of, everything you needed.

The pressure was coiling tighter in your belly, your whole body winding up, hypersensitive and slick with sweat and tears. Your nipples rubbed against his chest with every movement, your skin fever-hot. You could feel his every breath, his every heartbeat, they were yours. He was yours.

“You’re everything,” he rasped, voice breaking. “My whole fucking world, baby. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” you sobbed, your climax building, teetering on the edge. “Please, Sunghoon—don’t stop—”

He kissed your jaw, your throat, the wet tracks of your tears, whispering against your skin as he moved.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me. Wanna feel you fall apart around me. Show me you never stopped being mine.”

You came hard, with a cry that tore from your throat, your body clenching around him so tightly it made him groan your name loudly. Sunghoon followed you a moment later, his release crashing into him. He spilled warm and perfect inside you with a broken sound, hips rocking through it, burying himself deep. You felt him all, the heat of him filling you, the shudder of his breath, the way he clutched your face as he came undone.

He collapsed over you, breath hitching in your ear, his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d vanish, or that maybe you would abandon him again. Your fingers stroked his damp hair, your own chest rising and falling, your legs still trembling around him.

“I’m here,” you whispered, kissing his temple. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever again. I choose you now, forever.”

And in that moment, with him in your arms again, you knew that the world wasn’t going to stop you from loving him anymore.

They stepped into cheap snacks, too-cold drinks, and the almost non-existent hum of silence broken only by crinkling chip bags.

Ni-ki bounced on his heels as he followed Jake around, barely containing himself, still reeling.

“I cannot believe I walked in on my bodyguard swallowing a popstar’s face,” he said for the fourth time, holding a popsicle in one hand and a ramen cup in the other. “Like what the hell. What is this life.”

Jake, calm as ever, was inspecting the banana milk section without saying much, just letting his thoughts come and go.

“You’re not ten years old, it was just a kiss.”

“It was! But still!” Ni-ki spun in a lazy circle before plopping a bag of shrimp chips into their basket. “I was expecting maybe a little kiss, not her legs—”

“Okay,” Jake cut in with a soft laugh, “no need for a play-by-play.”

“No, because seriously,” Ni-ki leaned in, eyes wide and whisper-shouting like it was the biggest conspiracy theory ever, “she’s, like, Y/N. And he’s my bodyguard. And you—” he pointed a chip at Jake dramatically, “—are Jake Sim. And you just bought me a soda. I think I might be dreaming.”

Jake snorted, ruffling Ni-ki’s hair like an annoying older brother.

“You really are something.”

“You’re buying me snacks right now,” Ni-ki muttered to himself in disbelief, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. “What is my life.”

Jake shook his head, but there was fondness in his expression, because to be honest, he found the boy’s chaos comforting.

They reached the self-checkout, and as Jake scanned Ni-ki’s growing mountain of snacks, he leaned against the counter, his gaze drifting toward the street outside, to the dark, sleepy hotel windows in the distance. A soft sigh left his lips. Ni-ki took one of the peach sodas from the bag and popped the cap, passing it to Jake like a silent truce offering, noticing his stillness.

“You’re quiet. That means you’re thinking.”

Jake took a slow sip, then exhaled through his nose.

“I’m just… glad she’s happy. I wasn’t sure she’d go back to him. Not after everything.”

Ni-ki tilted his head.

“Are you in love with her?”

Jake was quiet for a beat, the question landing heavier than expected.

“I wouldn’t say that.” he said with soft voice, passing a hand through his hair. “I thought i was for a moment, but after seeing how she was when Sunghoon was away, how could i. It’s just…” he stayed silent for a moment. “This reminds me of something”

Ni-ki just waited.

“Whoa. Okay. Spill.”

Jake gave a little laugh under his breath that was more tired than amused.

“She was my makeup artist. Back when I’d just debuted. We spent every day together, she saw me before every performance, every breakdown, every win. And she never made me feel like a product.”

Ni-ki’s brows lifted, genuine curiosity lighting his boyish features.

Jake went on, his voice still calm and sweet.

“She left. Said she couldn’t live like that, backstage all the time, in the shadows. Said she loved me too much to watch me disappear into this world. And then… she was just gone.”

For once, Ni-ki didn’t say anything. He stood still, popsicle slowly melting in his hand.

Jake glanced down, smiling faintly, like the memories were bittersweet and too much for him to handle.

“I never got to tell her that I would’ve chosen her. That I wanted to.”

Ni-ki blinked rapidly.

“Dude. That’s, like… way sadder than I thought it would be.

Jake laughed, tilting his head back against the glass.

“Yeah, well. I think that’s why I’m so protective of Y/N. I know what it’s like to love someone and not be able to hold on to them. And I don’t want her to feel like she has to choose between her happiness and her career. I want her to have both.”

Ni-ki took a long slurp of his melting popsicle and stared at Jake like he was watching an angel descend from heaven.

“You’re, like… the best guy ever.”

Jake gave him a look, rolling his eyes.

“You just met me.”

“I know. But you’re Jake Sim, you bought me shrimp chips and you’re literally walking emotional support. I’m putting this in my memoir someday.”

Jake shook his head with a grin, stuffing the receipt into his pocket.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before you say something even weirder.”

As they stepped out into the warm night, their arms full of snacks, Ni-ki looked up at the dark hotel windows again.

“They’re definitely having emotional reunion sex right now.”

Jake sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. And I’m happy for them.”

Today was the day, your first press conference since the scandal, since the pr stunt, since you changed labels and sent your manager to go to hell, and you’d been silent. Until now.

Inside the glassy, chandelier-lit ballroom, it was all flashes and anticipation. Rows of journalists filled every seat, murmuring into microphones, adjusting cameras, flipping through rumor-filled notes. The scandal had been whispered across the internet like wildfire, rumors of hotel sightings, a bodyguard disappearing from staff lists, a popstar vanishing from the public eye.

you stepped in. You didn’t just enter, you arrived. Like a storm parting the silence.

In that black tailored dress with a slit running high up your thigh and a delicate gold chain glittering across your collarbones, you looked like a goddess who had walked through fire and survived. Your heels tapped against the marble floor, the rhythm steady, like your heartbeat had finally synced with your purpose. You walked with grace, with fury.

Cameras turned as one. Gasps echoed. Jake Sim, sitting a few seats down at the table, blinked in quiet admiration and pride.

You didn’t look left or right, you sat at the center of the stage.

A microphone blinked red.

A reporter leaned forward, voice cautious.

“There’s been a lot of speculation. About your relationship with your former bodyguard… would you like to comment?”

You looked out at them all, the press, the producers, the people who’d written your downfall before even knowing your truth.

And then you smiled. That dangerous, soft, stunning smile. And leaned into the mic.

“I’ve been silent,” you said, your voice like honey and thunder. “I let everyone else tell the story. I let headlines turn him into a scandal. I let fear control me for too long.”

Flashes, everywhere.

“But I’m done being afraid of my own heart.”

Another hush.

You exhaled.

“I’m in love with my former bodyguard.”

Gasps broke like waves around the room.

But you didn’t flinch. You kept going, calm and powerful and undeniably true.

“I’m in love with the man who stood behind me when I felt like the world was falling apart. The man who didn’t care about fame or cameras or what anyone thought of me. The man who looked at me like I was real when I couldn’t even breathe from all the pressure.”

Your fingers lightly touched the base of the mic, grounding yourself.

“I know people will say it’s reckless. I know some people already have. But I’m tired of pretending I’m not allowed to feel joy. He never asked for this attention. He never once took advantage of his position. He just… saw me. And I saw him. I loved him in the quiet moments, and now I want to love him in the light.”

Your voice broke, just slightly. But your eyes glowed brighter than ever.

“I don’t care what it means for my reputation. I don’t care what people tweet. I love him. And I’m not ashamed of that anymore.”

Silence.

Somewhere in the crowd, a single clap. Then another. The place exploted in claps and shouts and flashes, some were supporting, other in desbelief, someone shouted how you were making history.

But you didn’t care, you weren’t even thinking about making history.

You were thinking about Sunghoon’s hands.

His voice whispering I love you too against your lips in a hotel room weeks ago.

You were thinking about the way he looked at you like you were a miracle. And how much you loved him. The man that risked his life so many times for yours, and held you like you were precious. No amount of fame or money or scandals could ever make you letting him go ever again.

Your penthouse was bathed in warm, golden light. The city sparkled quietly beneath you, skyscrapers and bridges glowing like constellations. Romantic, intimate and soft. You stood at the edge of the room, barefoot, the red silk nightgown hugging your frame like it was made from poured fire. Your hair framed your face in loose waves, the kind that made him ache, and your eyes looked they looked like they could unmake him with a single glance.

Sunghoon was sitting on your bed, shirtless, his skin glowing in the amber glow from the chandelier above. His eyes had followed your every movement from the moment you stepped into the room like a man starved, reverent, stunned that you were real and here and his again.

You walked slowly, dragging your fingertips along the edge of the marble nightstand, the silk whispering against your thighs with every step. The air between you crackled.

“You gonna just stare at me all night?” you murmured with a teasing tilt of your lips.

Sunghoon’s voice came so low.

“I’ve been dreaming about this every night.”

You reached him, and he reached for you like instinct. His large hands slid around your waist, slow, sure, pulling you gently into his lap. You straddled him without hesitation, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips, your silk robe falling open just enough for his breath to leave his lungs.

“You’re not dreaming,” you whispered, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I’m right here.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, almost brokenly, burying his face in your neck. “But I swear to God, I’m going to spend every second proving I do.”

You tilted his chin up and kissed him, slow and deep and soft, a kiss that made time bend. His lips parted under yours, hungry and tender all at once.

When your bodies finally lowered into the sheets, it was with unspoken understanding, no rush, no wild urgency. Just… reverence.

He kissed the dip of your collarbone, your shoulder, the space beneath your breast. His hands moved reverently, thumbs tracing your skin like scripture, as if memorizing the curve of your waist and the softness of your thighs was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing the words into your sternum like a vow. “Not for how you look tonight — even though you’re destroying me — but for who you are when the cameras are off. When it’s just you.”

You spoke with weak voice.

“I’m still scared.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your trembling mouth. “But I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

vol 8. — after the distressing breakup of your five years long relationship you finally decided to settle down and marry the infamous disciplined family friend and the heir of Lee Corporation. What you did not expect was a shy tall guy who stammered three times while saying one sentence and looked at you with stars in his eyes.

𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff

note: don't let the synopsis fool you

ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library

Your friends expected it. Your parents braced for it. But when your long-term boyfriend of nearly five years packed his bags, left your shared apartment, and walked out of your life with nothing but a muttered apology and a shadow of regret in his voice, you didn’t shed a single tear.

Instead, you stood by the door, fingers curled around your sleeves, heart thudding like a dull drum inside your ribs as you watched him go. The soft click of the latch felt louder than thunder. And yet, the silence that followed was even louder.

That was the worst part.

Not the betrayal. Not the abandonment. Not even the mess of memories he left behind, the cracked photo frame he bought you in second year, the shared playlist you couldn’t bring yourself to delete, the faint scent of his cologne in your closet.

No. The worst part was how quiet you became afterward.

You, who once painted the world with laughter, you, who danced barefoot in the rain and burned cupcakes on purpose just to see how far disaster could stretch, you, who used to fill empty rooms with your presence before even speaking.

You disappeared slowly. Like fog rolling into the ocean.

It took months before you left your childhood room again. You’d returned home after graduation, saying it was temporary. That you needed to "rethink things.” Your parents didn’t push. Not when they saw the dark circles under your eyes or the way you flinched when the phone rang. You still hadn’t told them the full story. You couldn’t. How do you explain to your mother that the man you were ready to marry simply changed his mind? That he said you were “too much” one day and “not enough” the next?

That he left without a proper reason. Just a goodbye.

You had just curled up with a blanket and an old journal when your mother knocked on your door.

“Y/n-ah,” she called softly. “Come downstairs.”

You didn’t move. “Why?”

“There’s someone we want you to meet.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Not today.”

“It’s important.”

You sat up slowly, fingers tracing the corner of your blanket. “Who is it?”

“Lee Heeseung.”

Your breath caught.

The name felt familiar in a distant, foggy kind of way, like a song you once heard in the background of someone else’s life.

Heeseung. The boy with perfect grades, perfect posture, perfect life. The son of your father’s business friend. You remembered vague stories about him growing up, the golden heir. Always abroad. Always busy.

Why would he be here now?

Before you could ask, your mother added, “Just for a few minutes.” And for some reason, you listened.

You expected a stiff man in a starched shirt, radiating cold ambition and forced smiles. What you didn’t expect was a man standing awkwardly in your living room, holding a mug of tea like it was a fragile artifact, and looking more nervous than you felt.

He turned when you walked in and paused. You saw the subtle shift in his breathing pattern.

His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, time bent around the space between you. You noticed the way his gaze softened, then darted away quickly, almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears flushed faintly pink.

You blinked. Interesting.

He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

You gave a polite nod, sitting across from him. “You too.”

You didn’t speak much after that. Your parents carried the conversation, polite chatter about the market, mutual friends, old memories. Heeseung answered like a proper gentleman, straight laced and careful with his words. You watched him more than you listened. There was something oddly... stiff about him. Like he hadn’t been in a room with a stranger in years.

He caught you watching once and looked away quickly, clearing his throat leaving a warmth pooling in your stomach as you directed your eyes at your palms resting on your stomach.

They dropped the bomb after dinner. An Arranged marriage. With Lee Heeseung, the heir and future CEO of Lee Corporation.

“Just think about it,” your father had said, his tone soft, his eyes more so. There was hope in them, but it was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure whether it deserved to be there. Next to him, your mother looked everywhere but at you. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as if it were a question she couldn’t answer.

And across from you, Heeseung sat.

Tall. Composed. The collar of his button-down crisp, the sleeves of his dark blazer pushed back just enough to show a silver watch that gleamed under the dining room light.

He didn’t look surprised.

He didn’t look anything.

Only when he spoke did something shift “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently, voice as even as his expression. “We can meet a few more times. Talk. See if it’s something you’re open to.”

You stared at him.

Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it like he already knew how this story ended. Like he’d already accepted whatever answer you might give, even if it was a no. He didn’t plead. He didn’t push. He wasn’t playing the role of the desperate suitor or the charming stranger trying to win your favor.

If anything, he seemed… resigned.

And you?

You were so damn tired.

Tired of grieving a love that had left you in pieces. Tired of pretending you were still the same girl who once believed in fairytales. Tired of hearing your friends get engaged, move abroad, fall in love again while your life stood still, wrapped in a fog you couldn't shake off.

So you nodded. Not because it made sense. Not because it felt right. But because, in that moment, anything was better than standing still.

The wedding was simple.

Elegant in the way a gentle breeze was elegant, soft, intentional, and fleeting. There were no loud colors, no over-the-top displays of affection, no extravagant celebrations. Just muted tones of white and beige draping every corner of the small private hall. Golden hour light filtered in through sheer curtains, making everything seem like a daydream. A few strings of fairy lights hung above your heads like stars that had descended for just this moment. The music was soft, almost distant, like a memory trying not to disturb anyone.

Only family and a few close friends were invited. That was the way you both preferred it — quiet, contained. No crowd to force a smile in front of. No strangers to pretend for.

You stood at the entrance, your hand gently clutching the silk of your ivory dress. It clung to your frame delicately, elegant in its simplicity. Your hair was pulled back, and gold earrings brushed against your neck every time you moved. They had once belonged to your mother.

And across the aisle, waiting....was him.

Heeseung.

He wore a slate grey suit that fit him too well, paired with a navy tie that brought out the deeper shades in his usually unreadable eyes. His posture was rigid, but not from arrogance. From nerves. His fingers twitched at his sides. His lips parted slightly when he saw you.

And he didn’t stop staring.

You walked toward him slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded against your chest like it didn’t remember this wasn’t a love marriage. This wasn’t the fairytale. It was an arrangement. Something practical.

But then why did he look at you like that?

As though something about you had caught him off guard.

His gaze didn’t lower or flicker away, even when you stood right before him. Even when the officiant cleared his throat and began the short ceremonial script. Even when you reached out your hand. His hand met yours with a tremble.

Just a flicker. Barely there. But you felt it. Both of you felt it actually.

When the rings were exchanged and the final blessing was offered, the photographer gestured gently, asking for a hug for the photos. A staged embrace, a brief moment of closeness for the sake of memory.

You hesitated, and so did he. But you stepped forward anyway, lifting your arms with quiet grace and sliding them around his waist. His body stiffened instantly under your touch, like he hadn’t prepared himself to be held. Like he didn’t think you would do it.

But then slowly you felt him breathe. His shoulders softened.

His arms came up, unsure, before settling loosely around your back. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t passionate. But it wasn’t cold either. It felt… human. And when you pulled away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you saw it.

The faintest blush spreading softly across his cheekbones, like the sun peeking over the edge of dawn.

You bit your lip, amused. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. It was light, airy, and very real. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting it. But then, something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile but something close. His lips twitched at the corners, and he looked down, embarrassed.

You didn’t know why, but your chest warmed.

The first night in your shared apartment was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. A silence that allowed space to exist between two people without demanding they fill it. You both stood in the living room for a moment, bags still at your feet, before silently choosing opposite doors. You unpacked in your rooms. No drama. No awkward hovering.

Well you didn’t expect to be comfortable anytime soon.

But it wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be.

Heeseung knocked softly after a while, standing at your doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice tentative.

“I was thinking of making something,” you replied, brushing off your hands from folding clothes. “Do you want to help?”

He seemed surprised. “I—I mean, I can. If you don’t mind.”

You didn’t.

So you both ended up in the kitchen.

It wasn’t big, but it was clean. Minimalist, like the rest of the apartment. The kind of space that hadn’t yet been lived in. You gave him the task of slicing the vegetables while you heated the oil. It was an ordinary moment. Too ordinary. But he tried his best to keep up. He worked in silence, furrowed brow, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

And then

“Ow.”

You turned immediately. “What happened?” He lifted his thumb sheepishly, where a thin line of red had appeared. “It’s not bad.”

A spurge of panick rose as you stammered to find anything you can, fortunately heeseung had his emergency bix ready for moments like this. You grabbed a tissue and dabbed it with alcohol immediately, clicking your tongue. “You’re hopeless,” you muttered, gently pressing it to the cut.

He winced.

“You ever held a knife before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked genuinely guilty. “Not often.”

That made you laugh almost. The corners of your mouth twitched, but you suppressed it. Barely.

Dinner turned out decent. Slightly over-salted, but edible. You both sat at the table across from each other, clinking spoons occasionally. Heeseung ate slowly, carefully, complimenting the food like he was afraid of insulting you otherwise. When the dishes were cleared and the clock ticked past ten, you curled up on the living room couch with a light blanket, journal in your lap. Random dates, random events, random thoughts. Writing helped. It always had. It made you feel like your thoughts were being listened to.

Heeseung settled into the chair across from you, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A pair of glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, making him look softer, more academic than corporate. His brows furrowed again as he read something on the screen. You watched him for a moment. The way he adjusted his posture every few minutes. The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle.

He was handsome, yes. Way too much handsome from what you've seen till now.

But he was also strange.

Like a puzzle you didn’t know you were supposed to solve. You tore your gaze away and focused back on your journal until the question slipped out of your mouth.

“You always this serious?”

Heeseung paused mid keystroke. His eyes slowly flicked toward you, clearly startled. “Huh?” You leaned back, head tilting playfully. “Or are you just pretending to impress your very pretty wife?”

A beat of silence.

Then he blinked.

And blinked again.

His face flushed. Not pink. Red. An unmistakable crimson that painted his ears, cheeks, even the base of his neck.

You watched it spread with fascination.

He looked away quickly, clearly flustered. “I, uh—I’m not pretending.”

You grinned, unable to help it. Gotcha

And then you laughed. Finally

Not the soft, polite kind. But a laugh that shook your shoulders. A laugh that sounded far too much like your old self. One that tasted like freedom. Like lightness.

Heeseung stared at you wide eyed, confused, but not unhappy. And in that moment, something inside you cracked open.

Not completely.

But enough to let a little light in.

Enough to remember that this whatever this was didn’t have to be cold or lonely. Maybe it could be… different.

Maybe. Just maybe.

After dinner you followed him, heart awkward in your chest. “We’re married,” you said quietly.

He looked at you. Eyes crinkling a bit “We are.”

You bit your lip. “How does it feel?”

“Like I’m going to pass out.”

You laughed. So did he. And just like that, the room warmed.

You both fell asleep that night, not in each other’s arms, but in the same room. Two souls still cautious. But not strangers anymore. Somewhere between the silk sheets and the soft rustling of fabric, you felt his fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away.

The days that followed weren’t perfect but they were real. You cooked breakfast. He cleaned the dishes. You danced alone in the living room. He watched, pretending not to smile.

You fought over the last slice of toast but he shared it anyway.

One evening, he returned early and found you on the balcony, feet up, journal in hand.

He stood there, watching you, quiet.

You glanced over. “You know, for someone who likes his space, you hover a lot.” He gave a small smile. “You’re easy to hover around.” Your heart thumped against chest your walls as you closed the journal.

Heeseung walked closer, placing a cup of tea beside you.

You turned to him, a silly expression playing on your lips “You know...I do notice how much you blush every time I touch you.”

He froze. “No I don’t.” You raised a brow. “You just did.”

His ears flamed. “I’m—That’s not—You’re very—” pretty. He stopped. “Never mind.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you malfunction.” He groaned into his hands. “I’m regretting this marriage already.”

You reached over, gently flicking his forehead. “Liar.”

You were quiet. Not shy. Not submissive. Just... still. And Heeseung had thought, Perfect. No dramatics. No chaos. No endless talking that led nowhere. You seemed like someone who wouldn’t get in the way of his routine. Obedient. Low-maintenance. Easy to manage.

But stillness, he would later learn, was not the same as simplicity.

You weren’t “easy” in the way he first assumed. You were surviving. He just didn’t see it yet.

The first time you touched him, it was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Just a brief adjustment to the collar of his shirt before a family photo. The fabric was crooked, and you, dutiful, distant, fixed it with all the care of someone folding a stranger’s laundry.

But his throat closed.

And later that night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he found himself staring at the spot your fingers had grazed. Like it had left a burn.

Heeseung loved that. He loved that he was starting to notice things.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your voice softened when talking to plants, like they were old friends. The way your eyes darted around the room when you were overwhelmed but trying not to show it. He hated how easily his heartbeat betrayed him.

Once, you fell asleep on the couch wearing his hoodie. He had walked into the room to ask if you wanted tea. Stopped. Stared.

And nearly had a cardiac arrest.

You looked smaller somehow, curled into the armrest, face turned into the fabric that used to smell like him. The hoodie dwarfed you, sleeves swallowed your hands, and you breathed so softly he thought you might disappear if he blinked.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. Just stood there and watched you sleep like an idiot, pretending it meant nothing that you’d chosen his hoodie over the dozens in your wardrobe. He told himself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Because one evening, you hummed while watering the plants near the window, barefoot in your pajamas, and something twisted painfully in his chest.

You looked… light.

Like whatever darkness you were dragging around had loosened for a second.

And he thought, She still has it. That light. It’s just buried.

But then someone flirted with you at a company party. Some friend of a friend with too many teeth and not enough respect. The guy leaned in too close when he spoke to you, smiling like he knew you, fingers brushing your elbow as he laughed.

And Heeseung saw red.

He was across the room, drink untouched, shoulders tense. The man’s hand hovered near your lower back, and Heeseung didn’t even remember moving, just that he was suddenly there, standing beside you, one hand on your waist, his tone calm but sharp enough to bleed.

“She’s taken.”

The man backed off. Quickly. You glanced up at him, startled. “I was handling it.” But inside you were going absolute nuts. THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT WTF.

“I know,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t like watching.”

You fell in love with Lee Heeseung. You weren’t sure if it was real, if your brain was just weaving comfort into romance. But the way he looked at you made you feel real. Grounded. Heeseung didn’t flirt. He didn’t chase. But he remembered. He remembered the one time you said you hated sleeping with the door closed. He remembered your favourite scent was lavender, not rose like everyone assumed.

He remembered the time you offhandedly said you always wanted to stargaze, but no one ever took you.

And he remembered you. Even on the days when you couldn’t remember you.

You sat at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into your mouth, pretending not to notice how Heeseung kept glancing at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You were wearing his hoodie, not for sentiment, but because it was soft and smelled like cedarwood and something vaguely comforting.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

You blinked at him. “Yes?”

He tensed. “What? Nothing.”

“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”

“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “You just have milk on your lip.”

You wiped your mouth while giggling “That’s your excuse today?”

He went red. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m imagining you blushing every time I breathe?"

He said nothing. Just took a long, slow sip of his coffee and looked away. You leaned your chin on your hand. “It’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“Liking your wife.”

He choked on his coffee. You handed him a napkin, laughing, and Heeseung groaned into his palm. “Why are you like this?”

You smiled. “Because you like it," and god.... poor Heeseung swore if his gorgeous wife doesn't stop terrorising him anytime soon.

The day began like any other. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains as you flipped the page of your journal, pen poised above the paper. A list of dates stared back at you. Appointments, grocery items, a friend’s birthday next week. There were tiny corrections in the margins, crossed out reminders, swapped days and scribbles you didn’t remember making.

You blinked at them, brow furrowed.

You always kept your journal close. It wasn’t just a habit anymore, it was a lifeline. Your memory had been slipping, barely noticeable at first. A word forgotten. A date misremembered. But lately, the fog had thickened.

You tapped the pen against your palm, trying to recall what you’d written five minutes ago.

“Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and warm. He peeked into the room, his hair tousled from bed. His tie hung loose around his neck. “Did you see my cufflinks?”

You pointed to the dresser. Heeseung stepped in, brushing a kiss over your temple without a second thought. You smiled, heart tugging. His affection had changed. He’d become gentler, softer. He didn’t look at you like he was tolerating a contract anymore, he looked like he was slowly learning how to love.

And you… you were starting to believe in it.

“I’ll make us coffee,” you said, standing a little too fast.

The world tilted sharply and you didn’t even register the fall.

You woke up to beeping machines and Heeseung’s panicked voice floating somewhere near your ear. His hand gripped yours like a lifeline, tight and trembling.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Doctors ran tests. Your blood pressure, blood sugar was normal. Heart rate was stable. CT scan was clear. They told you it might’ve been a stress induced fainting spell. Nothing serious.

But it felt serious. You could see it in Heeseung’s eyes. The quiet way he watched you that night, tucking you into bed, fingers ghosting against your forehead. You felt it in your bones too. Something had shifted inside you. And it wasn’t just fatigue.

That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your voice broke the silence “I used to think love was something safe.” He turned his head to you, still half-awake, droopy eyes slowly meeting yours. “But it’s not,” you whispered. “Not always. Sometimes… it just leaves you.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But his fingers found yours beneath the covers and squeezed, tender.

“It left me once. Completely. And I’m scared if I ever feel it again, it’ll do the same.”

Your throat closed, you didn’t tell him you were in love with him. But your eyes did. They searched his, trembled with quiet confession, and Heeseung… oh, he was unraveling from the inside. He said nothing. He only gathered you into his arms and held you so tightly, so fiercely, that your breath caught.

And then he kissed your forehead like a promise.

Like he’d never leave.

The warmth didn’t last forever. A shadow crept in slowly, just as your memories began to slip through your fingers like grains of sand.

You fainted again three days later.

This time, it wasn’t dramatic or alarming in the way most people imagined fainting would be. There was no dizziness or shortness of breath. Just silence. Just a quiet, mundane moment, laundry on your lap, socks in your hand, sunlight spilling through the windows like everything was perfectly normal, and then…

Black.

A blink later, you were waking up to the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. Heeseung’s voice, frantic and cracking at the edges, shouted something unintelligible into his phone. There was desperation in his tone, something close to begging, and when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his silhouette pacing like a man unraveling thread by thread.

You groaned faintly, and the sound jolted him. “Y/n!” The phone clattered to the floor as he dropped beside you, his knees hitting the hardwood. His hands hovered over your shoulders, afraid to shake you too hard, afraid to touch you too softly.

You tried to speak, but only a croaky sound came out.

“Jesus, don’t do that again,” he breathed, brushing a stray hair away from your face with trembling fingers. “You scared the hell out of me.” You blinked at him, mind still foggy, body weak. And then perhaps to deflect the weight in his gaze, perhaps to avoid your own rising dread, you smiled faintly and said,

“Maybe I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong there. Heeseung stilled.

“Preg—what?!”

You blinked again, suddenly aware of what you’d just said. “I was joking—obviously—I mean, we haven’t even—oh my god—”

His entire face flushed crimson. He scrambled upright, running a hand through his hair like the heat on his cheeks could be shaken off. “Why would you even say that?!”

“I don’t know!” you blurted, still breathless. “I was just—I don’t know—it slipped out!”

“I—okay, well—” He turned away for a second, then turned back just as fast, blurting out, “Would you… want to?”

Silence.

You blinked again, a faint blush creeping on your cheeks this time “What?” you asked softly. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “I mean not now—not like this, I just–if we ever did...you know like if we were ready—would you want to have a kid with me?”

You just stared at him. Eyes round, heart skipping, stare that peeled you open from the inside and left every thought exposed.

He panicked. “Shit–I didn’t mean it like that. I just–God, I sound like a lunatic. I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupted, and your voice, though small, was steady now. “You don’t.”

Heeseung’s breath caught.

You reached forward, hand brushing over his where it hung awkwardly by his side. Slowly, you entwined your fingers, tugging gently until he let himself sit beside you on the couch. He didn’t speak, neither did you.

The silence felt soft this time, tender, warm in its own way.

“I see a future,” you murmured. “And you’re in it.”

He inhaled sharply, chest rising like he’d just been given permission to breathe again. His hand tightened around yours instinctively, and then without another word he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around your waist. He held you like you were something fragile and precious. His chin dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his lips press into the crook of your neck, featherlight. Then the top of your head. Then again and again.

The crown of your skull. Your temple. Your hair. Tiny kisses, barely there, like he couldn’t help himself.

His hands moved up and down your back, long strokes, slow and careful like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he wanted to trace your shape into his memory forever. You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the way his heart thudded so loud it echoed through his chest.

“Heeseung,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to be scared.”

He said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re the only thing I’m scared of losing.” That’s when you knew...he meant it. Every trembling, terrifying word. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. He loved you. Quietly, desperately, in the way only someone who’s afraid of not being enough ever could.

But you couldn’t say it back.

Because something in your chest twisted whenever the words reached your throat. You wanted to. God, you did. But how could you, when a part of you knew you might forget the weight of those words one day?

So instead, you just pulled him closer.

Let his warmth anchor you. Let your silence be love. And he accepted it like it was all he needed.

For now.

You weren’t supposed to forget things like this.

It started with little slips. You misplaced your favorite pen, the one you always kept clipped to your journal. You put milk in the pantry instead of the fridge. Called Heeseung’s PA by the wrong name, twice.

You told yourself it was stress.

But you started writing everything down. Grocery lists. Things to do. Things you’ve done. Just in case. You didn’t tell Heeseung. Not yet. He’d been watching you more carefully lately, even after the hospital said you were fine. Normal vitals. Normal bloodwork. Just a little fainting from low blood sugar, they said.

You smiled at Heeseung when he brought you tea in the mornings. Laughed when he’d forget his tie and you’d fix it for him before he left for the day. Kissed his knuckles goodbye.

And then, at night, when he was asleep next to you, you wrote.

Remember: His coffee is black with half a sugar. He hums when brushing his teeth. He hates losing control. He loves order. But he loves you, even when you’re chaos.

Your handwriting trembled some days.

You couldn’t afford to forget him.

Until something happened which shook your whole world. You were out for a small grocery run, just around the corner of your cozy apartment.That afternoon, the sky had been unusually dull for mid spring, kind of gray that made everything feel quieter. You were reaching for a carton of oat milk when someone said your name.

A voice you hadn’t heard in years, soft, hesitant. Drenched in familiarity

“Y/n?”

You froze mid-motion. Hand halfway to the shelf. The fluorescent lights above flickered like they always did in that dingy corner aisle. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Jongseong.

There he stood. Your ex. Five years of history packed into one lean frame and a stupidly familiar jawline, he hadn’t changed much, still wore that same brand of denim, still had his hair pushed back like he hadn’t really tried but somehow looked effortlessly put together. Still had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something meaningful. You wished you could’ve walked away, wished your feet moved. But your body betrayed you. You stood rooted, staring at the man who had left you broken on the bathroom floor that night so many years ago.

“Hi,” he said, cautiously, as if testing the waters.

You let out a shaky breathe, recovering. “What the hell are you doing here? ”

His lips curved into that apologetic smile, the one that once made you forgive things you never should have. “Shopping. Just moved back last month.”

Of course he did. A painful silence settled between you, thick like humidity before a storm. You hated how your heart still reacted, a strange, erratic beat that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with trauma. You glanced down at your cart. Laundry detergent, a bag of oranges, ice cream you knew Heeseung would pretend not to like but eat anyway.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low. “You look…”

“Don’t.”

That shut him up. He nodded, eyes darting around. “I heard you got married.”

You responded by muttering a quiet 'hm' and stepping back. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said finally, breath hitching. “For how I left. For all of it. I was a coward. I know that now.” You closed your eyes for a second. Let the words wash over you like cold water. They didn’t heal anything. Didn’t change the nights you’d spent alone wondering what you did wrong.

“I don’t need your apology,” you said, quiet but firm.

He took a step forward, then another. You didn’t move. You should have, but it was too late. He pulled you into a hug before you could protest. His arms wrapped around you like old muscle memory. You felt nothing.

No heat. No pain. Just a dull ache — like pressing on a bruise that had already begun to fade.

You let it happen.

Maybe out of shock. Maybe because you needed to feel nothing for a moment. Then you pushed him back.

“Don’t do that,” you said, voice sharp.“I just—” He looked desperate now. “I miss you, Y/N.”

“I don’t.”

He recoiled like you’d struck him. And maybe you had.

Your hands were still trembling when you stepped out of the grocery store. The air outside was thick with city noise, buses hissing past, horns blaring somewhere in the distance but everything around you felt strangely muted. As if the world had taken a step back, blurred its edges, dulled its colors.

He had touched you.

He had hugged you.

And you had frozen. Stiff, shocked, disgusted. You didn’t even know what scared you more, the fact that he dared to wrap his arms around you, or the fact that, for a split second, you didn’t pull away fast enough. You could still feel the ghost of that hug clinging to your skin like grease. You wiped your arms with your sleeves again and again as you walked, as if scrubbing the moment off could make it disappear.

It didn't.

Halfway back to your apartment, your vision started to blur. The world tilted to one side. Your legs stumbled, heart racing in your chest, a noise ringing faintly in your ears.

And then nothing.

You woke up under hospital lights, too white, too sharp, sterile brightness. A cold breeze hummed from the AC. Your wrist had a hospital band. Your head throbbed.

“Miss?” the voice of a young nurse stirred beside you. You nodded.

It was third time in one month. And the last two times you’d brushed it off, too little sleep, maybe low blood sugar, maybe stress. But this time felt different. Your limbs still felt heavy. Your memory hazy. You sat up slowly as the doctor entered, young, calm, and professional, with a clipboard in his hand and a thoughtful expression behind his glasses.

“We ran some tests while you were unconscious. Vitals look stable, but I want to ask a few questions.”

You nodded absently, already reaching for your journal. The leather cover had softened from overuse. You opened it and began jotting something down under the last entry, the date, the name of the hospital, a reminder to track symptoms.

The doctor noticed.

“You carry that with you often?” he asked.

“Always,” you replied, not looking up. “It helps me keep track of things. Sometimes… I forget details. Or what day it is.”

He tilted his head. “How long have you been doing that?”

“For months....more than half a year to be exact...”

“And before that?”

“I....don't remember ” you said simply.

The next ten minutes passed in quiet tension as he asked you a series of questions. Your age, your name, your address.

Easy enough.

Then what day it was, the current year, who the president was.

You fumbled. You knew it. You did. But in that moment, it slipped away like mist through your fingers. You blinked hard, tried again. But your mouth stayed still.

The doctor’s voice was gentle. “Y/N… I’m going to be honest with you. Some of the signs you’re displaying memory lapses, spatial confusion, fainting episodes they’re consistent with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.”

You stared at him. What?

The words didn't make sense. Not at first.

That was something older people got. Grandparents. Not someone in her twenties. Not someone like you.

“That's not possible,” you murmured. “That’s not—people my age don’t get that.”

“It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not impossible. Especially when there’s a genetic predisposition or trauma involved. We’ll need to run more scans, cognitive assessments, but... I’d advise preparing for the possibility.”

The room closed in.

You were still holding your pen. You hadn’t even finished your sentence in the journal “What happens now?” you asked, your voice brittle.

“You be careful,” he said quietly. “You start documenting everything. You let someone close to you know. And… you prepare. Because things might start getting messy from now on.”

You nodded.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. There was a storm going inside you. What happens now? Instead, you turned to your journal and wrote everything down.

Because if your brain was going to fail you…you needed your words to remember.

Heeseung noticed the emotional shift before anything else. You became quieter, guarded again. It reminded him of how you were when he first met you, polite, careful, full of silences that hurt more than shouting.

He didn’t understand why.

You weren’t pulling away physically. You still reached for his hand, still leaned into his chest on the couch. Still smiled at his stupid jokes. But something behind your eyes had dimmed.

Heeseung didn’t press. At first. Then, one afternoon, he caught you staring blankly at the laundry machine. You’d loaded it three times and hadn’t turned it on.

You didn’t even notice him standing behind you until he touched your arm.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just... zoned out.” He didn’t believe you but he nodded anyway. That night, you sat on the balcony with your journal in your lap. The stars were faint, the city always swallowed most of them. Still, you looked up and whispered to yourself

“I hope I remember what the sky looks like.”

Heeseung’s promotion came two weeks later.

CEO.

The letters barely held any weight in your mind, but they meant everything to the company and to him. It was the culmination of years of dedication, late nights, near flawless discipline. He had been groomed for this position since the day he stepped into his father’s office, and now he finally stood at the top. There was a celebration, of course. Lavish, gleaming, all sharp suits and champagne glasses. You were expected to be there, not just as his wife, but as his partner, the quiet, polished figure beside the man of the hour. A photograph for the headlines. A name in the caption.

And so, you helped him get ready.

He stood in front of the mirror while you adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, the one you had picked for this night months ago, long before the diagnosis, long before your world started folding in on itself. It had a clean cut, regal structure, and a dark sheen under warm lighting. He looked like a leader. Like someone people would follow.

Like someone who deserved everything good in this life.

You moved closer, fingers brushing over his shoulders as you smoothed down the fabric. Then the tie — a deep navy silk one that complimented his skin. You looped it slowly, methodically, the way you’d done a hundred times before, but today your hands were a little shakier. When you finished tightening the knot, you adjusted the collar, folding it just right.

And then… you met his gaze.

He was looking at you the way he always did when he was proud of something. Eyes full of stars. That small boyish smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. The kind of smile that made your heart ache because he still saw you not the version that was slowly slipping through cracks, but the version that had once walked into his life like a spark.

“You’re really good at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? You might have a secret career as a stylist.”

You chuckled weakly “Only for you.”

Heeseung grinned, a hint of pink on his ears as he lowered his head shyly. He had always been like this, confident in the boardroom, decisive in crisis, but hopelessly soft around you. “When are you getting ready?” he asked “I mean, not that I want to rush you, but… should I help you with your dress too?” It was teasing, yes. But the sincerity in his tone turned it fragile. Tender. As if he wanted nothing more than to make you feel cared for.

You couldn't meet his eyes anymore.

Your smile felt forced, stretched across your face like something stitched on. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips quick, light, almost mechanical then pulled back and murmured, “I’ll go change now.”

You walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

Locked it.

The moment you turned around, the first sob escaped before you could stop it. Your back slid against the door, and you dropped to the floor, your knees folding beneath you.

You cried.

Not the loud, guttural cries of heartbreak. These were quieter. More dangerous. Cry that hollowed you out from the inside. The kind that didn’t shake the walls but carved themselves into your ribcage like scratches from within. Because how could you stand beside him tonight? How could you wear a smile and pose for photographs next to someone so perfect, so capable, so destined while you were falling apart in silence?

You didn’t deserve to be in those frames. You didn’t deserve the warmth in his voice or the light in his eyes. Heeseung wasn’t just beautiful, he was good. A man who’d carry the weight of the world and still ask how you were doing. He deserved someone strong. Someone helpful. Someone who would hold his hand and not forget the reason why she loved him.

Not someone who would make his life harder. You pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, biting back the next wave of sobs. Tears soaked through the fabric of your dress before you even realized.

And then came a knock. Gentle, hesitant.

“Y/N?” His voice. Muffled through the door, but heavy with concern. “Are you okay?” You panicked for a moment. Could he hear you crying? Could he feel it through the wood? You scrambled to your feet, wiping your face with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… changing. I’ll be out in a minute.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. You heard his footsteps retreat, but slowly. Like he was still half-listening. You turned to the mirror.

Your eyes were red. Your lips were trembling. Your heart was still fractured in your chest.

But you smiled. You forced it. You fixed your face, did your makeup, washed your cheeks with cold water. You put on your dress, the one he loved and stepped into the role you needed to play tonight.

His wife, His person. And maybe a ticking clock he hadn’t heard yet.

Everyone at the office practically worshipped him that day. Heeseung stood on the stage like he was born for it, tall, composed, every line of his suit sharp, every word he spoke deliberate. The perfect heir, finally crowned. You watched him from the back of the room, fingers loosely threaded in front of your dress, the heels you wore pressing too hard against your ankles. He scanned the crowd with those piercing eyes of his, unreadable as ever, until they landed on yours. His gaze softened. Just a flicker a small, private moment no one else caught.

You smiled. Clapped along with everyone else. Even mouthed a “congratulations” later, when he walked off stage and found you again.

But it ached.

The pride did. The smile. The applause. The knowledge that this moment belonged to him, but not fully to you.

Because you’d seen it all evening.

That woman Heejin, his PA hovering just a little too close. Laughing at his jokes like she’d memorized the rhythm of his humor. Knowing the stats, the reports, the number of interviews scheduled, the name of the board member’s wife who just had a baby. She touched his arm like she had every right. Whispered in his ear and was so dangerously close to adjust his tie like it was second nature.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

Heeseung was with you throughout the whole event. When he wasn’t being pulled away to speak with department heads or board directors, he returned to your side. He introduced you formally. Called you his wife. Smiled that same smile that always softened at the edges when it was just the two of you. Still, it felt like a storm was swelling beneath the chandeliers.

The whispers began slowly, it curled around your ankles and trailed up your spine like a chill. Faces half turned. Brows raised. Smirks too subtle to name. For a moment you thought you were imagining it.

Until Heejin, heels clicking, ponytail high made her way to Heeseung and whispered something in his ear while holding her phone to his face. His jaw tensed. The sharp intake of his breath wasn’t loud, but you felt it like a slap.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed the phone back, eyes suddenly blank. You took a step forward, concern prickling in your chest, but before you could reach him

Your own phone buzzed.

One notification. Then another. Then another.

You froze as the screen lit up with a forwarded image and a text chain that had clearly been passed from one employee to another.

A picture.

Of you and Jongseong.

Your arms around each other in the middle of a grocery store aisle. His head tilted, mouth close to your ear. The caption was cruel —

"The new CEO’s wife already bored? Guess Heeseung’s cold heart wasn’t enough to keep her warm."

The room spun for a second. You gripped your clutch tighter, your breath lodged in your throat. You remembered that day. Every nauseating second of it. How you’d walked out of the store in shock and disgust that you’d let your ex touch you. How the encounter made your stomach churn. How you’d fainted halfway to your apartment the third time in a month. How you woke up in the hospital, and how that day changed everything for you.

But none of that was in the photo.

Just a snapshot. A second. A cruelly timed frame that looked like you were holding someone you still loved.

You barely made it through the rest of the event.

when you returned home, Heeseung was quiet.

Too quiet.

He removed his tie slowly, hands shaking in the low light of your shared bedroom. You stood by the dresser, unsure whether to speak first. The silence between you throbbed, thick and pulsing like a bruise.

“I didn’t know about the picture,” you breathed out, finally. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded. “Okay.” But that okay was hollow. A placeholder. You stepped closer. “I didn’t know someone took it. It wasn’t a… moment. It was nothing. I told him to stay away.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, still not meeting your eyes. “Did you?”

You blinked. “Yes.”

He licked his lips, exhaled. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Do you still love him?”

The question hit you like a punch.

“No,” you said too quickly. His eyes finally lifted to yours. Red rimmed. Vulnerable in a way he rarely showed. “Then why did you look like you did?”

You hesitated. “I didn’t. That photo—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m accusing you, but… was I not enough? Am I… not enough for you?” It broke your heart to hear him ask that. To hear that insecurity come from someone who had always seemed so sure of himself so composed, so precise. “You’re more than enough,” you said. “God, Heeseung, you’re everything. That day… I was in shock. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusted the second he did. And after that— I—" you stopped, more like the words abruptly run out of your brain. What exactly happened after that? You wanted to reach out to your journal but at this moment it felt like a foreign subject in that room.

He stared, breath caught in his throat “after that what?”

You opened your mouth. But nothing came out.

So instead, you reached for him. Sat beside him. Took his hand in yours “I felt like I didn’t deserve you,” you said honestly. “You’re… perfect. And I’m not. I’m going to ruin your life.”

He shook his head, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you whispered.“No.” He squeezed your hand. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve been in because I’m quiet. Closed off. I tried to do better with you. I tried to laugh more, talk more, open up. I don’t know if that scared you. Maybe I overwhelmed you—”

You didn’t let him finish. You pressed your mouth to his.

Soft at first. Like reassurance. Like apology.

But it didn’t stay soft. Your lips opened. His hands found your waist. Yours slid to the nape of his neck. He pulled you into his lap, clutching you like he didn’t want you to vanish. It was desperate. Heated. His mouth moved against yours with all the frustration and confusion he couldn’t put into words. His tongue tasted of hurt, of longing, of too much and not enough all at once. Your hands explored his jaw, his chest, the familiar planes of his body.

You gasped into his mouth when he gripped your thigh, and he caught the sound with his own lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for even a second.

Clothes shifted. Hands wandered. You both chased each other’s warmth, each other’s breath, each other’s forgiveness. Your bodies tangled, your mouths pressed again and again, as if trying to remember what this meant what you meant.

When it was over, you lay against his chest, both of you breathless.

He held you like you were something breakable. You clutched the fabric of his shirt in your fist like he was your anchor.

Neither of you spoke.

Because sometimes, silence wasn’t emptines.....sometimes it was healing.

You stayed like that until sleep found you, nestled in the wreckage of that night, hearts still beating wildly but at least for now still together.

The next morning, he woke up alone.

Your pillow was cold.

Your phone was gone.

So were you.

Heeseung tore the apartment apart. Every room, every drawer, every closet. He called everyone. Checked hospitals. Airports. Police stations.

Nothing.

It was like you’d never existed.

Except for one thing

Your journal.

You’d hidden it behind the books on the shelf. It fell when he yanked the entire stack down in a frenzy. He opened it with shaking hands. Inside, he found pages pf him. Notes, memories, doodles of his face, stupid jokes, coffee orders, days he looked happiest, days he looked tired, the way he kissed your temple after work, the time he asked if you wanted kids and you couldn’t stop laughing.

But nothing about you.

No fears. No timeline. No diagnosis.

Until the last page.

Your last entry....probably

If you’re reading this, I probably forgot to tell you...I didn’t mean to leave like this. But I was so scared, Heeseung. I’m still scared. Alzheimer’s, That’s what they said. I’ll forget my name. My home. Maybe one day… even you. But I wrote you down so I wouldn’t. Because how could I forget the only place I ever felt safe?

He found the prescriptions next, right in between the pages, crumbled hard truth. His hands were shaking and he dropped the journal.

You weren’t in any of the places that made sense. Not your mother’s. Not your childhood home, the hospital where they gave you that impossible diagnosis, not even that quiet little beachside cafe you loved as a teenager, the one you once told Heeseung you’d run away to if life ever got too loud.

Heeseung checked them all. He didn’t stop looking. His PA begged him to rest and his board of directors hinted at taking a leave. Tabloids started speculating that you had disappeared because of him but that was not enough to make him stop looking for you. He ignored it all.

You were gone.

And all he had left was a journal where you remembered everything about him… but not a single word about yourself.

It destroyed him.

Every scribbled sentence felt like a goodbye in slow motion.

You wrote down his allergies, his favorite tie, the way he bit his lip when he was nervous. You even wrote down the first time he ever said your name like it meant something. But nothing — nothing — about when you first forgot your keys. Or when you got your test results. Or when you decided that loving him meant leaving.

Heeseung knew you did it to protect him.

But he didn’t want protection.

He wanted you.

At nights, Heeseung found himself on the beach. The sky quiet, no stars and too much cloud. Just the sound of waves, soft and endless. He remembered what you said once about wanting to see stars

“I feel like I belong to the sea. It forgets everything and still keeps going.”

He stared at the ocean for a long time. Then whispered, “I won’t forget you. Even if you forget me.”

Back in Seoul, your disappearance became public. Someone leaked the hospital records. Someone else found the journal. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, the narrative changed. You weren’t the runaway wife anymore.

You were tragically sick. Young. Beautiful. Doomed.

The world grieved you like a ghost while you were still breathing somewhere. Heeseung hated it.

He hated that they mourned your memory while he still clung to your toothbrush. Hated that your name became a headline when it used to be a whisper only he was allowed to say that gently. And through all of it, the noise, the press, the pity he kept looking.

Weeks passed.

The world moved on.

He didn’t.

It was almost six months later when the knock came. A strange, hesitant rhythm, three soft raps, then silence. It wasn’t the knock you get from someone delivering mail or asking for a favor. It was the kind that came burdened with weight. With grief. With something you weren’t ready to hear. Heeseung opened the door, expecting a stranger. And he was though somehow, not entirely.

The man looked about his age. Disheveled, eyes filled with exhaustion and rimless glasses around them, lips trembling like he’d rehearsed this moment too many times only to still not be ready.

“Are you… Heeseung?” he asked, voice rough, tight. Heeseung blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”

The man swallowed, then took a deep breath like it hurt to say her name. “I’m Jake. I—

I’ve been taking care of Y/N.”

Heeseung didn’t register it at first. But then the words unfurled inside his chest like shrapnel.

“I found her,” Jake continued, “about six months ago. On the street. She had fainted. Hit her head pretty bad.”

Everything around Heeseung went still. His fingers gripped the door tighter.

“You what?”

Jake nodded, frantic now. “I tried to help her. I brought her to the hospital. I wanted to call you—believe me, I did. But she… she begged me not to. Said you’d worry. Said she just needed a moment away.”

Heeseung felt his world turn inside out. “So she’s with you?” Jake’s expression shattered. “Yes...but I can't do this anymore. ” He stepped forward, desperate now. “Please, can I come in?”

They sat in silence for a moment on opposite ends of the couch. Jake’s fingers trembled around the cup of water Heeseung handed him. “I’m sorry,” Jake murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know if there’s a right way to explain any of this.”

Heeseung nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Jake looked down. “She didn’t remember much that day. Just bits and pieces. She kept asking for directions to a bakery that closed years ago. She was mumbling about… socks, a couch, stars. It didn’t make sense at first.” He paused to take a breathe “But there was something about her. Something… delicate. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile, but she was. She had this quiet kind of sadness. Like she was running from her own mind.”

Heeseung’s throat felt like sandpaper.

“I brought her to my place,” Jake continued, wiping his eyes. “It was closer than the hospital. She stayed for a few days. Then… weeks. And I just… let her.”

There was guilt in every syllable.

“I should’ve called you. I know that. But I—she asked me not to. She said she wasn’t ready to go back. That she needed time. And after everything she told me—or tried to tell me—I didn’t want to force her.”

Heeseung finally found his voice, low and raw. “Told you?”

Jake let out a weak laugh. “Pieces. Fragments. She kept scribbling on papers. I read one by accident one night when she forgot where she hid it.” That hit Heeseung in the chest. “She still wrote?”

“Obsessively,” Jake whispered. “Dates. Events. What you wore. The first time you laughed during breakfast. The time you hugged her when she thought no one would.” He looked up at Heeseung with a hollow sort of respect. “She didn’t write about herself. Just you.”

The silence that followed was cruel.

Then Jake broke it, voice cracking open. “I didn’t plan on falling for her. But it happened.”

Heeseung’s fingers curled into fists.

“I think… I think I fell in love the moment she offered to fold my laundry. She said she couldn’t sleep unless the room was organized, so she started arranging things, my books, labeled my kitchen spices.” He gave a humorless laugh. “She even asked me one night what tie I’d be wearing the next day. I told her I was a kindergarten teacher—I don’t wear ties. I don’t even own one.”

Heeseung looked at him, and something inside him twisted.

Jake’s next words came with a crack.

“She said she loved me once. Looked me straight in the eye and said it. But I knew—God, I knew—she didn’t mean me.”

Heeseung's chest ached.

“She looked at me like she loved someone. But there was no warmth in it. No spark. Just muscle memory.” Jake’s hands trembled harder. “Every day, she did things I knew weren’t meant for me. She’d ask me if I remembered the constellation we saw last December. I’ve never gone stargazing with her. She made tea the way you liked it. She even called me 'Seung' once.”

Heeseung felt the blood drain from his face.“I tried to be enough,” Jake whispered. “I told myself if I loved her hard enough, it wouldn’t matter that she was forgetting. That I wasn’t the one she loved. But I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m going crazy.”

His voice finally broke. “She’s still in love with you.”

Heeseung sat frozen, pain slicing through every nerve. Jake covered his face. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to beg. I came because I can’t hold this anymore. She’s slipping, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep her grounded.”

He looked up, red-eyed. “But maybe you do.”

Heeseung didn’t sleep that night. Jake left after an hour. Not because he wanted to, but because he said staying longer would feel like he was asking for permission.

Heeseung wandered back into the old room you used together. It still smelled like you. The scent hadn’t left, even though you had. He sat at your desk and opened one of the drawers.

And there it was.

Your journal. The one with the frayed corner and ink blot on the back. His hands shook as he turned the pages.

February 3rd – Heeseung laughed today. Actually laughed. I think it was because I burnt the toast and blamed the toaster, but I want to believe it’s because he’s starting to feel safe around me.

March 19th – He looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.

May 1st – I told a joke. He didn’t laugh. I think I messed up. I think I’m slipping again. Heeseung, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to stay.

Heeseung pressed the pages to his chest and let himself cry.

Because you didn’t run away. You simply… forgot your way back. And now he had to find you before the memory of him disappeared too.

The storm had passed, but the ruin it left behind still trembled beneath Heeseung’s ribs. The next morning, sunlight spilled pale and cold over his apartment floor, but there was no warmth in it. Just silence. Thick. Suffocating. Jake had left the address on a wrinkled piece of paper, scrawled in shaky handwriting like his hands were trying to outrun guilt. Heeseung held it tight as he stood in front of the door now, frozen not from fear, but something worse.

What if you look at him and see nothing? He didn’t knock. He just stood there for a second. Then another. Then the door opened from the inside. You stood barefoot, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a familiar oversized cardigan. His cardigan.

But the eyes that met his weren’t familiar at all.

You frowned.

“Who are you…” your head tilted, voice uncertain. “Why do you look so sad?”

It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing. Your voice was too sincere, too puzzled. Heeseung’s heart dropped into a bottomless void.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. So he stepped forward and hugged you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it nearly broke both of you.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice trembling against your ear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

For a beat, you didn’t move. Then your fingers clutched his shirt. And you began to cry.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you said, voice cracking. “But you… you feel familiar.” He nodded into your shoulder, gripping you like an anchor in a storm.“You’re warm... but so familiar ” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his collarbone now. "Heeseung...why are you sad?”

His tears spilled freely now.

Behind them, Jake watched from the hallway, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, mouth quivering.

When you turned slightly and met Jake's eyes

You blinked. Shifting suddenly,Then asked, “Who are you?”

Silence.

Jake’s lips parted. But no sound came.

A second passed. Then another. He blinked once, twice, swallowed the storm threatening to choke him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

Heeseung didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.

Jake’s eyes glistened. But he smiled anyway, as if giving you up was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He turned away and went into the other room. A silent retreat.

That night, Heeseung stayed. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You curled against him on the couch, wrapped in past like a quilt. He tucked you into his side like he had never lost you. Your hand rested on his chest, fingers twitching every so often like you were trying to remember something with touch alone.

In the silence, you whispered, “I want to go.”

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Where?”

You shook your head, confused. “I don’t know. Just… away.”

“Away from what?”

“I don’t know that either,” you said. “But I want to go. With you.” Heeseung kissed your forehead, gently. “Okay.”

Jake woke up to an empty house. No voices. No breathing. No you. He called out once. Twice. Silence answered.

His heart seized.

Then he saw it, on the dining table. A phone. No, not a phone. A voice recorder. The kind Heeseung used sometimes when working through business proposals aloud.

He pressed play. And heard Heeseung’s voice. Soft. Tired. But steady.

“Jake…I know you probably hate me right now. Maybe you should. But I need to say this before I go.

Thank you.

Thank you for finding her when I lost her. For caring for her when I didn’t know how. For loving her in the quiet ways that kept her alive.

I read the journal.

I know now that she didn’t leave because she wanted to forget me. She left because she was scared I’d forget her. Or worse, that I’d watch her forget me. But Jake… she remembers something. Somewhere deep down, in the part of her soul untouched by time or illness or fear...she remembers love.

And I’m going to remind her. Every day. Until the stars go out. I’m taking her away. Just the two of us.

She wanted to go. So I’m taking her where the sky’s clear and quiet. Where the world slows down.

I’m going to show her the stars.”

The recording stopped. Jake stood there for a long, long time. He didn’t cry right away. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table. Fingers trembling, he reached for the cross that hung from his necklace.

Clutched it. Pressed it to his lips. And closed his eyes.

“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Please.”

And then he cried. For you. For Heeseung. For himself. For the cruel poetry of loving someone who never truly belonged to you.

THE END

vol 9 . — Y/n swears no one compares to Park Sunghoon. The campus heartthrob, department topper, and possibly her guardian angel. Her world spins on his orbit.

Jake swears he can’t stand Y/n. She’s awkward, invisible, always leaving curly hair in his textbooks. He'd rather share a class with Tora, his flawless senior crush.

Amongst the push and pull of unsaid words and obviously said insults they find their life getting tangled in bizarre way.

𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ rom-com, angst, coming of age, enemies to lovers, college chaos, one-sided crushes, accidental friendship

note: there's no comedy.

Y/n didn’t ask to fall in love with Park Sunghoon.

He just… kind of glowed. Even under those hideous fluorescent hallway lights, he looked like he walked out of a K-drama with pink aura, flower petals falling on him and was about to change someone's life with a smirk and a backhug. It was criminal, honestly.

She always walked three steps behind him on campus — not literally, but emotionally. Her eyes trailed him like a soft background music she couldn’t turn off. Hands busy to press down the disobedient folds of her unironed clothes, running fingers through her unruly coiled brown hair, trying to pull them to a more simpler straight form, biting her chapped lips and hoping if he ever turns around he would look at her big brown eyes and not the pre pubescent acne scars all over her cheeks.

He laughs and she looks up. He fixes his sleeves and she adjusts her breath. He sneezes once in the cafeteria and she, a devout atheist, thanks God.

Every day, Sunghoon nodded at her when she passed him by the vending machine. She lived for those nods.

“Can you stop staring at him like you’re writing Wattpad chapters in your head?” a voice muttered from her left. She didn’t even flinch it was always him. Jake Sim. The resident campus know it all, emotional cactus, and king of side eyes.

He was currently glaring at her like he’d just set his thesis on fire. Meh whatever.

“I wasn’t staring,” she whispered, straightening in her seat. “I was looking through him. Big difference.”

Jake scoffed. “You were drooling.”

She clutched your notebook, cheeks warm. “That’s just how I breathe.”

He muttered something under his breath, something with the words “hopeless” and “loser” in it. Jake sat diagonally behind her in class, but he made his presence very known. Every time she tripped on a chair or dropped her pen, she could feel his judgy laser beam eyes burning through her skull.

She was pretty sure he hated her. He was the only person who borrowed books from the library before they were assigned. He always had a pen in his hand, three tucked behind his ear, and he once asked the professor to recheck a paper because he got a 97.

Jake Sim was not normal.

But even he wasn't immune.

Because every time Tora walked into the lecture hall, second year, ethereal, angel of a kind. Jake turned into static.

She noticed it the first time Tora waved at someone across the room. Jake, who had been scribbling equations like his life depended on it, dropped his pen and didn’t even pick it up for a full five seconds.

Then, he turned crimson.

Y/n was stunned. Jake Sim, the emotionally unavailable nerd with the personality of a sock... blushed...?!

One day she couldn't keep quiet anymore and asked, “Do you like her or are you just clinically allergic to good looking people?”

Jake gave her a 'are you serious?' Look at her while adjusting his glasses. “I’d rather dissect my own brain with a spoon than explain anything to you.”

Classic.

Still, he had this very specific habit of fixing his hair every time Tora entered the room, so like… okay, sir. You’re not subtle either.

The first time Jake noticed y/n, she was untangling her headphones like it was a life or death situation. It was during one of those 9 AM lectures, where half of the class still smelled like sleep and the other half faked alertness with caffeine and borrowed notes. Jake, of course, sat at his usual spot, second row from the front, near the window, precisely five feet away from the only functioning plug point in the room. He had his laptop open, his glasses fogged from the humidity outside, and a new pimple forming under his jaw. Life was great.

And then there was her.

In the back row, left side. Hair like curly alphabet noodles spilling out of a careless ponytail, wearing a too big hoodie with a fraying cuff she kept picking at. Her face was mostly hidden behind books and the hood she tried to disappear into. Most people wouldn’t notice her.

He did.

Not because he wanted to. He just kept finding her hair.

There was a strand on his desk last week. Another stuck in the Velcro of his pencil pouch. One had somehow landed on his mechanical keyboard. He had theories. Maybe she shed like a cat. Maybe the wind liked her hair more than it liked gravity. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was playing a cosmic joke on him.

He noticed, to her , Park Sunghoon was a walking sonnet. A poem in a pressed white shirt and neat handwriting.

She was, quite tragically in a coma.

Jake saw all this. The stolen glances. The quick head turns. The pathetic heart eyes she made at Sunghoon when she thought no one was watching. He wasn’t judging her. Okay — maybe a little. She just seemed so... awkward. Always tripping on her own shoes or spilling tea on her sleeves. And then sitting in silence like a background character who wasn’t sure if she had lines.

Jake didn’t dislike her. But he didn’t particularly like her either.

His attention was currently reserved for one person and one person only, Tora Choi.

Tora, the senior with the swanlike grace and poetic presence. She was always seen in floral tops, nude lipstick and blush blindness suited her. She read in the cafeteria. Voluntarily. She walked like the hallway belonged to her. Her voice had that musical lull of someone who probably spoke French at some point in her life.

Jake, who could barely remember to apply sunscreen, was hopelessly smitten. And every time Tora passed by their class, Jake transformed into a crash dummy blinking too much, straightening his hoodie, then immediately regretting straightening his hoodie. He was a wreck. A nerdy, overthinking, emotionally constipated wreck. One time, Tora had smiled in his direction. Jake had to go drink two bottles of cold water and recalibrate his breathing patterns.

So no, Jake did not have time for some hoodie-wearing backbencher who got nervous around her own shadow. And yet, there she was again, trying to open her juice box without spilling it across her notebook. He rolled his eyes so hard, he almost pulled a muscle.

Jake turned his gaze downward. He needed to stop doing this. Acting like a fool every time Tora acknowledged his existence. They’d known each other for years. She lived two houses down. They shared the same school bus in middle school. She once gave him cookies after a bad test. And yet, here he was, fully prepared to faint like a 19th century heroine at the sound of her voice.

“Alright,” Professor Lim said, finally entering the room with his usual stack of unreasonably annotated papers. “Let’s begin.”

Class moved slowly. Something about Plato and false narratives and truth within fiction. Y/N scribbled furiously, her wrist moving like a motor. Jake side eyed her again. It was like watching someone take notes for the entire student body. And it was annoying how she didn’t even blink when the professor cold called her.

“Y/n,” the senior professor drawled, pushing his glasses up. “You look like you’re writing a thesis on this. Tell me, what did Plato mean by the allegory of the cave?”

She froze. The room did not.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then stuttered out, “Um, it’s—it’s about like, uh, shadows? And reality not being real?”

Someone snorted in the back. Jake didn’t even need to turn to know it was probably the Huening twins. They always laughed the loudest at things that weren’t funny. Professor Lim smiled. Not kindly.

“How poetic. Truly. Shadows and reality and—what, dreams? Fascinating. For someone who apparently studies fourteen hours a day, I was expecting an actual answer.”

That got a laugh. A ripple across the classroom.

Jake winced.

Y/n ducked her head. Her curls framed her face, hiding the worst of the blow, but her ears were red. Crimson, actually. “Sit down,” the professor said, dismissively. “Sunghoon?”

Park Sunghoon stood up and delivered an articulate, practically textbook-perfect explanation. Of course he did. People clapped, even though no one was supposed to clap in this class. She did not lift her head.

Jake looked away, annoyed.

People like her were always weird about things. Cry in the bathroom, write poems in margins. Talk to pigeons. I bet anything she would write some cringe journal entry about this later with lines like “I bloomed like a wound in a world that hated weeds.”

God.

The period ended, and everyone began to shuffle out. Jake packed his things slowly, even as the class emptied. A part of him expected her to run, awkward girls always ran. But she didn’t. Y/n stayed glued to the chair, head ducked, fingers twitching at the hem of her sleeves. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked like a kicked dog.

A pathetic part of him wanted to feel something. Empathy maybe. Guilt. Even annoyance. But the only thing he felt was second hand embarrassment.

It made him want to walk faster just in case someone thought he might talk to her.

So he left.

Y/n looked at her shoes.

She always did. The world was easier to handle when it was reduced to soles and laces. Faces were harder. They held too many judgments, too many half-hidden sneers and raised brows. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the back staircase, the one nobody used much. It always smelled faintly of wet cement and the occasional cigarette. Here, she let her body fold against the wall, backpack slipping off her shoulder. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

It wouldn’t be the last.

But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Y/n didn’t move from the back staircase for a while. The quiet was comfortable here, the hum of distant footsteps, the faint scent of damp concrete, the occasional echo from the hallway above. She could almost convince herself the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Almost.

When she finally pushed herself up and started toward the courtyard, voices drifted to her before she saw anyone. Laughter, high and light, like sunlight through a glass of water. She turned the corner and there they were. Tora stood in the middle of a loose circle of classmates, her shoulders slightly hunched in that modest way that somehow made her seem even softer. The light caught on her hair, turning it into strands of gold, and her lips shone with a faint, warm pink gloss. The color looked effortless, as if it had been made for her, the way flowers are made for spring.

Tora laughed at something one of the boys said, tilting her head, her voice carrying like a breeze.

She slowed her steps without meaning to. For a few moments, the noise around her faded, and she let herself slip into the kind of daydream she usually kept for late at night. If she had Tora’s gloss...that exact shade of dreamy pink would it make any difference? Would people look at her differently? Would they stop seeing her as the awkward, clumsy thing that tripped over her own sentences? She pressed her lips together lightly, then touched them with the tips of her fingers, as if testing the thought.

It was silly. Lip gloss couldn’t change bone structure or erase the history of every humiliation she’d collected. But still…

The sound of Tora’s laugh broke her trance, and she turned quickly, heading in the opposite direction before anyone could notice her lingering.

Exams crept closer like a slow moving storm, and with them came the strange transformation of the library. It became the campus’ unofficial capital. Every table claimed, books, matcha drinks , colorful highlighters scattered, every chair dragged into formation, the air heavy with the scent of paper and stress. Jake spent most of his days here now, his textbooks spread out like battle plans. He wasn’t the kind of student to normally invite company, but exam season brought a shift. People came to him for notes, for summaries, for diagrams, for the condensed wisdom of someone who actually paid attention in lectures. It stroked something in him, that small spark of pride. He liked the way they leaned over his notes, the way they asked questions in hushed voices, the way they looked at him like he was the difference between passing and failing.

He didn’t like, however, that Y/n was here too.

Every day, without fail, she sat at the table directly across from him.

It wasn’t like she was copying him or trying to talk. She never even looked up. But the fact that she stayed there, head bent over her books like she had any hope of understanding them, grated at him in some small, inexplicable way.

Jake figured that if anyone in this building needed notes, it would be her. She seemed like the type of student who’d take one look at an exam paper and forget everything she’d studied. And yet, she never asked. Not once.

It was almost offensive.

Did she think she didn’t need his help? Or was she just too awkward to ask? Either way, it didn’t make her look smarter. In Jake’s mind, it made her even more clueless than he’d thought.

By late afternoon, the library began to empty. People packed up their things in waves, leaving behind a faint, dusty silence. By five o’clock, only a handful of students remained. Jake was deep in his notes when he realized it had gotten too quiet. He glanced up and immediately paused. Y/n had slumped forward, her cheek resting against the crook of her arm, the edges of her notebook pressed beneath her. Her mouth hung slightly open, a tiny smudge of drool glistening in the corner.

Jake’s lips twitched before he could stop himself. A quiet snicker slipped out.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. In sleep, the tension she carried like armor had fallen away. The curls that had been tied back this morning were now coming undone, framing her face in messy spirals. The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden light across her skin. It softened her, made her glow in a way he hadn’t noticed before. His eyes lingered on her cheeks, rounder than he’d realized, dusted faintly pink. For some absurd reason, he felt the urge to pinch them. He stopped fidgeting is pencil and caught off guard by the thought.

Before he could decide whether to act on it, she stirred. Maybe it was the weight of his stare or the faint scrape of his chair, but her eyelids fluttered open.

Her eyes met his.

Jake froze.

Up close, they weren’t the dull brown he’d lazily assumed from across the table. They were deep, warm, flecked with something lighter a kind of amber that caught the sunlight like liquid. For a split second, the air between them shifted, like someone had pulled a string taut.

Her expression flickered from confusion to alarm. She sat up abruptly, wiping at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “I—sorry,” she said, voice low, as if she’d done something wrong by existing in his line of sight.

Before Jake could think of anything to say, she was already stuffing her notes into her bag. Her movements were quick, jerky, like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

He watched her walk out, the library door swinging shut behind her.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the spot she’d left empty. Then he realized his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear now.

Y/n rarely went to the mall.

The polished floors, air-conditioned coolness, and distant hum of chatter felt oddly comforting. But malls were for people who knew what they were doing, who walked with purpose, who knew which store sold the best lip gloss or where to find the perfect shade of blush. And she was definitely not one of those people. Still, here she was, standing in front of the largest display of lip products she’d ever seen in her life. Rows upon rows of tubes glistened under the warm studio lights pinks, reds, browns, corals, sheens, mattes, shimmers. Each one looked like it had been made for someone else, someone who knew how to choose.

Her fingers hovered over a pale peach shade before she quickly withdrew them. She didn’t even know what “undertones” meant. It wasn’t like she hated makeup, or was too lazy to try, she just…. never had anyone to guide her. Tutorials online always felt like they were in another language.

She was so caught up in the silent war between her curiosity and insecurity that she didn’t notice the tall figure walking toward her until she bumped into him.

“Oh— sorry—” she mumbled, stepping back.

“Y/n?”

Her head snapped up. Park Sunghoon stood there, holding a small gift bag. His sharp features softened into a polite smile, and just like that, her brain promptly stopped working. “S–Sunghoon… hi,” she stammered, her voice a pitch too high.

Before she could recover, another voice cut in. “Oh, it’s you.”

Jang Wonyoung appeared from behind him, glossy hair cascading over her shoulders like she’d stepped straight out of a commercial. She wasn’t smiling exactly, her lips were curved, but it was the kind of sweetness that stung.

“What’s a nerd like you doing here?” Wonyoung’s tone was light, teasing, but the edge was sharp enough to draw blood. “Finally thinking about a glow-up?”

Y/n felt her face burn. She gave a small, awkward laugh, trying to shrink into herself. But then… an idea.

Maybe this was her chance “Um… actually, I was looking for a lip gloss,” she admitted, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Do you think… you could help me pick one?”

Wonyoung blinked, clearly not expecting her to ask. Her gaze slid briefly to Sunghoon, who was distracted, scanning a rack of accessories nearby. With a faint shrug, she pointed lazily toward a tube on the far end of the shelf , a bright, almost blinding shade of fuchsia.

“This one,” she said absently, already turning away.

Y/n didn’t know much about makeup, but she knew that shade probably wasn’t for her. Still, the idea that Wonyoung, tall, radiant, effortlessly beautiful Wonyoung had chosen it made her chest swell with something close to pride. “I’ll take it,” she murmured, clutching the tube like it was a secret key to some prettier, better version of herself.

Sunghoon turned back then, a small box now in his hand. “Birthday gift for my sister,” he explained casually to Y/n, his voice warm. It made her throat tighten.

“that’s so nice,” she replied, and she meant it. But Wonyoung was already stepping forward, looping her arm through his. “We should get going,” she announced, her tone lighter now. “Don’t want to be late.”

Late for what? Y/n wondered. A date? The thought made her stomach twist, even though she knew Sunghoon was probably just being polite. Before she could say anything else, Wonyoung gave her one last honeyed smile the kind that didn’t reach her eyes and steered Sunghoon away.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space they’d left behind. Then, with the kind of fragile happiness that blooms from the smallest scraps, she walked to the counter and bought the gloss Wonyoung had chosen.

She imagined herself wearing it tomorrow, maybe catching Sunghoon’s attention in the hallway. Maybe he’d notice. Maybe he’d smile. Clutching the tiny shopping bag like it held something far more precious than a tube of lip gloss, she made her way home, her heart just a little lighter than when she’d left.

Jake lay sprawled across his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, the other holding his phone loosely. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the AC, but his mind wouldn’t shut up.

It was her again. Stupid curls, boring acne scared chubby cheeks. Dumb Y/n.

Those big brown eyes of hers, wide, unguarded, that seemed to hold onto everything and nothing at once had been stuck in his head ever since that afternoon in the library. And it wasn’t the first time she was terrorising his consciousness.

He remembered the first time he’d noticed her, though he would never admit it to anyone. It was months ago, when he’d opened his physics textbook and found a few stray strands of curly hair tangled between the pages. She had been sitting at the desk before him that day, and somehow, that tiny trace of her had followed him home. He’d tossed the hair away, but the image stuck.

Then there were the stupid games his classmates played. Heeseung and Jay once teased each other over a lost bet, saying the punishment would be kissing Y/n. The way they laughed, loud, careless had made something in Jake twist uncomfortably, though he’d masked it with a smirk. He never knew why he was always there when she was getting clowned on. Always in the background, watching like a default backgroundcharacter. Like the universe was making sure he saw it every time.

Y/n was… ridiculous. Clumsy, socially awkward, stuck in her head more than the real world. Stupid. Dumb. Weird. He told himself that a lot, like a shield. Because why would she have a crush on someone like Park Sunghoon?

Jake knew for a fact Sunghoon didn’t care about her. The guy barely looked at her in the hallways. And yet, every time Jake caught Y/n gazing at Sunghoon with that soft, almost stupid smile that said she was somewhere far away in her head, something hot and ugly flared in his chest. It made him want to shake her and yell, No one cares. He doesn’t care. Stop looking at him like that.

But that would mean admitting he cared.

And somewhere, deep under all the annoyance, he understood her. Because Jake was a nobody too. He only admitted it when he was alone, but it was the truth. He wasn’t the guy girls like Tora noticed. She was too far out of his reach, and he knew it. That’s why he’d always turn around before entering the same room as her, easier to avoid the humiliation than face it.

So maybe that’s why Y/n bothered him so much. There was something reckless in the way she still dared to dream about someone like Sunghoon. Something he couldn’t do. And every time he saw her try even silently, even just with her eyes — it reminded him of how much of a coward he was.

His fragile ego hated that. So he did what he was best at, he cursed her in his head, turned her into a joke. It made him feel like he was the one in control.

Except now, lying in the dim glow of his bedroom, he wasn’t so sure he had control over anything.

Because why the hell was he thinking about her again? Why was it her face replaying in his mind and not Tora’s?

A thought crept in, uninvited, unsteady. Do I… like her?

Jake sat up abruptly, as if that would make the thought fall out of his head. He grabbed the AC remote and dropped the temperature from twenty four to sixteen, the cold air hitting him sharp and fast. Still, his skin felt warm. Too warm. He reached for his phone, fingers tapping before he could think about it

' can you like 2 girls at once '

The search results were instant, a flood of half baked answers and random forum threads. Some were serious long paragraphs about “emotional compatibility” and “differentiating infatuation from genuine affection.” Others were… not.

One comment caught his eye

' kiss one of them and find out lol, good luck bro '

He scoffed under his breath but for some reason, the words didn’t leave his head. Instead, his mind supplied an image he hadn’t asked for: leaning in toward Y/n, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough to—

Jake froze.

It was like his brain had defaulted to her, skipping past Tora entirely. The image was so clear, so vivid, that his chest tightened and heat crept up the back of his neck.

What the hell?

His body felt suddenly restless, energy sparking through his limbs. He shoved his face into his pillow and let out a muffled, frustrated groan. The cold air from the AC blasted over him, but it didn’t matter. His skin still burned. He pulled the pillow away, staring up at the ceiling like it might give him an answer.

“What the fuck am I doing?”

The next morning, Y/n walked into campus with a thin layer of glossy pink shimmering on her lips. At least, it was supposed to be pink on her, it looked a little off. Too pale, almost like she’d just eaten something greasy and forgot to wipe her mouth. A couple of girls near the gates noticed instantly. They leaned toward each other, trying to stifle their laughter, their voices pitched low but not low enough.

“Is she serious?”

“It’s… not her shade.”

“Poor thing.”

They weren’t being cruel exactly, if anything, their tone carried a hint of pity but Y/n still felt the sting. She walked past them with her usual downward gaze, eyes fixed on the ground, hands gripping the strap of her bag.

Still, she kept the gloss on.

She even timed her route to pass the bench where Sunghoon usually sat before first lecture. Sure enough, there he was, leaning back casually, scrolling through his phone. Her heart rate picked up, her fingers twitching at her sides. She tilted her chin just enough for the light to catch on her lips, waiting for him to glance up.

He didn’t.

Not even a flicker of his gaze in her direction.

Her chest tightened. She kept walking.

It wasn’t until she reached the corridor that someone else’s attention caught her off guard.

Jake.

He was leaning against the wall near the library entrance, arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward her as she passed. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it but no, he was looking right at her mouth. Her lips to be exact...

That looks so ugly, Jake grimaced, the words sharp in his head.

But even as he told himself that, his eyes lingered longer than they should. He didn’t know why. Something about it — about her looked different. Wrong shade or not, it was still a change. And not in a bad way.

By the time Y/n sat down in the library later that day, she’d mostly forgotten about him noticing. It was the same as every other afternoon she took the seat across from Jake, opened her books, and they didn’t speak. They never spoke. Until he cleared his throat.

She looked up, startled, her brows knitting slightly. “That shade looks hideous on you,” Jake said flatly, not bothering to soften the words.

There was no flicker of offense in her face. No glare, no muttered insult in return. Instead, Y/n’s eyes softened into something almost apologetic, big, round, and too trusting. Without saying a word, she dug into her bag, pulled out a tissue, and began wiping the gloss off.

Jake blinked in disbelief.

“You’re just… gonna take it off?” he asked, almost incredulous. She gave a small sheepish shrug. “I knew it didn’t look good. I just… wanted Sunghoon to notice.”

Her voice was quiet, matter of fact. Not even embarrassed, just… honest. Jake leaned back in his chair, staring at her for a moment. Was she actually this dense? Or just that straightforward? Either way, it made his chest feel weird. He exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “I know someone who can help you. With makeup, I mean.”

Y/n’s head lifted instantly. “Really?”

The change in her was almost blinding, her whole expression lit up, like someone had just turned on a light inside her. Jake felt something in his chest jolt. His palms were suddenly warm.

“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing his gaze back to his notebook. “My high school friend, Sunoo. He’s doing a makeup course now.”

He scribbled a number on a sticky note and slid it across the table. She took it delicately, as if it were something valuable. “Thank you,” she said, her voice so genuinely grateful it made his ears burn. “You’re… so kind and helpful.” Before he could respond, she reached into her bag again and placed something small on his desk, a strawberry lollipop, still wrapped in shiny pink plastic.

“For you,” she said simply, before saving Sunoo’s number in her phone.

Jake stared at the candy for a second too long. It wasn’t anything special. But the fact that it came from her the fact that she’d felt the need to give him something in return made warmth creep up his neck. The rest of the study session passed without another word between them, but when Jake left the library, the lollipop was in his pocket. He didn’t even like strawberry flavor, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

Walking home, he realized he was smiling. It curled slowly at the corners of his mouth and stayed there, refusing to fade.

She had called him kind. She had thanked him.

And for some stupid reason, that meant more to him than it should have.

It was a breezy Saturday afternoon when Y/n finally met Sunoo in person. They’d exchanged a few texts since Jake gave her his number, but now, standing in the bustling makeup aisle of sephora, she realized how different he was from anyone she’d ever met. Sunoo radiated energy that could light up a dead room in seconds. His hands moved almost as fast as his mouth, pointing at palettes, testing swatches on the back of his hand, tapping his chin dramatically when something didn’t meet his standards.

Y/n, in contrast, followed him quietly, clutching a small basket. Every now and then, he’d glance over and beam at her as if they’d known each other for years.

“You,” Sunoo said, holding up a lip tint like it was a rare jewel, “need this. Perfect undertone, won’t wash you out, and—” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “—it’ll make you look expensive.”

She blinked. “Expensive?”

“Like you drink overpriced coffee and ghost people after two dates,” he teased.

Y/n stifled a laugh. “I… don’t think I could pull that off.”

“Yes, you can. Leave it to me.”

Over the next hour, Sunoo guided her through every essential, the right foundation shade, a soft blush that wouldn’t make her look sunburnt, mascara that lengthened but didn’t clump, and, most importantly, glosses that didn’t resemble cooking oil. He didn’t oversell. He didn’t overwhelm. It was just the right products, the right shades, in the right amounts.

When they finally stepped out of the store, Y/n’s bag was neatly packed with her small but perfect starter kit.

“I’ll make a demo video for you,” Sunoo said as they strolled down the sidewalk. “My classes are insane right now no break except weekends but I’ll send it online. And if you’re lost or stuck, video call me anytime. Even if I’m in the middle of dinner.” Her chest warmed. “Thank you… seriously, thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a playful smirk. “Wait until people start staring at you in the cafeteria.”

They ducked into a cozy café afterward, settling into a booth by the window. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso, and Sunoo wasted no time launching into his stories. He told her about college, the good professors, the terrible ones, the one classmate who ate pickles during lectures. Then he spiraled into his high school years, his brief but dramatic dating history, and somewhere between a rant about cafeteria food and a tangent about a professor’s bad haircut, a familiar name slipped into the conversation.

Jake.

Y/n perked up instantly. “You know Jake from high school?” “Know him? We were in the same class for three years,” Sunoo said, stirring his iced latte lazily. “Jake was always… well, Jake. Smart, yes. But unnecessarily cold and introverted. Like he thought speaking to people would take years off his life.”

She tried to picture him that way. Cold, yes. Introverted, yes. But smart? Somehow, that made sense.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Sunoo grinned wickedly.

Y/n giggled, and Sunoo, seeing her reaction, leaned back in his seat like he’d accomplished something. “But to be fair, he’s always been the kind of person who helps quietly. Never flashy, never asking for anything in return.”

She tilted her head, curious.

“There was this time in high school,” Sunoo went on, his tone softening, “when I used to get bullied by some senior boys. You know, for being ‘too feminine’ for a guy. Jake… he didn’t say much, but he always showed up. Sat next to me, walked me to class, made sure they backed off. He’s probably the reason I didn’t lose my mind that year.” The words sat heavy in Y/n’s mind. Her fingers curled around her cup as she remembered the library, Jake sliding Sunoo’s number toward her.

Jake was… actually cute. Not in the obvious, polished way Sunghoon was of course...

Sunoo, however, wasn’t done. “Has Jake ever said anything that hurt your feelings?” he asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow.

Her lips twitched into a pout before she could stop herself. “He… probably hates me. The way he looks at me sometimes—” She scrunched her nose, mimicking his signature disgusted expression. “It’s like I’m a bug on his desk.” Sunoo threw his head back and laughed. “Oh no, that’s not hate.”

“It’s not?”

“That’s his coping mechanism.”

She blinked. “…Coping for what?”

“For existing near people without combusting, obviously,” Sunoo smirked.

Y/n tilted her head, unconvinced. Sunoo leaned forward across the table, his eyes glinting like he was about to share a state secret. “Next time he says or does something annoying…” He paused for dramatic effect.

“…look him dead in the eye and say...........”

Her eyes went wide before a burst of laughter escaped her, so sudden she had to cover her mouth. Sunoo grinned triumphantly. “Oh, I like that laugh. Keep it. Use it on him, too — it’ll drive him insane.”

She wiped at the corner of her eyes, still chuckling. “You’re evil.”

“I’m effective,” he corrected with a wink.

The next week, Y/n followed Sunoo’s advice down to the smallest detail.

No glitter, no mismatched tones, just a light sweep of blush, a touch of mascara, and soft nude pink gloss that caught light in a way that looked effortless. It was the first time in a long while she walked into the building without feeling the need to check her reflection twice. Most people didn’t seem to notice. Her classmates breezed past her as usual, heads down, mid conversation about weekend plans or exam dates.

But Jake noticed.

He noticed from the second she stepped into the lecture hall. His eyes followed the curve of her cheek when she turned her head, the subtle shine on her lips, the faint curl in her hair.

And he hated himself for noticing.

Because then he noticed something else, the way her eyes, big and almost shy, sought out one person in particular.

Sunghoon.

Jake had seen that look before. Soft. Hopeful. Like she was waiting for something she never got. And when Sunghoon didn’t even bother to look her way, Jake’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. By the time the class ended, his frustration had reached a low, simmering boil. He wasn’t even sure if it was aimed at her for looking at Sunghoon like that… or at Sunghoon for not looking back. He left the lecture hall without waiting for anyone, cutting through the east wing toward his next class, Modern Literature. The one he shared with Tora.

His mind was a mess.

He didn’t know what he felt anymore.

Maybe this was it. Maybe he needed to talk to Tora, clear the air, tell her exactly how he felt so he could stop spiraling like this. Stop whatever this was with Y/n. When he pushed open the classroom door, it looked empty at first. He stepped inside, adjusting the strap of his bag and froze.

Tora wasn’t alone.

She was against the far wall, kissing a guy Jake vaguely recognized from class...Jay? His arm was braced above her head, her hand resting lightly on his chest like they’d done this before. The sound in Jake’s head went sharp and white, like static. He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there long enough for his stomach to twist into something unrecognizable before turning on his heel. His breath was uneven as he slipped out into the hallway, shutting the door as quietly as if he’d never been there. He didn’t want them to know. Didn’t want her to know.

He walked without thinking until his feet carried him to the one place on campus where no one usually went the back staircase.

Except someone was already there.

Y/n stood leaning against the far wall, her bag still slung over her shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the strap. Her posture was awkward, like she hadn’t decided whether she wanted to leave or stay. Jake stopped halfway down the steps. “…Seriously?”

She looked up.

“This is my spot,” he said flatly, moving down the last few steps. “I’ve been coming here for years.”

She huffed. “Your spot? Pretty sure the building belongs to the university, not Jake Sim.”

“Well, you’re in it,” he shot back.

She crossed her arms. “So what, I should just leave because you said so?”

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

They stared at each other, the silence thickening in the narrow stairwell. He could see it now, her eyes slightly puffy like she’d been holding back something all day, the way her mouth pressed into a thin line. “What happened to you?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Her gaze flickered away. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. Not with the way her voice dipped at the end.

Truth was, she tried her best to get Sunghoon’s attention today, same as always. But instead of meeting her halfway, he hadn’t spared her a glance. And to make things worse, Wonyoung had said something cutting loud enough for a few people to hear, sharp enough to make them laugh. Sunghoon had been there. He had laughed too. Not cruelly, maybe, but enough to sting.

She came here to shake it off. To hide where no one could see her face and apparently, Jake didn’t count as “no one.”

“Look,” she muttered, “I’m not moving. You’re not moving. Let’s just… not talk.”

Fine.

Jake didn’t feel like talking either.

They both sank into their usual defensive positions. Her leaning against the wall, him dropping onto the last step, elbows braced on his knees. For a while, it stayed quiet. Just the distant echo of voices from the hall, the hum of pipes in the wall.

But Jake’s gaze wandered despite himself.

He noticed the way her curls framed her face today, soft and light. The faint sheen on her nose when the sunlight caught it. The way her lashes, longer than he’d realized, brushed her cheek when she blinked. And her lips —

He looked away fast, swallowing. It hit him all at once, the hollow in his chest wasn’t from Tora kissing someone else. That hadn’t hurt the way he’d expected it to. What hurt was this. Sitting here, looking at Y/n, and feeling something twist tight in his gut without knowing what the hell to call it. And maybe that’s why the words slipped out, sharper than he meant.

“Stop creeping out Sunghoon like you want to kiss him every time he looks at you. Maybe that’s when he’ll finally notice you.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She let out a long, slow sigh that carried exhaustion more than anger. “It’s none of your business who I kiss or not.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Who would kiss you anyway?”

The jab landed and she turned at him properly “I dare you to kiss me,” she said, voice steady. “And keep it in your pants… hah! Get off, loser” tone carrying out exactly how Sunoo taught her.

Jake was star struck.

Her tone wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t shy. It was daring that prickled under his skin, made his pulse trip. His eyes flicked to her lips again, unbidden. She was still looking at him like she knew exactly what she’d just done — and maybe she did. Neither of them moved closer, but the air felt heavier now, charged.

His throat was dry, and his chest felt too tight, and for once, he didn’t have a quick retort. Somewhere above them, footsteps echoed in the stairwell. The spell broke.

She looked away first, brushing a curl behind her ear like nothing had happened. “Thought so.” Jake forced a scoff, though it came out weaker than he wanted. “You wish.” But when he left the staircase a few minutes later, his ears were burning. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure who had actually won.

Over the next two weeks, it became a pattern. He bumped into her in any way possible. It was almost like someone set a love trap for them in every corner of the university.

Vending machine. Library staircase. The cramped little photocopying room. He’d turn a corner and she’d be there, half-flinching like she’d been caught somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. It was never intentional.

At first, Jake chalked it up to campus being small.

Then… he started wondering if it was something else. By the time exams were over, Jake had a strange, simmering awareness of her. He told himself it was just because she was everywhere, like an inconvenient shadow. But there were moments, fleeting, uninvited where he caught himself watching the way she brushed curls out of her face, or how she always chewed her lip before answering a professor’s question.

He liked it.

He liked the feeling of noticing her, the way it made something unfamiliar twist inside him. It was addictive almost.

Yeonjun’s parties were legendary. Not as wild in the way movies liked to exaggerate though there was always a flood of alcohol and at least one person crying in the bathroom and everyone wanted to be there. He was rich, charming, and the type of host who remembered your drink preference even if you’d only mentioned it once in passing.

So when his “End of Semester Blowout” invite dropped into the group chats, the campus might as well have been issued a mandatory attendance order. Jake didn’t care much for big gatherings, but Heeseung convinced him.

“You need to loosen up,” he said. “Besides, everyone’s gonna be there. You don’t want people thinking you’re hiding.” That last part was bait, and Jake knew it but he went anyway. The house was glowing when they arrived. Lights looped across the fence and up the porch railing, music thumped low from somewhere inside, and the smell of something sugary and alcoholic hit Jake as soon as they stepped through the door.

There were clusters of people on couches, leaning against kitchen counters, spilling onto the backyard deck.

Laughter and music blended into a dizzying haze.

Jake spotted her almost immediately.

Y/n was standing near the living room’s edge, a drink in hand, talking to a girl from their department.

She looked… different.

Her usual boring hoodie was replaced with something softer, still pastel, but the fabric caught the light in a way that made her seem almost luminous. Glossed lips, loose curls falling over her shoulder and yet, she still stood with her weight shifted back, as though ready to retreat at the first sign of trouble. He told himself he was just observing.

Noticing, because noticing was unavoidable in a place this crowded.

And yet, every time he moved through the room, his gaze found her again.

The spin the bottle game started in the den. It was Nicholas’s idea, which meant it was guaranteed to be just cruel enough to keep people entertained. Jake didn’t sit down to play. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the circle form on the rug. Bottles were always dangerous things in rooms full of bored college students.

It started harmlessly.

Two people kissed, everyone whooped, someone took a shot.

Then the bottle spun and landed on Y/n and Sunghoon. Her name rippled through the group like a lit fuse.

Someone giggled.

“Lucky draw, Sunghoon!” another voice teased.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. Sunghoon’s brows shot up. “What?” “She’s a virgin, right?” someone else chimed in. “Careful, man.”

The laughter that followed was sharp edged, the kind that made Jake’s stomach knot. Y/n’s cheeks were already pink, but she smiled, that tiny, brittle smile she wore when she wanted to pretend words didn’t sting.

Sunghoon didn’t lean in.

He shook his head, still smiling like it was a joke, and said, “Nah. I’ll pass.”

The room erupted laughter, mock groans, a couple of “Oooooh, burn!”s.

Jake didn’t join in. Neither did Y/n. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It should’ve ended there.

But Nicholas, grinning like a cat who’d cornered something small and trembling, said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t she kiss Jake? Both losers. Perfect match, right?” The laughter this time was louder. A chorus of ooohs and do it, do it! filled the room.

Jake’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t just the whole setting.It was the way they said it, the glee in watching someone flinch.

Y/n didn’t even try to laugh it off this time. Her throat bobbed, and her eyes darted to the floor.Then she stood too quickly and slipped through the crowd.

Jake pushed off the wall before he’d even decided what he was doing.The air outside was cooler, but she wasn’t slowing down. He followed the sound of her footsteps down the street until she stopped under a flickering streetlamp.

“Y/n,” he called.

She didn’t turn.

Only when he caught up and gently grabbed her wrist did she look at him. Her head jerked back toward him, eyes wide, but not startled.

More… tired.

Tiredness from carrying the weight of other people’s words for too long.

“Y/n—”

“Let go.”

Her voice wasn’t sharp, just flat.

Jake didn’t.

Instead, he stepped around her so she had to stop. The streetlamp above them flickered once, buzzing faintly, casting light and shadow across her face in unsteady intervals. He didn’t have a speech prepared. Didn’t know why his chest felt too tight, or why the thought of her walking away made him feel like he was missing something crucial.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, and the words felt strange in his mouth. Her brows pulled together, just slightly, before she forced a small, practiced smile.

“Why are you saying sorry?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Because what was he supposed to say?

Sorry that people are assholes? Sorry I didn’t stop them sooner? Sorry I didn’t punch Nicholas in the throat? Sorry that I… noticed you tonight more than I’ve noticed anyone else?

Instead, he just stood there. And in the space between them, he noticed the tremor in her hand where his fingers still rested. She was shaking, he felt it when he shifted his grip, thumb brushing her knuckles.

“Hey,” he said quietly, tugging her closer. Not enough to close all the distance, but enough that she had to tilt her head up to look at him.

Her eyes were glassy in the half-light.

And for a moment, he thought she was going to laugh on herself, that deflective humor she always used when things got too real.

Instead, she whispered, “Do you think I’m… that ugly?” It hit him like a sucker punch.

He blinked, certain he’d misheard. But she was still looking at him, searching his face like she expected him to confirm it “listen I—”

“I know I look ugly, okay?” she cut in, voice starting to wobble.

“I know I’m a loser, and no amount of makeup can fix me, but....I wanna be loved too.”

She didn’t say it with drama.

She breathed out the word that had been stuck in her throat as a lump for so long, her voice worn thin at the edges. And Jake who had always had something to say, some sharp remark or savage comment couldn’t find anything. Nothing that wouldn’t sound pathetic or wrong.

“Y/n, stop… please.” His voice cracked halfway through, and he hated that she might’ve heard it.

She took a shaky step back, pulling against his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Go away, Jake. You were right, I was infact creeping him out...for someone who knows how to embarrass myself in every moment I don’t deserve Sunghoon, I don't deserve you. I’m not stupid — I know you don’t like me, so you don’t have to pity me—”

Her words died when he closed the space between them in one step. He pulled her in gently, movements slow, deliberate, that gave her every chance to push him away. One hand slid to her hip, fingers curling loosely against the fabric there. The other still held her wrist, and now, with careful pressure, he guided it upward until her palm rested flat against his chest. She felt it immediately

the heat under his shirt, the quick, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat.

Her breathing stuttered.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she could’ve pulled away. But her fingers stayed splayed against him, feeling the thud of his pulse. Jake’s eyes were locked on hers. Not scanning, not drifting, just there, unwavering, like he had finally decided to stop looking anywhere else. When he leaned in, it wasn’t to kiss her.

Not yet.

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she felt the faint brush of his breath against her lips. His voice was low, almost a restraint whisper.

“Don’t dare me to kiss you so hard ” he murmured, “that you fall on your knees right here.”

What the fuck.

Her mind was a blur, throat painfully dry, chest tight, and pulse pounded so loudly in ears it nearly drowned out the silence around them. The street was still, the flickering lamplight catching on the faint glimmer of her teary eyes. She absolutely swore that throwing herself into Jake’s arms and kissing him until the world stopped spinning was the only solution that made sense right now. The air between them was loaded, fragile. No words, just the sound of their breathing, soft, uneven, a little hesitant. Somewhere between that and the erratic rhythm of their hearts, something unspoken was pulling them closer.

Jake could feel it too. The weight of her hand still pressed against his chest, the warmth of her body just inches from his. His brain was screaming at him to move, to say something, to do anything, but his mouth was frozen. The only thought looping through his head was ' I’m done for. '

But he didn’t regret a single word he had said. Not one. If anything, he wished he’d said more. Her shoulders, which had been trembling moments before, softened under his hold. The tension slowly bled out of her body, and before Jake could register what was happening, she tilted her chin up ever so slightly.

Her lips brushed his in a fleeting, tentative touch, a peck. It lasted less than a second.

But to Jake, it might as well have been an eternity. His stomach twisted, a strange cocktail of adrenaline and warmth shooting through him so violently he swore he heard fireworks in the distance. His knees felt weak, almost gelatinous, and his chest… God, his chest was a mess of chaotic thumping that felt both unbearable and addicting. She pulled back instantly, her face flaming red. “I—sorry, Jake, I—” She stammered over the words, her voice shaking. “You’re—I couldn’t stop myself—”

Her eyes darted downward, avoiding his entirely as she stared at the tips of her shoes, biting her lip like she was about to spiral into a full blown panic. The night air nipped at her cheeks, but she was too flustered to notice.

thump

Her head shot up.

Jake was no longer standing in front of her instead he was on the ground, sprawled out on the cold pavement, the faintest dazed look on his face as if the kiss had knocked the last coherent thought straight out of his skull. “Jake?!” Her voice pitched higher, panic flooding her veins. She dropped to her knees beside him, gripping his shoulder.

He blinked once. Twice. Then a slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “fucking finally,” he mumbled, almost dreamily, before letting his head fall back again.

Y/n’s jaw dropped, her heart doing flips she didn’t know were possible.

Her nemesis, apparently, had just passed out from a kiss.

“Oh my GOD. OH. MY. GOD. Did you kill him? ”

The moment she answered, her eardrums were assaulted by Sunoo’s high pitched voice and she held the phone an inch away from her ear.

"About that....well..." she blushed, a small giggle escaping her lips.

“You KISSED him and the man collapsed like a Victorian widow! This is literally better than any drama I’ve watched!” Y/n groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “It wasn’t—stop making it sound like—ugh—it was just a peck!”

“That’s the point!” Sunoo howled through the line. “A peck did that to him! What’s he gonna do when you—” He cut himself off, letting out a scandalized gasp. “No, actually, don’t tell me. I’m pure.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “You’re the farthest thing from pure.”

“True,” Sunoo admitted without shame. “But please, you have to tell me if he passes out again. I’ll start bringing smelling salts to campus.” She hung up before he could escalate further, tossing her phone onto the bed while letting out a scream mixed somewhere between highschool girls finally kissing their crashes and a breakdown.

Somehow, despite the chaos of that night, she and Jake slipped back into their usual dynamic.

If you could call it “usual” anymore. The insults were still there. He still called her a loser every other day, and she still found new, creative ways to tell him he looked like a dog when he stared at her pretending to look at the white board. But there was something different in the way their banter lingered now like their words were a thin veil over something neither of them wanted to name just yet. Sometimes she’d catch him staring at her from across the cafeteria. Not the hostile, “I’m trying to figure out if I hate you” staring from before, this was softer, distracted, like he’d forgotten anyone else existed.

And sometimes, when they were alone between classes, their arguments didn’t end with just throwing insults. They ended with him backing her into the wall, his mouth on hers, five whole minutes of kissing like the world was going to end before the next lecture.

“You’re still annoying,” Jake mumbled between kisses, his hand sliding to the back of her neck.

“You’re still a loser,” she shot back, breathless, not moving away.

“Yeah?” he smirked, brushing his lips against hers again. “Guess we’re perfect for each other then.”

It was ridiculous. It was stupid. And yet… they didn’t hate it.

Sunghoon and Tora were… well, they were still there, somewhere on campus. But to Y/N and Jake, they had become distant memories. They were still losers, by most social standards. Jake still made enemies with professors for making them check his answer sheets 5 times. Y/n still found new ways to trip over her own shoelaces in public. But being losers together somehow made college feel less like a battlefield.

Sometimes they wondered when exactly things had shifted between them. Was it that night on the street? The moment his forehead pressed to hers? Or maybe even before that when they were still pretending to dont know each other but kept finding themselves in the same places anyway. None of them didn’t seem too interested in figuring it out either. He just kept showing up sometimes with coffee, sometimes with sarcastic remarks, sometimes with both.

One morning, as they walked to class together, she bumped his shoulder.

“You know, if anyone saw us, they might think we actually like each other.”

He smirked. “Let’s not ruin my reputation like that.”

She snorted. “Your reputation’s already trash.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at her with that infuriating softness in his eyes. “But it’s our trash.”

And for the first time since she’d set foot on campus, Y/N realized she wasn’t counting the days until the semester ended.

College was still exhausting. People still made snide comments sometimes. But now, she had someone to sit with during boring lectures, someone to sneak off with for five stolen minutes, someone to laugh with when they both inevitably embarrassed themselves in front of the entire class.

They weren’t perfect. Far from it. But they were in this together.

Two losers, making it work.

THE END

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader teaches her dear friend how to treat a woman right. Or in which reader teaches ni-ki how to give head” 

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x ni-ki, friends to lovers, usage of riki and ni-ki, oral sex (f. rec), masturbation (f), reader is in charge, fingering, spitting, face riding, needy! ni-ki, pussy drunk! ni-ki (he’s a mess) grinding, coming undone, slight voye.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked !! likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

Summer trip was always fun with your friend group. But this year was one of your favourites, there was nothing like spending the day on a tanning bed beneath the burning sun, chewing on fresh watermelon after a dive in the beautiful clear waters of the ocean, surrounded by your favorite people in the whole world. 

The hotel pool glowed under the summer night, wrapped in string lights and the kind of drunken laughter that only came when everyone forgot about the world outside vacation. Music pulled from a speaker, bass steady. The air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine and you were tasting something fruity on your tongue from the drink you just finished. 

You had just slid back into the water, the chill clinging to your skin as you moved through the shallow end. Your bikini hugged your body, still damp from earlier, and your hair stuck to your shoulders in soft waves. Most of your friends where on the deck now, draped across pool chairs or sprawled on towels, passing a bottle of tequila back and forth and yelling about nonsense. 

Ni-ki was the only one still on the water. 

He floated on his back with his eyes closed, legs lazily moving to keep him afloat, looking so relaxed like he didn’t have a single care in the world. So him. 

You swam closer, water swirling around your waist, and nudged his side with your hand. 

“You’ll drown” 

“Let me.” He murmured, not even opening his eyes “Feels like a good way to go.” 

A small laugh left your lips. 

“Dramatic.” 

Ni-ki opened one eye then, just enough to flash you a lazy smile 

“Says the girl who almost cried when we splashed on her drink.” 

“That was an expensive drink.” 

“You’re expensive” He shot back, quickly. 

That caught you off guard, and you blinked. 

It wasn’t even that serious, just Ni-ki being Ni-ki. But still, it stuck. Hit something strange and sudden in your chest. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the way his gaze lingered a bit too long before flicking away. You’d always thought he was cute. Objectively, anyways. It wasn’t like you were blind, Ni-ki was tall and lean and had that perfect face that made even simple hoodies and cotton sweatpants look good. He was your friend, sure, you’d known him for years now. The same friend that threw up on your lap in Sunghoon’s backseat last summer, the same friend that stole your notes because he never did his homework on time. But that never stopped the thoughts that stuck in your head sometimes, thoughts you never let stay. 

But for some reason, tonight felt different. 

He ducked under the water suddenly, disappearing from your view. You barely had time to react before strong hands grabbed your waist from behind and lifted you with a splash, so easily. 

You shrieked, laughing, trying to escape. 

“Ni-ki!” 

He just laughed, breathless and smug as you turned and splashed him back, right in the face. You were both soaked now, your bikini clinging tighter to your tanned skin, water streaming down your neck. 

Ni-ki was still close, enough to feel the warmth radiating off him even in the cool water. His hands already dropped from your waist, but you could still feel them. 

You felt your breathing shake as your eyes met his. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name. Like heavy and charged. 

Then he blinked, swam backwards, and said casually. 

“Alright. I’m bored.” 

You barely had time to ignore the feeling before Heeseung called out from his chair, arms spread like he was announcing something big. 

“Let’s play a game.” He said “Truth or dare.” 

Jake made a face. 

“We always do that. I’ve lost the count on the amount of times I’ve licked Sunghoon’s neck” 

Your friends laughed at him, and you chuckled under your breath. 

“Never have I ever then. Loser has to buy all our drinks tomorrow.” 

Groans followed, but no one said no. You all gathered near the edge, some wrapped in towels and half-drunk already. 

You ended up sitting next to Ni-ki, still damp, still trying to ignore the echo of his hands on your waist. 

The game started innocent as always. 

“Never have I ever lied to a date.” 

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm”

“Never have I ever cheated” 

The group slowly loosened between sips, laughter and more laughter, getting louder and messier by the second. 

“Okay, I have one.” Heeseung then leaned in, grinning. “Never have I ever gone down on someone” 

A few hands went up, including yours. 

You didn’t look around, didn’t think much of it, but then you noticed that Ni-ki didn’t move. 

He just sat there, calm, fingers tapping slowly on the ground. Then you turned your head. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

He looked at you, then shrugged. 

“Yeah.” 

Heeseung just stared. 

“Wait wait wait - you’ve never gone down on a girl?” 

Ni-ki shook his head. 

“Nope.” 

Sunoo gasped, hand flying to his chest 

“What? Riki, oh my god!” 

Heeseung was already laughing 

“Bro. That’s practically illegal.”

Jake leaned in like he was interrogating him. 

“You scared of it or something?” 

Ni-ki scoffed and pushed him. 

“Shut up.” 

Sunghoon smirked

“So, what’s the reason?” 

Ni-ki leaned back on his elbows, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look embarrassed, but he didn’t look thrilled by their teasing either. You didn’t expect it, to be honest, Ni-ki wasn’t exactly a playboy, but he wasn’t a saint either, you’d seen him a thousand times shoving down his tongue in random girls throats at parties. 

“I just haven’t found the right person yet.” 

That only made the boys laugh louder. Heeseung clutched his chest and someone said something about how he was a “certified mouth virgin”. 

You watched Ni-ki stay still through it all, quiet. 

Something in your chest pulled tight, and you sat up a little straighter. 

“Okay, enough.” You said, cutting through the noise “What are we? Twelve?” 

The group quieted a little, eyes turning to you. 

“He’s just waiting for the right person, that’s not a bad thing.”  You glanced at Ni-ki, met his eyes again. He looked back at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or grab your hand. “It’s not that deep. Honestly, most guys think they know how to do it, just doing it doesn’t mean you’re good at it.” 

Ni-ki still hadn’t looked away from you. 

But as the group moved on, laughing at the next prompt, the air between you didn’t shift back. It felt heavier.

The hotel was quiet now, after the chaos of earlier. You could still hear faint laughter from somewhere down the hall, someone’s speaker muffled behind the closed doors, but for the most part, you started to settle. 

Your skin smelled like sunscreen and coconut from your body spray as you stood at the sink in your oversized tee and underwear, hair half-damp and twisted into a towel, the bathroom mirror foggy from your shower. Your limbs ached in a satisfying way that only summer could bring. 

You were just about to crawl into bed when the knock came. 

One, two, three soft raps, hesitant. 

You froze for a second, staring at your reflection wondering who could it be this late at night. Then you padded across the room and peeked through the peephole, opening the door without thinking. 

Ni-ki stood there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, hair damp and curling slightly around his ears. 

“Hey.” He said. 

You blinked, a bit surprised about his visit and the unsettling look on his face. 

“Hey. Everything okay?” 

He nodded, but didn’t move. 

Then you stepped back, opening the door a little wider.

“Wanna come in?” 

He didn’t answer, just walked in, quiet, his presence filling your small hotel room instantly. You shut the door behind him, suddenly too aware of how you were dressed, and the silence between you two. 

He looked around, then sat on the edge of the bed like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

But now it felt different. 

“You good?” You asked again, crossing your arms trying to play it cool. 

He nodded again, slower this time. 

“Yeah. I just… couldn’t sleep.” 

You leaned against the dresser, watching him. He was staring at the carpet, then at his hands. Then up at you. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He admitted and your heart thudded. 

“What part?” 

“That it’s not about doing it, it’s about knowing how to treat someone.” He paused. “No one’s ever said that to me before.” 

You swallowed, his voice was lower now, like each word was deliberate. 

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you” you said. 

“I wasn’t embarrassed.” He replied “I just… never talked about it out loud.” 

There was a long pause, and you waited, but he didn’t look away. 

“I think that’s why I came here.” 

Your pulse skipped. 

“To talk?” you asked, even thought you were sure that wasn’t what he meant. 

He smiled a little but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Kind of.” 

You stepped a little closer before you could overthink it, the soft carpet sinking under your feet. You were standing between his knees now, and he was looking up at you from the edge of the bed. 

“Riki” You said softly “Why did you come here?” 

You knew the answer.

But the silence that followed cracked open something between you, something thick and heavy and real. You felt it settle over your shoulders, wrap around your ribs. Your skin prickled with awareness, his breath, your proximity, the weight of what you weren’t saying.

“Because I want to know what it’s like.”

Your breathed deep. 

“What what’s like?”

His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. 

“To be with someone who actually wants to teach me. Who doesn’t think I’m weird for not knowing. Who… wants me to get it right.”

You stared at him.

He wasn’t smiling now. He wasn’t teasing. He looked serious, vulnerable, even. And it did something to you. Twisted something deep in your stomach. This was your friend, that not only trusted you enough to ask you this but you also thought he was cute and hot and perfect. 

The room felt hot. Too small. Too quiet. His thumbs rubbed slow circles into your thighs now, and you realized he hadn’t looked away from you once.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Then come here.”

Ni-ki shifted before he could even think, his hands sliding up to your hips like instinct. And when he leaned forward, lips brushing yours, it was cautious at first. Feather-light. Testing.

You tilted your head and leaned into it.

The kiss deepened slowly, like water spilling over the edge of a full glass. His mouth was warm, hesitant but eager, lips moving with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken. You could feel the tremble in him, like he was holding back, waiting to be told it was okay to want this. To want you. So you gave it to him. One hand slipped into his hair, anchoring, and the other trailed down his jaw, guiding him as your mouths melted into each other. His breath hitched against your lips when you sucked gently on his bottom one, and he made the softest, most desperate sound, half whimper, half groan. He opened his mouth and his tongue crashed with yours, wet sounds as you tasted his saliva on your own, sighing softly against him feeling how his fingers dig into the bare skin of your thighs. 

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth.

“Get on your knees, Riki.”

He blinked up at you, dazed, lips red, eyes wide.

And then he obeyed.

His hands slid down your thighs as he sank slowly to the floor in front of you. Kneeling. Breath shallow. Waiting.

Completely at your mercy.

He looked up at you, already breathless. You could see it in his face, that eager, desperate curiosity masked by restraint. Like he was doing everything he could not to touch. Not to beg.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, intentionally slow. You felt his gaze drag over every inch of skin as it was revealed, your bare breasts in front of him, nipples hard the second the cold air of the room touched them. His pupils were already blown wide, jaw clenched like he was trying so hard not to react. You dropped the shirt beside you, left in just your panties. 

The overhead light was off, but the warm hotel lamp behind him painted your skin gold, throwing soft shadows along your collarbones, the curve of your stomach, the tops of your thighs.

Ni-ki looked like he’d stopped breathing.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He nodded too fast. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I just—fuck.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Rough and a little hoarse, like it had scraped his throat just coming out.

You slipped your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes dropped instantly.

You swore you saw his fingers flex again, digging into his jeans like it physically hurt not to reach for you.

You slid them down slowly, stepping out of them with a grace that felt foreign even to yourself, because god, the way he was looking at you was doing something to your head. Like you were the first naked girl he’d ever seen. Like he didn’t know what to do with the sight of you. Your bare intimacy was in front of him now, and you were dripping, glistening arousal that you hadn’t even noticed until that point, pulsing and needy and wanting him. 

When you stood fully bare in front of him, you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Hard.

“Still okay?” you asked again, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at you like you were unreal. Like you weren’t even part of the same world.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed out, like it slipped from him without warning. “I don’t—what the fuck.”

Heat crawled up your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like that. Not with that kind of reverence. Not like he was wrecked by just seeing you.

“You wanna learn how to do this right?” you asked, stepping closer until your knees touched the edge of the mattress.

He nodded, already breathless. 

“Yeah. I want to learn everything.”

You smiled, heart pounding, then gently climbed onto the bed.

“Then watch me,” you whispered against his lips, not kissing him yet. “And listen to me. I’ll show you exactly how it’s supposed to feel.”

Settling back against the pillows until you were laying flat, you parted your legs just enough to keep him staring.

His breath audibly caught.

From below, he had the clearest view. Your skin glowing under the dim bedside lamp, the soft rise and fall of your chest, your thighs spread open with nothing hidden. Your dripping, swollen pussy. You watched his eyes flick from your face to between your legs, and stay there.

“You still with me?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve never—fuck, I’ve never seen anyone like this. Like you.”

Your core tightened at the way he said it, raw, reverent.

You bent one knee, dragging your heel up onto the mattress, spreading yourself more for him, breathing heavily, your heart pumping against your chest and your pussy pulsing under his gaze.

“Then pay attention,” you murmured, bringing your fingers between your thighs. “I’m gonna show you how I like it.”

Ni-ki looked wrecked already, and you hadn’t even touched yourself yet.

You started slow, fingers gliding down to part yourself gently. Your other hand gripped the sheets beside your ribs as you circled your clit, slow and lazy. Soft breaths fell from your lips.

You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, focusing on the warmth building low in your stomach. But you could feel his eyes on you. Could almost hear the tension in his throat as he swallowed thickly, breathing uneven.

“Can you see?” you asked, voice hazy, cracked at the edges.

“Yeah,” he said, too fast. “Yeah, I can see everything.”

You glanced down at him through your lashes. He looked dazed. Kneeling obediently between your legs, jaw tense, his hands fisted at his sides like touching himself would break whatever spell you’d put him under.

“Does it make sense now?” you breathed, dragging your fingers lower to gather slick and bring it back up, circling with a bit more pressure. “It’s not about being rough. It’s about paying attention.”

Ni-ki exhaled hard. 

“You’re fucking unreal.”

A faint smirk tugged at your lips. You were soaked already, turned on by your own touch—but also by him. The way he looked at you. Like he was watching something sacred. Like he’d get on his knees for you again and again if it meant seeing you like this.

You kept your eyes on him as your fingers moved, lazy, deliberate circles that made your hips twitch every now and then. You weren’t putting on a show. This was real. You wanted him to see what it looked like when it was good. When someone took their time. When someone cared.

And judging by the look on his face, Ni-ki was already on the edge of losing his mind.

Still on his knees, his jaw was tight, lips parted like he kept forgetting how to breathe. His hands had fisted into the hem of his hoodie, knuckles pale from the grip. You could see how tense his thighs were. You could see the bulge against his jeans, hard and throbbing. How his chest rose and fell too fast.

You tilted your head, voice smooth and low. 

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

His eyes shot up to yours, wide and ruined. 

“So bad.”

You let out a soft hum, letting your fingers slow, just enough to keep the pleasure alive.

“I know,” you said. “You’ve been staring like you’re starving.”

“I am,” he groaned, frustrated. “You’re—fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

You gave him a slow, lazy smile. 

“Good. That means it’s working.”

He let out a strangled breath, his hands twitching again, like he didn’t know whether to beg or fall apart.

“Can I… please?” he tried, his voice rough. “Just a little—let me touch you.”

“You are touching me,” you said sweetly, dragging your fingers through your slick just to show him. You brought them to your mouth, tasting yourself on them before sliding them between your legs again “With your eyes. Can’t you feel it?”

He looked like you’d punched the air out of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added, voice a little lower, “I want you desperate.”

He exhaled shakily, dropping his gaze to your thighs again. His whole body was tense, on edge, like he was fighting every urge in his body to crawl up the bed and ruin the distance between you.

“You said you wanted to learn,” you reminded him. “So listen when I tell you this, Riki.”

He looked up again. Waiting. 

“Pussy isn’t about technique. Not really. You can memorize all the tricks, flick your tongue every direction—but none of it matters if you’re not obsessed with the way she tastes. The way she feels when she’s shaking under you. The way she moans when you find the spot that makes her legs tremble.”

He blinked like he wasn’t breathing again.

“And if you’re not ready to worship her,” you whispered, dragging your fingers slow and deep between your folds, “then you’ve already failed.”

“Holy fuck,” he choked out, his voice barely a sound.

Your smile turned wicked. 

“I haven’t even let you touch me yet and you’re falling apart. What do you think’s gonna happen when I put your mouth here?”

He groaned and tilted forward slightly on his knees, like the weight of your words pushed him closer.

You paused your hand and raised a brow. 

“Getting needy?”

He nodded quickly, voice rough. 

“Please. You’re killing me.”

Your chest rose with slow, smug satisfaction. He was so close—so close to breaking.

“You wanna taste me that bad?” you asked.

He licked his lips. 

“So bad I think I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You let your hand drop from between your legs and spread your thighs a little wider, baring yourself completely for him, your wetness dripping between your folds until you were soaking the bed beneath you.

“Then come closer,” you said softly.

He crawled forward the second you gave him permission, kneeling between your legs like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. His hands hovered just above your thighs, like he still wasn’t sure if he could touch you yet. You reached down and threaded your fingers into his hair, gently tugging until he looked up at you. 

“Slow,” you murmured. “I want you to take your time.” 

He swallowed hard. 

“Okay.”

 “Start soft,” you said. “Don’t rush. Just… taste.”

He nodded, breath catching like he was trying to anchor himself, but his hands were already trembling as they finally landed on your thighs. His touch was reverent, almost like he thought you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. He leaned in slowly, plump and wet  lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, and you gasped at the contact. Just a kiss. Just barely there. But it lit up your nerves like a fuse.

The warmth of his breath followed, and your skin prickled with goosebumps. His mouth moved again, pressing another kiss, this time closer. He wasn’t rushing. He was listening. To your voice. To your breathing. To the way your thighs tensed when he got nearer to where you really wanted him.

You threaded your fingers tighter into his hair, guiding him, not forcing, just showing him you were there.

He looked up once, like he wanted to be sure, and when you gave the smallest nod, he lowered his head again, mouth finally dragging over your pussy, hot and open.

It was slow.

So slow it burned.

The first lick was cautious, just a flick of his tongue, but you moaned softly anyway, hips twitching up toward him. You could feel how his breath hitched in response, how the small sound you made seemed to fuel him. 

His lips parted again, tongue sliding a little firmer now between your soaked folds, tasting like he’d never tasted anything before. Like he was memorizing every part of you. The way your thighs shook. The way your breath caught. The way your fingers gripped tighter at his scalp when he hit the right spot, tongue licking wet and hot and perfect over your swollen clit. 

“Good,” you whispered. “That’s good… just like that.”

He let out a low sound against you, something desperate, something needy. His hands slid up to your hips like he couldn’t help himself anymore, holding you in place, mouth pressing deeper. The flat of his tongue moved in slow, indulgent strokes, and your stomach clenched, your toes curling against the sheets beneath you.

You exhaled shakily, fingers still buried in his hair, the sight of him between your legs already enough to keep your head spinning. He was trying, so hard, too. Tongue warm, mouth open, but a little unsure still, like he wasn’t convinced he was doing it right even though your thighs kept clenching around his ears.

“Riki,” you murmured, voice a little breathless, “slower—press your tongue flat. Yeah, like that.”

You felt him pause, adjust, and then try again, this time dragging the full weight of his tongue through your folds, slower, deeper, like he was tasting you properly now. Your hips lifted off the bed without meaning to.

“Mhm, fuck—just like that,” you whispered, your voice catching as a sharp pleasure lanced through your core.

You kept your eyes on him, watching the way he reacted to every sound you made. Like he was feeding off them. His lashes fluttered, lips shiny and swollen now, and when he glanced up at you, it was like he needed more. Needed to hear it from you.

“Circle your tongue around,” you whispered, tugging gently at his hair to keep him exactly where you wanted him. “There… slower. Keep it soft. I want to feel everything. Spit on it baby, get me soaked.”

His groan vibrated against you as he obeyed, the wet glide of his tongue sending another wave through your stomach, and then a thick string of saliva fell on your already soaked pussy. His hands clutched your thighs tighter now, nails pressing into your skin just enough to ground himself, like he was getting lost in it. In you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, letting the praise drip from your lips. You saw the way his eyes rolled back slightly when you said it. How his movements got a little more confident, a little messier, but somehow still just right. “Taste me—really taste me. Don’t just lick, use your mouth.”

He obeyed with a quiet desperation, sucking gently on your clit, tongue slipping lower before dragging back up again, slow and thick, like he wanted to devour every inch of you.

You gasped. Moaned. Tugged harder at his hair.

“Fuck, Riki—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, he got hungrier, greedier. His tongue started moving with more pressure, his lips sucking softly at the spots that made your thighs shake.

You didn’t even have to look down to know he was gone.

You could feel it, in the way his mouth moved, in the way his grip had turned bruising on your thighs, in the low, desperate sounds he kept making every time his tongue dragged through you like he couldn’t help himself.

But when you did look down, your heart almost stopped beating.

Riki’s eyes were barely open, glossy and wild, lips swollen, wet from you. His face was flushed, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and he was panting between licks like he physically couldn’t get enough.

And he kept talking.

Mumbling between mouthfuls, between kisses to your soaked skin, between long, obscene licks like he was drunk on the taste of you.

“Fuck—you taste so good…” he breathed, voice hoarse and wrecked. “S’fucking good… I can’t—god, I can’t stop.”

You moaned softly, hips rolling toward his mouth, and he whined into you. Actually whined.

“It’s the best,” he said again, more to himself this time, like he couldn’t believe it. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever had. I swear—fuck, I need—need to keep tasting you.”

His tongue flattened again, dragging up, slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. He licked you like it was holy.

You gasped, gripping his hair, pulling him tighter to you.

And he loved it.

Didn’t even flinch. He moaned loud into your cunt, licking deeper, rougher, sloppy now, his mouth messy and wet and insistent. Every word he slurred out came like a prayer, like he was in some trance.

“I wanna eat you every day,” he groaned. “Fuck, please let me—I’ll be so good for you, I’ll learn everything—just don’t make me stop—”

Your head fell back against the pillows, legs shaking. He wasn’t even listening anymore, just moving off instinct, tongue flicking exactly how you taught him, sucking just enough to make your stomach twist with heat.

“You like it that much?” you teased, your voice barely holding steady, but it was still firm. Still in control.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused but burning.

“I love it,” he said immediately.

Your legs trembled around his shoulders, and still—still—he didn’t stop. His tongue was relentless now, messy and hot and wet against you, every slow stroke making your stomach twist tighter, your breath hitch faster. But you wanted more. You could feel your body hovering right on the edge, just one touch away from snapping completely.

You slid one hand down, gently brushing your fingers through his hair, guiding him just enough so you could breathe. 

“Riki,” you panted. He blinked up at you, dazed and glassy-eyed, his mouth still open, his chin glistening. “Use your fingers too.”

He nodded without hesitation, licking his lips like he didn’t want to waste a drop.

“I—I don’t wanna mess it up,” he said, breathless, hand twitching at your thigh. “Just tell me what to do.”

You grabbed his wrist gently, brought it between your thighs, your own fingers wrapping around his to help him feel you.

“Start with one,” you whispered. “Slow. Let me open up to you.”

He swallowed hard and did exactly that—one long finger slipping into your heat, careful, reverent. The moment he did, a soft sound escaped your lips, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, almost choking on the words. “You’re so warm. So—fuck—tight. Is that okay? Is that good?”

“So good,” you gasped, voice trembling. “Now curl it—just a little. Mhm… yeah, right there.”

He groaned at the way you clenched, and then his mouth was on you again—tongue working in tandem with his finger now, stroking inside while he sucked and licked and moaned like he was starving.

You let out a high, breathy moan, your hand still guiding his wrist, helping him learn the rhythm. Your hips rocked up to meet both touches, tongue and finger now perfectly synced, and he responded instantly, desperate to give you exactly what you needed.

“Add another,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “You can take it.”

He hesitated only a second before easing a second finger in, slowly, and when he felt your body stretch around him, another broken groan left his throat.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice wrecked. “You feel so perfect—I wanna stay here forever.”

Your back arched, thighs trembling around his head, and he fucked you with his fingers just like you taught him, curling them right, keeping his mouth exactly where you needed it, letting you grind against his tongue shamelessly.

“That’s it, baby,” you moaned. “Just like that. Keep going—you’re gonna make me come.”

And the second those words left your lips, Riki lost it again, messy, moaning into you, thrusting his fingers harder, tongue flicking faster. You felt your climax building like a wave you couldn’t stop.

His lips were slick and red, cheeks flushed, hair clinging to his forehead. But it was the way he was moving that really undid you, hips rocking slowly against the mattress beneath him, grinding like he didn’t even notice he was doing it. Like he physically couldn’t stop.

He was moaning into you, low, broken, filthy sounds muffled by your thighs, and every time you tugged his hair or praised him, his hips pushed down harder, desperate for friction.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your whole body twitching under him. “You’re so needy, baby. Can’t even control yourself, can you?”

He moaned again, loud and desperate, and nodded just barely, face still buried in you.

“I—can’t,” he slurred between licks. “You taste too good—I need it—need to make you come—please, I can’t stop—”

The grind of his hips sped up, his fingers curling perfectly inside you while his tongue flicked your clit again and again, completely in rhythm, completely feral. His thighs were trembling from the way he was using the friction beneath him, like he was getting off just from serving you. From the taste. From your voice.

From the fact that he was the one making you fall apart.

“That’s it,” you groaned, hips bucking up toward his mouth. “Keep grinding, baby. Fuck yourself while you eat me. God—look at you…”

But he wasn’t looking anymore.

His eyes were squeezed shut now, brows furrowed in focus, mouth and fingers soaking wet, hips stuttering with every moan. And from the way his body was shaking, you knew, he was so close. Without even being touched.

You were shaking, heart hammering, your breath catching in short, ragged gasps. Every flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers sent sparks rushing down your spine, your thighs trembling around his head. Ni-ki didn’t slow down, if anything, he was more focused than ever, like every sound you made fueled him. Like he needed to pull you apart, needed to feel you break for him.

You could barely keep your eyes open, barely breathe with how good it felt, how intense it was. His hands gripped your thighs like lifelines, grounding himself there, mouth working like he was starved and you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to taste.

Your hips jerked. You were so close it hurt.

“Riki,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I’m gonna—”

“Come, please, need to feel you come on my mouth baby” He whispered, breathless, sucking your clit so hard that you cried out.

That did something to him. He moaned again, deep and wrecked, and it vibrated against you, just enough to push you over.

Your back arched off the mattress, your fingers tightening in his hair as the world blurred and broke around you. The orgasm tore through you in waves, sharp, warm, overwhelming. You cried out his name, legs closing around him, but he didn’t move, didn’t stop. He held you through it, mouth still soft, slow, working you gently as you came down. 

 When your muscles finally stopped trembling and your breathing slowed, he looked up at you.His lips were swollen, eyes glassy, flushed and ruined, and he was still panting because he came too, hard and soaked and messy against his jeans from just eating you.

You reached down and stroked your thumb over his cheek.

“You did so good,” you whispered, still breathless. “So, so good.”

And the look in his eyes when you said it? Like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to hear.

You were sure you created some kind of monster. 

It was like something had snapped open between you and Riki that night, something hungry and undeniable. He hadn’t touched you in front of anyone since, but you could feel it: the way his gaze followed you when you walked past in your bikini, the way he’d bite his lip when he thought no one was looking.

But it was worse when you were alone.

Because now, it wasn’t just once. Now he wanted you constantly.

You hadn’t even made it out of the hotel earlier that morning without him pulling you back into the bathroom, dropping to his knees like it was the only place he belonged. He’d barely said a word, just looked up at you with those dark, desperate eyes and mumbled something about “missing the taste of you.”

It had been messy. Rushed. You had to muffle your moans into your hand and clamp your thighs tight around his head just to keep quiet.

Now, three days later in the afternoon, you were sitting under a beach umbrella with a drink in your hand, pretending like you weren’t still flushed from the memory. Pretending like your legs weren’t shaking.

Ni-ki was stretched out on a towel a few feet away, sunglasses on, the sea breeze lifting his hair. He looked calm to anyone else—maybe a little too calm—but you saw the truth. The tension in his jaw. The slight curve at the corner of his mouth when he caught your eye.

And then he mouthed something at you across the space between your friends.

Please.

You blinked. 

What?

He glanced toward the beach showers. Then back at you. And mouthed it again:

Please. Just five minutes.

Your heart stuttered.

You shook your head. Barely. But your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat blooming low in your belly. He tilted his head, still pleading, like he was barely holding it together.

He wanted it again.

He wanted you again.

And it hit you then, this wasn’t just about curiosity anymore. This wasn’t a one-time thing.

Ni-ki was hooked.

The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting everything in a hazy gold, and the breeze off the ocean carried laughter and music from your friends further down the beach. You were pretending to still be sipping your drink when Ni-ki brushed past you, close enough that your knees touched for a second.

No one noticed. Or so you hoped.

He didn’t say anything, just walked towards the showers without looking back.

But you followed.

Your heart pounded as you crossed the sand, the faint sound of water trickling from a half-open faucet masking your footsteps. The beach shower area was quiet, stone walls, open-air, private enough if you were quick.

You slipped inside, and there he was.

His back was against the tiled wall, hair tousled, lips parted, like he’d barely been breathing since he left you on that beach chair.

“I thought you said five minutes,” you whispered, stepping in closer.

He shook his head, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. 

“That was a lie.”

You raised a brow, teasing.

“So you dragged me out here to lie to me?”

“No,” he said, voice low, hoarse. “I dragged you out here because I need you.”

And that was all it took.

You kissed him first, quick and hot, stealing his breath. But he dropped to his knees before you could blink, already pushing your swimsuit bottoms down your legs with shaking hands, reverent and hungry.

“Wait,” you breathed, glancing toward the open side of the shower. “Someone could—”

“I don’t care.” His voice was wrecked, hands firm as he pulled your thighs over his shoulders. “I’ll be fast. I promise. I just—fuck, I missed you.”

And then his mouth was on you.

The rush of it stole your breath. The contrast of the cool tile behind you and the burning warmth of his tongue had you clutching the stone wall for balance. He moaned into you, shameless, like the taste of you alone was enough to undo him. You bit your lip, trying not to make a sound, failing as a gasp slipped out when he flattened his tongue and really got into it.

“God, you’re so good,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “So greedy—”

He groaned, grinding against nothing, his fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you impossibly closer. His mouth was wet, messy, insistent, and every time you tried to look down at him, you saw how gone he was, red cheeks, glassy eyes, flushed and panting like he needed this more than air.

“Riki,” you warned, breath hitching as the pressure built again, sharp and fast. “We don’t have long—”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled against your skin. “Let them see. I’d still stay right here.”

That nearly ended you.

You didn’t even hear the footsteps pass nearby over the sound of the waves and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You just held his face, riding the edge, knowing it wouldn’t take long.

By the time you stepped out of the beach showers, your legs were still trembling.

You’d tried to fix your hair in the tiny mirror, smooth out your expression, but your mouth was swollen and your swimsuit still clung awkwardly to your damp skin. Riki walked a few steps behind you, his shirt thrown over one shoulder, cheeks still flushed, his lips a little too red.

And worst of all, he was smiling.

You elbowed him as you walked, muttering under your breath, 

“You’re being obvious.”

“I am obvious,” he said softly, brushing your fingers with his as you passed a stray towel on the sand. “And you liked it.”

You glared at him—only half-serious—and picked up the pace, ignoring the way your thighs still ached.

When you reached your friends, Jake was the first to spot you.

“Well, well, well,” he grinned, raising his sunglasses. “Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

“We weren’t gone that long,” you said quickly, dropping your towel back down like nothing happened.

Jake squinted. “You guys missed the watermelon. And Sunoo was telling this insane story about—wait.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you look like that?”

Your stomach flipped. Riki coughed behind you.

Sunghoon glanced up from where he was drying his hair. 

“Yeah. You guys look kinda… flushed.”

“Hot out,” Riki mumbled.

“Hm,” Jake said slowly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

You sat down quickly on your beach chair and took a sip of your drink, trying to will your heart rate back to normal. But Riki flopped down next to you, casually propping his sunglasses on top of his head, lips still a little too pink.

You glanced at him. 

“You’re enjoying this.”

He smirked. 

“A little.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t.” He leaned closer, voice dropping so only you could hear. “Unless you want me to tell them how good you taste when you—”

“Riki.”

He grinned wider and leaned back like nothing happened.

You tried to look normal. Innocent. Unbothered.

But the looks your friends kept throwing your way said one thing clearly:

They knew something was up.

And if they didn’t know now, they would soon, because Riki’s knee was already brushing yours under the towel, and the second you leaned towards him, he gave you that look again.

Hungry.

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.

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NSFW

2 minutes of Caleb fingering you and then fucking you.