strawbrryvyy

[strawbrryvyy]

sun&moon

pairing— fem!reader x toxic bf!wonbin

wc— 4.6k

content and warnings— ANGST, emotional distress, themes of heartbreak and relationship breakdown, mention of intimacy (non-explicit), depictions of emotional manipulation and gaslighting, themes of self-worth and personal growth.

note— i've had this in my drafts for months, but i didn't have much inspiration to finish it until now... it's a bit different from what i usually write, but i want to try writing new things... heheh, if u see a mistake, lmk!!

The room lights are off.

Only the blue flicker of the router enters, dancing pale across the wall.

Wonbin is lying next to you, his back turned. His breathing is steady, calm, as if he's at peace.

You can't sleep.

It's been weeks like this.

Words no longer flow.

Caresses no longer seek each other.

And yet... you don't let go. Not yet.

You close your eyes. Force yourself to remember.

A winter ago.

Your fingers were frozen and your coat wasn't enough. You were waiting at the subway exit, kicking at melted snow with the tip of your boots, when you saw him running toward you.

"Sorry I'm late..." he said, breathless, handing you something.

Gloves. Ivory colored, knitted. With a tag still hanging.

"Wonbin..."

"You said you always lose yours. I remembered."

He was so red. Nervous. Smiling without being able to look at you for long.

You put them on right there, and his eyes stayed glued to your hands.

"Thank you..." you whispered, feeling how your heart burned under your sweater.

He just nodded.

And then... he asked if he could hold your hand.

You open your eyes.

It's not cold this time, but your fingers tremble just the same.

You look at his back, the folds of the blanket that barely covers him.

And you think:

How did we go from that... to this?

You've tried so hard. You've given so much. You've waited so long.

And yet... you don't know if he's still there.

You don't know if you're still there.

You wake to the sound of running water in the bathroom.

Wonbin is showering.

Your first thought isn't "good morning," or "what time is it."

It's: Did he look at me this morning? Did he touch my hair like before? Or did he just get up silently and go into the bathroom without saying anything?

You stare at the ceiling.

Light enters gray through the curtain, filtering through the slats as if it too was unsure whether to stay or not.

And you feel the same way.

You turn over. His side of the bed is messy, but cold.

You don't even know when was the last time you slept embracing.

The water stops.

And just seconds later, you hear him come out.

You see him from the bed: black t-shirt, towel around his neck, wet hair falling over his eyes.

"Good morning," he murmurs, without really looking at you.

You force a smile.

"Good morning..."

And that's it.

That's the entire morning dialogue.

A summer ago.

They had gone out to ride bikes along the riverbank. He had a camera hanging from his neck, you wore a light dress.

During the break, they lay on the grass and he took a photo of you without warning.

"Don't delete that," you said, covering your face.

"Never."

"I look messy, and..."

"You look beautiful."

Like that, with that soft accent, without raising his voice much. But with a conviction that made your chest burn.

He leaned in and kissed you. Caressed your cheek with his thumb.

He told you that you were his favorite person.

And now?

Now, sometimes, he only texts you "did you eat already."

"don't forget the key."

"going to sleep, rest well."

And you're dying to ask him:

When was the last time you thought of me with affection, and not out of habit?

Did you notice that I'm breaking apart next to you, without making a sound?

But you don't.

Because somewhere along this path you learned to stay quiet so as not to lose what little remains.

He finishes getting dressed and leaves. Only leaves you a kiss on the head.

A brush. A mechanical act.

He doesn't even ask how you slept.

And you stay there, tangled in the sheets, feeling lonelier than ever while being accompanied.

Your chest hurts.

And still... you force yourself to remember. Again.

You force yourself to search through memories, like someone rummaging through an old box looking for air.

Spring, two years ago.

He waited for you with a flower he stole from some public garden.

You asked if he could teach you to dance, even though you were clumsy.

He fell asleep on your legs listening to how you read him something you wrote just for him.

And he whispered in his sleep:

"I love you."

So quietly you barely heard it.

But you felt it as if the world was shouting it.

You return to the present.

And you wonder:

Where did all of that go?

Where is the boy who blushed just from looking at you?

Where is that Wonbin who used to listen to you even when you talked about your silliest dreams?

Could it be that he's still there... hidden underneath all this silence?

Or could it be that you were the only one who didn't want to accept that he's no longer the same?

Your chest tightens. Your eyes too.

But you don't cry.

Not this time.

Because today you're just going to keep pretending that you're not fading away alongside him.

That night, in your work kitchen, they ask about him.

"And your boyfriend? Didn't he come today either?"

You smile.

You say he had a meeting.

You say he's busy, as always.

You don't mention that the last time you went out together was to the supermarket.

That you barely talk at night.

That you can't remember when was the last time he looked at you as if you were his home.

In your phone's calendar, you have marked in red:

Fertile days.

And next to it, a small reminder you wrote when you still believed in everything:

"Try for baby 💛"

And the worst part...

is that you still look at it.

You still wonder if this time he'll want to try.

If he'll take your hand, like before, and say: "let's build our family."

That night, after dinner in silence, you approach him.

His neck smells like lavender and coffee.

You lean in. Brush his neck with your lips.

Your hands tremble when you touch him.

He sighs.

Responds halfway.

Lets your body get close, but doesn't seek it.

As if he simply lets it happen.

You end up in bed.

Without long kisses. Without sweet words.

His hands travel over you, but don't feel you.

Your moans are emptier than anything else.

Your body wants to reach climax, but can't. Because he's not there.

Because it no longer feels like love, but like obligation.

Like the last thread keeping everything from falling apart.

He finishes.

You don't.

And all he says afterward is:

"I'm tired."

He turns over. Falls asleep.

And you stay on your back, feeling the burn in your throat, your chest closed.

You feel used without intention.

Sad without apparent reason.

Empty with a heart full of memories.

Two years ago, he cried talking about the future with you.

He took your hand in front of the ocean and said:

"When we both have stable jobs, we'll get married. Yes? And then..."

"And then?" you asked, laughing.

"A baby. A girl. I want her to look like you."

You cried.

Now... he doesn't even ask how your day was.

That night you lock yourself in the bathroom.

You sit on the cold floor.

Read his old messages.

Hug your legs.

And you wonder:

How do you get to this point?

If you were never disloyal.

If you always waited for him.

If you never made him feel alone.

Then... why do you feel alone now?

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Eyes a little more sunken. Cheeks paler.

When did you start looking like this?

Like a faded version of yourself.

As if he had taken your brightness without realizing it.

Or maybe... he had realized.

"You look tired lately," a coworker tells you at the office, while serving you coffee.

"Do I?" you fake a smile. "I hadn't noticed."

"And sad, a little. You used to talk more."

You laugh, nervous. You say something like "must be the weather" or "didn't sleep well," but inside...

inside you start to think.

Do I look that worn out?

That different?

What if that's... what made him change?

That night you put on makeup.

Not to go out, but so he notices something.

You line your eyes, put on your favorite lipstick, the one he once said tasted like cherry.

The same one that stained his shirt when he couldn't pull away from your mouth.

You put on that simple, short dress he liked, the one he said he didn't like you wearing because he didn't want others to see you so pretty.

And when he comes home from work, you're there. In the kitchen.

Preparing something simple, but with your heart beating fast.

"Hi..." you say, without turning around.

He responds with a tired hello.

Passes by you.

Serves himself water.

He looks at you, yes. But like someone looking at a plant that's been unwatered for days.

As if you were part of the background.

He doesn't say anything. Not even "you look pretty."

Not a smile.

You swallow. Keep cooking.

And with each movement, you feel the wound opening more.

Saturdays used to be theirs.

Movies. Ramen. Walks. Caresses in the park.

Long kisses in the living room.

Songs sung in the car, loudly.

Now...

He goes out alone.

Says he's going to see a friend. That he has to help with something.

He doesn't seem to be doing anything wrong. There are no obvious lies.

He still unlocks his phone in front of you. Or did he... when was the last time you saw it?

Did he change the password?

Or did you simply stop paying attention?

Saturday passes and he doesn't ask if you want to go out.

You stay home, with the dress on, and smeared eyeliner.

Waiting for him to come back.

For him to look at you.

But all you get is:

"I'm back. Did you eat already?"

And that... that's not love.

That's routine.

That's living with a breathing ghost.

You go to sleep before him.

Because it hurts less.

Because you don't want to keep waiting for a kiss that doesn't come.

Because you're afraid to try to touch him and have him say "I'm tired" again.

But the worst part is that you're tired too.

Just not of him.

But of trying alone.

THE ACCIDENTAL TRUTH

On some random Tuesday you decide to call Sohee, his best friend since college.

It's not that you want to spy. Just... you need to know if he's okay. If he's going through something difficult that he's not telling you.

"Wonbin?" says Sohee on the phone. "Yeah, we talked yesterday."

Your heart speeds up.

"Ah, how did he seem?"

"Good, like always. Telling me about his work plans, laughing at the usual silly things... " a pause. "Although..."

"Although what?"

"I don't know, lately when he talks about you two he sounds like... distant. Like the topic bores him."

The world stops.

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing bad, it's just that before he wouldn't stop talking about you. Every conversation ended in something you two had done together or how proud he was of you. And now... when I ask about you, he changes the subject quickly."

You hang up.

You sit on the floor.

And you understand: the problem isn't that he's going through something.

The problem is you.

He simply... doesn't want to talk about you anymore.

He doesn't get excited about you anymore.

You're no longer his favorite topic.

That night, when he arrives, you receive him as always.

But inside, every gesture of his feels like confirmation.

The distracted kiss on your forehead.

The "how was your day?" without really waiting for an answer.

The way he avoids your eyes when you speak.

And when you ask about his day, he says:

"Normal. Work. Nothing interesting."

But you know he was laughing with Sohee.

That he talked about his plans.

That he was animated.

Just not with you.

"What's happening with us?"

The question has been burning on your tongue for weeks.

But today, you simply can't take it anymore.

You throw it into the air like a plea disguised as casual conversation.

He looks up from his phone.

Blinks slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"This. You, me. What we are now."

What we no longer are.

He sighs.

Not from sadness.

From annoyance.

"Nothing's happening. Just... things change, you know? Love transforms."

You look at him.

And inside, your world falls apart.

"Do you love me?"

Silence.

Or, worse, another sigh.

He gets up from the sofa, stretches as if the conversation tires him more than a whole day of work.

"Of course. If not, I wouldn't be with you."

And with that, he goes to his room.

Closes the door.

You stay in the living room, feeling like an idiot.

Feeling like he told you that the way someone says "of course, otherwise I wouldn't be wearing this shirt."

Your heart hurts.

But your memory is treacherous, and throws you to the past:

To that night.

The first time you slept together.

Your room.

Your nervousness.

His red cheeks.

He couldn't stop looking at you, as if you were a miracle.

He removed your lipstick with slow kisses, caressed you as if you were fragile.

He told you he had never felt anything like this.

"I don't want to sleep, just to be able to keep looking at you."

Now... he barely says goodnight.

Your anniversary is approaching.

Five years.

An eternity.

Your heart clings: Maybe then he'll remember. Maybe then he'll be himself again.

That day you prepare everything.

Dinner. A dessert he loves. A letter written with trembling hands.

You put on makeup, get ready.

You wait.

And when he arrives...

"What's for dinner? Oh, are you going out somewhere?"

You shake your head.

He doesn't remember.

And you don't tell him anything.

Not because it doesn't matter.

But because it breaks you into a thousand pieces having to remind him.

THE INVESTIGATION

That night, when he sleeps, you can't take it anymore.

The phone is on the nightstand.

Face down.

You tremble. You hesitate.

But you take it.

Press the button.

Start entering his password.

The one it always was: doesn't work.

A new one.

Your heart races like a gunshot.

You take advantage that he's deeply asleep.

Take his hand carefully.

Put his finger on the sensor.

Unlocked.

You check cautiously.

Chats. Photos. Email.

And then you see it.

A conversation with Seunghan, another friend.

"How are things going with her?"

"Complicated. I don't know what to do."

"Do you still feel the same?"

"Honestly... no. But I don't know how to end something that's five years."

"That's tough, bro."

"The worst part is that she keeps trying. And that makes me feel guilty, but also... annoyed? I don't know how to explain it."

"Do you not love her anymore?"

A minute without response.

"Not like before. Maybe not at all."

You put the phone back in its place.

You lie down next to him again.

He sleeps.

You cry silently.

And you wonder if it's worse to lose someone suddenly...

or to read exactly how they stopped feeling love for you.

THE FALSE HOPE

Days after the silence.

The shared emptiness between spoons and lit screens.

The "goodnight" that no longer sounds like before.

Wonbin approaches you while you're in the kitchen, stirring coffee as if you could stir the knot in your chest.

"I've been thinking about what you told me," he says with that tone that makes your heart stop for half a second. "How would you feel about next month... traveling to Greece?"

You look at him, as if you hadn't heard correctly.

But there he is. That look of his, that slight sideways smile you loved so much. As if, finally, he had remembered you.

You don't think. You throw yourself at his neck, hug him as if your life depended on it.

You tell him yes, yes, yes.

That night you kiss him without fear. He responds. And for a moment, everything is like before. Like when your world revolved around his and he made sure to revolve with you.

You fall asleep hugged to his chest, with a smile as soft as it is foolish.

You don't know that will be the last time you feel this way.

Three days pass.

You notice him cold again. Isolated. As if that promise had been just a lapse in his routine.

While washing dishes, you show him your phone.

"Look, I found this beautiful place in Santorini. Do you like it?"

He doesn't even turn around.

"Ah, we can't go. I have training that exact week. I forgot."

He doesn't apologize. Doesn't look at you. Just says that. Like taking your breath away without realizing.

Your head starts to hurt and so does your soul.

But this time it's different.

This time you feel something worse than sadness.

You feel anger.

Anger that he had given you hope only to take it away.

Anger that he can't even pretend that hurting you matters.

"Why did you tell me we were going?" you ask, with a broken voice.

He shrugs.

"It occurred to me in the moment. I didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

I didn't think you'd take it so seriously.

As if you were stupid for believing his words.

As if you were naive for clinging to a promise he made.

"How am I not going to take it seriously? You're my boyfriend!"

"Exactly. Your boyfriend. Not your husband. I don't have to plan every detail of our future."

You freeze.

Because there's the truth.

For him, you're not future.

You're present. Comfortable. Habit.

But not future.

THE MIRROR'S REVELATION

You stop him before he enters the room.

Your voice trembles.

"I can't anymore, Wonbin. I don't understand what's wrong. Am I doing something wrong?"

He sighs. Sits down. Looks at the floor.

"Nothing's wrong. You're the one making things up. You're always being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic!" you scream without meaning to. "You don't talk to me! You don't touch me! You don't see me! We're no longer us. You're no longer you."

Wonbin gets up abruptly.

"You know what? You're right. I'm no longer the same. Because I don't want to be the same. I was tired of being that guy who melted for you, who couldn't spend a day without you, who saw you as if you were perfect."

The words hit you like slaps.

"What?"

"I grew up. I matured. And I realized that obsession wasn't healthy love. It was dependency."

You look at him, unable to process it.

"Obsession? Dependency? You loved me!"

"I idealized you. There's a difference."

The floor opens beneath your feet.

"So... you never loved me? Really?"

He looks at you for the first time in weeks. With those cold eyes you no longer recognize.

"I loved you. But not anymore. And I can't pretend I do just to not hurt you."

And there you are.

In the middle of the room.

With your heart in pieces in your hands.

He continues:

"Do you really want to talk about this now?"

"When, then? After another five years of pretending?"

He runs a hand through his hair. Gets up. Goes toward the door.

You follow him.

"Answer me! Why did everything change? I'm still here! I've always been here!"

"You're the one making a drama," he says without turning around. "Everything's fine for me."

"Nothing's fine!"

He turns around. Raises his voice.

"And what do you expect me to do?! To pretend I'm crazy about you like before when I don't feel it the same way anymore? To lie just so you feel better?"

"I expect you to tell me the truth! To be honest! To not make me feel like I'm crazy for missing what we had!"

"The truth?" he laughs bitterly. "Do you really want it?"

Your heart stops.

"Yes."

"The truth is I got tired. Of your constant needs, of your questions, of feeling like I have to be your source of happiness all the time. The truth is that when I come home and see you, all I think about is how exhausting it's going to be to pretend I'm okay."

Every word is a dagger.

"The truth is I'm no longer excited by the idea of touching you. That when we have sex, I think about finishing quickly. That when you hug me, I feel suffocated."

You can't breathe.

"The truth is that yes, there was a moment when I thought about leaving you. But it's comfortable. It's easy. And it's not like you've done anything specifically wrong to end things dramatically."

"Comfortable?" you whisper.

"Yes. Comfortable. I don't have to look for an apartment. I don't have to explain to anyone why we broke up. I don't have to start over."

You feel as if they had ripped your soul from your body.

"Is that what I am to you? Comfort?"

He doesn't answer.

And his silence is the clearest answer of all.

THE CRUEL END

You hear him leave the room. A door slam. Silence.

And you stay there.

This time you do cry.

You cry like you hadn't cried in years.

As if all the days of silent sadness had accumulated in this moment.

You look at yourself in the room's mirror.

And there she is: a woman you don't recognize.

Swollen eyes, not just from today's crying, but from sleepless nights.

Sunken cheeks because you've lost weight without realizing.

An expression of defeat you had never seen on your face.

When did I become this version of myself?

When did I stop being the girl he loved to become the one who bores him?

Or was I always like this and he just got tired of pretending?

You touch your face with trembling hands.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize something:

He's right about one thing.

You're no longer the same.

But not because you've grown or matured.

But because you lost yourself in the process of trying to hold onto him.

You became a small, needy, desperate version of yourself.

And maybe... maybe that's not the woman he fell in love with.

And definitely not the woman you want to be.

THE LAST HOPE DESTROYED

Two days later, he comes home with flowers.

Tulips. Your favorites.

For a moment, your foolish heart races.

Did he regret it? Did he reflect? Did he realize what he said?

"Sorry about the other day," he says, offering you the flowers. "I was stressed about work. I shouldn't have talked to you like that."

You take them, with trembling hands.

"Really?"

"Really. And... " he sighs. "I talked to my mom about us."

Your heart stops.

"What did you tell her?"

"That we're going through a rough patch. And she made me reflect on how important you are to me."

How important I am to him?

A spark of hope ignites in your chest.

"Wonbin..."

"I want us to try. Really. I want us to go to couple's therapy. I want us to be ourselves again."

And there he is.

The Wonbin you know. The one who looks you in the eyes. The one who speaks with that sincerity that always disarms you.

You throw yourself into his arms.

You cry, but this time from relief.

"I knew you were there. I knew you hadn't disappeared."

He hugs you. Kisses your head.

"Forgive me. For everything."

That night you make love like you hadn't in months.

He looks into your eyes. Tells you he loves you. Caresses you tenderly.

You fall asleep feeling that finally, finally, everything is going to be okay.

The next morning you wake up alone.

Wonbin had already left for work.

You wake up with a smile, make coffee, and when you pick up the computer you share to send some work emails, you see that he forgot to close a conversation.

With Seunghan.

"How did yesterday go?"

"Good. I bought her flowers and told her everything she wanted to hear."

"Are you really going to try?"

"No. But I need time to organize everything. I can't end it so suddenly, she'll go crazy. And if we break up badly, it'll be drama with our friends."

"So... the therapy?"

"We'll go a few times. I'll blame the therapist when it 'doesn't work.' It's easier for her to think we tried."

"You're cruel, bro."

"It's the kindest thing I can do. Ending it suddenly would be worse."

The phone slips from your hands.

Falls to the floor with a dry sound.

Like your heart.

Like your hopes.

Like all the faith you had that people can change.

You sit on the kitchen floor.

And for the first time, you don't cry.

Because you have nothing left inside to cry.

There's only emptiness.

And a cold, cutting clarity you had never had.

THE DECISION

That night, when he arrives with that fake smile you now know is acted, you're waiting for him in the living room.

Serene. Calm.

With a suitcase at your feet.

"What's that?" he asks, feigning confusion.

"My things," you respond with a voice you don't recognize. Firm. Without tremors.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? Why? I thought we had talked. That we were going to try."

You look him in the eyes.

And for the first time in months, you're the one who looks at him without love.

"I read your conversation with Seunghan."

The color drains from his face.

"I... I can explain..."

"You don't need to. I understood everything."

You get up. Take the suitcase.

"Where are you going to go?" he asks, and for the first time in a long time, there's something like panic in his voice.

Not because he loves you.

But because he lost control of the situation.

"That's no longer your concern."

"Of course it concerns me. We've been together for five years."

"No. YOU were with me for five years. I spent five years alone, pretending I was accompanied."

You leave the keys on the table.

"Wonbin..." he says your name as if it were a plea.

You stop at the door.

"What?"

"Are you really going to leave me like this? Without trying?"

You turn around.

And you smile. But it's not a sad smile.

It's a liberating smile.

"You already left me months ago. I just refused to see it."

"But I... I do love you. It's just that..."

"No. You can't use that word with me anymore. You spent it. You mistreated it. It doesn't mean anything coming from you anymore."

You open the door.

"Have a good life, Wonbin. And I hope you find someone who doesn't exhaust you to love."

You leave.

And when the door closes behind you, for the first time in a long time, you can breathe.

SIX MONTHS LATER

You're in a new café, reading a book you bought just because you liked the cover.

Your hair is shorter now. You cut it a week after leaving, because you needed to see yourself differently in the mirror.

You wear a new lipstick. Coral color. Nothing he had seen before.

Your phone vibrates.

A message.

From him.

"Hi. How are you?"

You read it. But don't open it.

You leave the phone aside and keep reading.

Because now you know something you didn't know before:

Not all loves that end deserve an answer.

Not all people who hurt you deserve your forgiveness.

And not all the "I love you"s you heard were true.

But that's okay.

Because you also learned that you can love yourself better than he ever did.

And that sometimes, letting someone go isn't a loss.

It's finding yourself.

You drink your coffee.

Turn the page.

And keep reading your story.

This time, one where you are the protagonist.

Not the supporting character in someone else's life.

Same room.

Five years ago.

He held you as if you were made of glass.

With trembling fingers, he combed your hair and said:

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm not going to ruin this."

And now...

Now you understand that some promises break.

That some people change.

And that's okay.

Because you can change too.

And choose not to stay where you're no longer valued.

A week after your departure, you packed the last of his things that remained in the apartment that is now only yours.

Among his books, you found a photo.

You two on that first date. He looks at you with those eyes full of adoration that were once real.

You observe it for a long moment.

And you put it in the trash.

Not with anger.

Not with sadness.

Simply because that story is over.

And you're writing a new one.

[strawbrryvyy]

Embers of Us

pairing : ex boyfriend! anton x fem! reader

genre : smut (MDNI !!), angst | wc : 2.5k

cw : explicit sexual content! mention of alcohol, kissing, praising, unprotected sex, implied creampie

💌: hello !! it’s been a month LOL sorry for the vv late update </33 i got drowned in acads and it drained the shit out of me 🥲🥲 ++ this fic is inspired by "huling sayaw" by kamikazee so if ur a filo, i do recommend u to listen/check that out 😁(proofread so enjoooy)

Life had been filled with the sounds of keyboard clicks, workmates’ chatter, the low hum of fluorescent lights, and the constant, unseen command of life pushing forward without pause. With deadlines rattling louder than clocks, days slipped into nights lit by the glow of screens and half-finished cups of coffee. For you, the routine dulled everything, blurring the edges of the days into one long, colorless stretch of time.

After a long shift, you decided to head to your go-to ramen house — well, the one you used to be a regular at with your ex-boyfriend, Anton. After getting your order, you scanned the room for a seat… and then you saw him. Anton Lee, your long-time love, and the one you never quite forgot.

He was alone, eating, the steam from his bowl curling faintly in the air. He sat slightly bent forward, as if shielding his food from the world beyond, though his shoulders were broader and his hair was a bit longer than you remembered. But his eyes and his nose, that same familiar face, he was still just as handsome as the day you last saw him. You paused for a heartbeat, the past flashing back in fragments, then took a step forward.

“Is the seat taken, sir?” you asked, offering a tiny smile, your voice soft but your chest tight.

Anton looked up mid-bite, chopsticks still poised in his hand. His eyes widened briefly in surprise before settling into something softer, unreadable.

“You’re… late,” he said, lips curling into a small smile, though his voice carried a hint of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure this was real.

You slid into the seat across from him, the savory aroma of tonkotsu broth and springy noodles curling warmly between you. “Late for what?” you teased, though your hands fidgeted with the edge of your tray.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Never mind. Sit. Eat.”

And suddenly, it felt as if no time had passed — yet every unspoken word hovered between you like the rising steam from ramen.

You caught up with him, sharing stories about where life had taken you both after the breakup, the struggles, the little victories, the lonely nights, and the unexpected joys. Words flowed easily between you, one memory tumbling into the next, until you hardly realized how much time had slipped away. What was meant to be a quick meal stretched into hours, the clatter of dishes around you fading as if the world outside your table no longer existed.

“So… wanna continue this at my apartment?” you asked as the two of you stepped out of the ramen house, your voice carrying a mix of insistence and hesitation.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply fell into step beside you, the silence between you saying more than words could. The city lights flickered past in a blur, the night air cool against your skin, until the quiet rhythm of your footsteps carried you both to your apartment door.

The moment the two of you settled, you went over to your mini bar and pulled out a bottle of wine. You poured a glass for him, then one for yourself, and handed it over to him with a quiet smile.

The warmth of the wine and your shared familiarity took the conversation back, somewhat softly. Between sips, memories poured out, some grief, some silly, but each one brought you one step closer to the place you believed you had left behind.

The laughter eventually disappeared and Anton's eyes lingered on you for a bit too long. Even before he made a move, you could feel the pressure of the quiet and the unsaid words. He then pressed his lips to yours as he drew closer.

It was just one kiss at first, tentative, testing , but the moment you responded, it deepened. His hand found your jaw, tilting your face toward him, while your fingers curled against his shirt as if afraid to let go. What began as gentle quickly turned into something breathless and urgent, months of longing compressed into a heated make-out on your couch.

He kissed you again, firmly this time, the kind that made you feel dizzy and out of breath. You could sense the strain in his body, the self-control he was hardly able to maintain, as if he was scared to rush but couldn't help but crave more.

A low sound rumbled from his throat against your mouth, sending shivers racing down your spine as your hands slipped higher beneath his shirt, tracing the defined lines of his chest.

"God… you feel so good," he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough.

With an unhurried motion, he pulled the fabric over his head and let it fall carelessly aside before capturing your lips again.

"Toni…" you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "I’ve missed this… missed you."

Time had shaped him in ways that only deepened your hunger for him, yet beneath your palms, his skin carried the same warmth you remembered — familiar, yet changed in ways that made you ache for more.

He eased you back against the couch cushions, his body following until he was above you, his mouth never leaving yours. The press of his weight pinned you there, grounding, intoxicating, while his hand slid beneath your blouse to find the bare warmth of your waist.

"You want me to…?" he whispered against your ear, breathing hot, teasing.

"Y-yes. . . please," you breathed, tilting your head to press against his.

The roughness of his palm against your softness stole your breath, and when his thumb edged higher, skimming just beneath your bra, the quiet gasp that slipped from you was impossible to hold back.

Anton pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath uneven. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, desperate, as if the thought of letting go would tear him apart.

But you shook your head, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “Don’t stop.”

"Not… stopping," he rasped, nipping at your lower lip. "Not now, not ever."

Your pulse quickened when you caught the way his eyes darkened at your words. It was as though he was rediscovering every part of you he thought time had stolen from him, his hands exploring with a reverence that bordered on worship.

"Toni…" you moaned, your voice trembling.

His mouth trailed down your throat, leaving heated kisses along your collarbone, each one sinking deeper than skin. Beneath the hunger, every touch, every breath between you carried something heavier—months of aching want, stitched together by a love that had never truly faded.

“Don’t… don’t stop touching me,” you whispered, voice broken, needy.

His kisses turned rougher, hungrier, until the couch felt far too small for the fire sparking between you. With a firm grip, his hand slid beneath your thighs and lifted you as though you weighed nothing.

"Mine," he groaned, pressing his body to yours, voice thick with need.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips, quickly swallowed when your legs instinctively locked around his waist, your body pressed flush to the thick, throbbing ridge straining against his jeans. The contact sent a shiver ripping through you, your nails biting into his shoulders as if anchoring yourself to him.

"Y-yours. . . " you cried, clutching him closer.

He carried you with unshakable purpose, lips never leaving yours, and when he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, the sound was final — sealing you both away from the rest of the world.

He laid you on the bed, but the pause lasted only seconds, just long enough for his dark eyes to devour you like you were something forbidden, something he had been starved of for too long.

"So pretty," he breathed, lips grazing yours before capturing them again.

Then he was on you again, crushing his mouth to yours, his kiss raw and consuming. His hands roamed urgently, tugging at your clothes with little patience, as though every layer between you was a barrier he refused to endure another second.

"Baby… need you. . " you whispered, nails digging into his back.

Your blouse was yanked over your head, your bra unclasped in a single desperate motion that bared you to him completely. The cool air barely touched your skin before his mouth did—hot, hungry, reverent.

"You’re driving me insane," he groaned, lips closing over your nipple, tongue teasing.

He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue circling before his teeth grazed in a wicked tease that sent your back arching off the sheets. A sharp cry tore from your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to take more.

“Y- yes..Toni. . .don’t stop…” you gasped, breathless.

He groaned into your skin, switching to your other breast, his free hand kneading the soft weight of the one his mouth abandoned, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship or devour you.

"Fuck… you’re perfect," he muttered between kisses, voice low and hoarse.

Your hands were just as greedy, fumbling with his jeans, dragging the denim down over his hips until his cock sprang free, thick and hot against your thigh. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with anticipation.

“Mmm… still huge,” you whispered, fingers wrapping around him.

He groaned when you stroked him, his hips bucking into your touch as you savored the heavy length in your hand, each slow, deliberate motion making his breath grow more ragged.

“Fuck…baby. . I need you,” he groaned against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. His hand slid down your stomach, slipping beneath your panties, fingers parting your slick folds with aching precision.

"Y-yes… yes.. please," you gasped, trembling.

You were already dripping for him, and the low growl he let out when he felt it sent heat crashing through you. His fingers teased your clit, slow circles that had your thighs shaking, before slipping inside you, stretching you as his thumb pressed harder on that swollen knot.

"I love you," you moaned, pressing yourself against him.

You were moaning openly now, grinding against his hand, the sheets tangled in your fists. He kissed you through every sound, swallowing your gasps, your pleas, until you came undone around his fingers, pulsing and trembling with sharp waves of release.

"So good for me, baby. ." he groaned, voice strained, as he kept up his relentless pace.

But he didn’t stop. He shoved your panties aside and pushed into you in one unrelenting thrust, filling you completely.

The stretch burned and thrilled all at once, pulling a ragged cry from your lips as your nails raked his back. He lingered just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, your ragged breaths tangling in the silence, before his hips began to roll—slow at first, deliberate, every thrust sinking deeper, pulling you further under.

He started slow, grinding deep, savoring how your body gripped him.

"Y-yes… yes. . . just like that," you moaned, pressing into him.

But the rhythm didn’t stay gentle for long—his thrusts soon grew harder, rougher, each one ripping pleasure through you until the room echoed with the slap of skin, your cries tangling with his husky groans.

"Hnggg. . mine," he growled, voice thick with desire, driving deeper.

You locked your legs tighter around him, begging for more, lost in the way he drove into you like he was desperate to fuse himself to you.

His hand hooked beneath your knee, pushing your leg higher, spreading you open until every thrust drove deeper, rougher, pulling broken cries from your lips.

"D-don’t stop… Toni… please… so.. good,” you whimpered.

His teeth grazed your shoulder before sinking in, his groan rumbling against your skin as he breathed your name like it was the only word he knew.

“God. . . my baby…you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, each thrust harder, rougher, his hips colliding with yours in a rhythm that stole your breath.

Your nails scored down his back as you arched into him, desperate for more, chasing the rush building inside you. The pressure snapped suddenly, your orgasm crashing over you relentless. You tightened around him, moaning out his name as pleasure tore through every inch of you.

He let out a rough curse as he drove into the hilt, cock throbbing deep inside you while his release spilled hot and heavy.

"Yes… yes… fuck… god… Anton!" you cried, gripping him.

His whole body jerked with each pulse, muscles trembling as he ground into you, groaning low in your ear like he couldn’t stop, like he needed every last drop buried inside you before he could finally let go.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled in sweat, in heat, in the ragged sound of your breaths.

"I love you," he whispered, lips brushing over your temple.

He stayed inside you, his chest heavy against yours, his lips brushing reverently over your temple, your cheek, your lips, as if he couldn’t stop touching, kissing, needing you.

Lying there wrapped in him, you realized it wasn’t about love reignited. It was two souls grasping at what had already slipped away, seeking comfort in the familiar for just one fleeting night. The heat, the closeness, this wasn’t the start of something new. It was an ending, disguised in tenderness.

Sleep claimed you first, your hand still splayed over his chest, fingers curled as if holding onto him even in dreams. Anton lay awake, unmoving, eyes fixed on the ceiling while the steady rhythm of your breathing filled the silence. Each rise and fall of your chest twisted his heart, caught between the ache of needing you and the hollow certainty that need alone could never be enough.

He turned his head toward you, drinking in the softness of your face bathed in the dim light spilling through the curtains. His chest constricted painfully— you looked so peaceful, so safe, as though the months apart had been nothing but a bad dream. And for one fragile heartbeat, he let himself imagine it, mornings like this, forever, waking with you in his arms, building the life that should have been yours together. A life he wanted with every fiber of his being, and one he knew, with brutal clarity, he could never give you. Not now. Not anymore.

You deserve better. A steadier kind of love. A future without the wreckage I carry. The thought twisted like a knife in his chest.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple… then your forehead… then your lips. His voice broke into a whisper only the night could hear, “I’m sorry… I love you. I love you so much… I wish you all the best.”

Before leaving, he paused for one last heartbeat, imprinting your warmth into memory. He dressed silently and cast one final glance at you, searing the image into his mind. Then, with shaking hands and a heart heavy with love he could no longer hold, Anton slipped out of your apartment, leaving behind the woman he would always love.

-end-

tysm for reading and waiting !! >< my ask is always open, let's talk 🩷

divider from @cursed-carmine 🤍

[strawbrryvyy]

ivy imy

hi my baby i miss you too. Mwah mwah! Ive just been a bit busy with work + ive started therapy 😔😔 how are u my loveeee

[strawbrryvyy]

LIVESTREAM , HEADCANNON

anton x fem!reader

synopsis: you decided to go live on instagram at your friends' apartment in new jersey after the party died down. anton came out to the balcony to check on you at first, and when he saw that you're live, he decided to join, sitting behind the camera.

note: the fans likely stumbled across your account while combing through the instagram profiles of his old high school friends. one story leak in particular caught their attention — a screenshot from a mutual friend’s story when anton returned to new jersey, and you happened to be there too. every friend’s account was tagged in the story, and yours was clearly visible, hovering just above your face. at first, people might have assumed you were simply one of anton’s friends — until they noticed how close you stood, shoulder to shoulder.

nicknames used: doe (you), dearly (him)

word count: 600

　　　　　　　　

.　♬　normally, your live will be full of friends, no more than twenty people or less, especially when it's already 2 am. but tonight was different, the viewers increased quick, you even made a comment on that with a soft chuckle.

.　♬　the chat flooded with harmless late-night questions:

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　what's in the cup?

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　you're still in nj?

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　the lighting looks so pretty on you

.　♬　"doe," a soft voice slipped through. you looked up from the screen and saw anton peeking his head out from the inside. "i'm on live," you mouthed softly to him, and he simply nodded in acknowledgement.

.　♬　"do you need anything?" he asked quietly. "i'll grab something and i'll come out with you later."

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　who's that 👀

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　HE SOUNDS LIKE ANTON WTF

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　omg are you with anton rn

.　♬　you read the comments about anton, simply chuckle. "i wish he is," you said, hoping that would help with some damage control. but that tiny moment was enough to set the comment section on fire.

.　♬　then, your friends, those who didn't come to the function tonight, decided to troll around for a bit. because in their book, that's what friends are for:

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　is that dearly lol

.　♬　you huffed out a grin, rolling your eyes a bit. "yeah, dearly's here."

.　♬　anton came back again with two mugs on his hands, your favorite drink and some chinese tea for him. he placed it beside the camera and sat himself on the chair behind it. you look down to the mug.

.　♬　"you cold, doe?" he asked. you looked up from the screen and shook your face slowly, it made him smile and nodded before leaning back on the chair and continued to sip his tea.

.　♬　but that affection of his was heard by the viewers, your friend decided to use the opportunity and commented:

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　HE CALLED HER DOE THATS SO CUTE

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　dearly u better give her a something to cover herself.

.　♬　"she told you to get me a blanket," you said with a slight smirk.

.　♬　anton huffed a low chuckle and looked down to his tea, then he took off his jacket and handed it to you. "keep drinking too, it's cold out here," he nodded at you once.

.　♬　the comments went feral:

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　it's definitely anton, i remember that voice anywhere

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　guys chill maybe it's her bf

.　♬　anton stayed behind the camera, but his presence kept slipping through. he'd lean over to adjust the phone angle, brushing your hair off your face when you lowered your face down to read the comments.

.　♬　when you started to become distracted, he'd try to get your attention from time to time. "look at me for a sec," he murmured. and when you glanced up at him with a smile on your lips, his smirk deepened. "you're cute," he said.

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　that's probably her boyfriend yall

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　bet he's hot

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　he has to be lol her friend is literally anton lee

.　♬　"if my girlfriend's friend is a kpop idol, i'd be insecure as hell," you tried your best to hold your grin as you read the comment.

.　♬　he only shook his head and muttered, "not happening." he leaned back against his seat again, playing along with the narrative. "maybe i'm hotter than him, who knows?"

.　♬　"you're so cancelled," you chuckled.

.　♬　"worth it if you're on team dearly," he said, flashing you a lazy smile. "let's go already, thought you wanna walk me home."

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　honestly i might be on team dearly now too if anton's not here

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　man i need a youtube channel of dearly and her together

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　someone call anton, i need to know the tea

　　　 𓈒 ╺⑅　why are yall making a kpop idol's friend famous for no reason 😭

　　　　　　　　

　　　　　　　　

　　　　　　　　

[strawbrryvyy]

the Pinterest girlies are too weak for this because i wanted to comment below "HELL YEAH" but then the society stopped me.

#or maybe they could fuck me tgt

[strawbrryvyy]

☆ don’t stop

req: Hiii, it’s my first time asking for anything like this but could I please get anton x reader where reader is obsessed with nipple play (received) and Anton is more than happy to give in to that. It starts a little messy, sloppy desperate kisses and stuff ;pp thanks a lot!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

pairing: anton x f. reader

nipple play (f receiving) ⋆ dry humping ⋆ mild begging ⋆ oral fixation ⋆ slight dom!anton

an: love this idea!! anon ur mind… wc ~890

your back hit the wall before you could blink, his mouth already on yours like he couldn’t wait a second longer. it was messy—teeth clashing, lips slick, tongues sliding in a rush. your fingers tangled in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, and he groaned into your mouth like it drove him crazy.

anton wasn’t usually like this. he was soft, sweet, always asking before he touched. but tonight? tonight he kissed like he was starving.

his hands were everywhere—cupping your jaw, gripping your hips, sliding up the curve of your back. and when his palms skimmed under your shirt, you shivered.

“off,” you mumbled against his mouth, tugging at the hem. he helped you, pulling it over your head, eyes dropping to your chest like he’d never seen anything prettier. his gaze lingered.

and then his thumb brushed your nipple through your bra. soft. experimental. and you gasped—sharp, breathy, head tipping back to the wall.

that’s when he knew.

he did it again, slower this time. circled the sensitive bud until you were twitching under his hands, lips parted, already panting.

“you like that?” he murmured, voice low, eyes fixed on the way your body reacted. you nodded quickly, too overwhelmed to speak.

“yeah?” he said again, this time with a little smile. “fuck. i’ve barely touched you.”

he kissed you again, slower now, more deliberate. but his fingers never stopped. he tugged the bra down, letting your tits bounce free, then slid both thumbs over your nipples—watching you fall apart from just that.

your knees buckled slightly and he caught you, laughing under his breath. “you’re so sensitive here,” he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your chest. “can i keep going?”

“please,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please, anton.”

he dropped to his knees, pulling you gently down with him until you were straddling his lap on the floor. the carpet scratched your thighs, but you didn’t care. not when he leaned in, took one nipple into his mouth, and sucked.

you gasped—loud, shameless—and his hands gripped your hips tighter.

“god, you’re loud,” he mumbled against your skin. a groan following right after.

his tongue was slow, deliberate. dragging over the hardened bud before wrapping his lips around it again. he sucked until you whined, then switched sides, not giving you a second to breathe.

your hips were already grinding against his lap—subconscious, desperate—and he groaned when he felt it. “this is just from your tits?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe it. “fuck, baby…”

“don’t stop,” you begged, fingers in his hair again, holding him to your chest. “don’t stop, don’t stop—”

he didn’t. his mouth was hot, wet, unrelenting. switching between gentle flicks and hard sucks that had your thighs shaking around him. every tug of his lips made your pussy clench. every graze of his teeth made your stomach twist.

you were soaking through your panties and you hadn’t even been touched there.

“anton—i think—i might—”

he pulled back, panting. “you gonna come from this?”

you nodded, dazed and needy. “please—keep going.”

and he did. mouthing at your tits like he owned them, groaning every time you moaned his name. he sucked hard, hands gripping your ass now, dragging your body against his in slow, desperate circles.

you cried out when it hit you—sharp and sudden—your entire body curling forward as your orgasm tore through you. thighs trembling, nipples aching, breath catching in your throat.

he held you through it, one hand rubbing slow circles on your lower back while the other gently cupped your chest, fingers still grazing sensitive skin.

“fuck,” he whispered, pulling you close. “you’re unreal.”

you laughed breathlessly, forehead against his shoulder. “you gonna do it again?”

he kissed your neck, already hard beneath you. “baby, i’m not stopping until you beg me to.”

. . .

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[strawbrryvyy]

fucking hate everyone whos comparing xnghan’s streams and sales rn with people who clearly would have way more than him… like are they dumb?? tryna downplay his achievements omfg

[strawbrryvyy]

Scandal :୨⎯ NOT DATING ⎯୧

pairing : Idol!anton x idol!reader

chapter - 2 HIS FAULT!!

genre: smau,crack,fluff

a/n-hi FIRST UPDATE IF THE WEEK ILL HAVE ANOTHER BY TMRW

masterlist

[strawbrryvyy]

Scandal :୨⎯ NOT DATING ⎯୧

pairing : Idol!anton x idol!reader

chapter - 2 HIS FAULT!!

genre: smau,crack,fluff

a/n-hi FIRST UPDATE IF THE WEEK ILL HAVE ANOTHER BY TMRW

masterlist

[strawbrryvyy]

Scandal :୨⎯ NOT DATING ⎯୧

pairing : Idol!anton x idol!reader

chapter - 2 HIS FAULT!!

genre: smau,crack,fluff

a/n-hi FIRST UPDATE IF THE WEEK ILL HAVE ANOTHER BY TMRW

masterlist

[strawbrryvyy]

Scandal :୨⎯ HIS FAULT!!⎯୧

pairing : Idol!anton x idol!reader

chapter - 2 HIS FAULT!!

genre: smau,crack,fluff

a/n-hi FIRST UPDATE IF THE WEEK ILL HAVE ANOTHER BY TMRW

masterlist

[strawbrryvyy]

two chapters of scandal out tmrwww(to make up for lack of posting)

[strawbrryvyy]

305. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ [ j.sc x p.wb ]

pairing: park wonbin x jung sungchan they said it was just one night. three years later, wonbin flies to miami because sungchan once said, “if we’re ever there at the same time again…” and just like that, it happens again. wonbin knocks. sungchan answers. cw. long-distance ex-fling, slow burn, angsty, emotional gays in denial , yearning post-intimacy , sexual content ( implied ) , paparazzi ( yes syongnen walk of shame ! ) song rec. 305. by Jordan Adetunji , just keep watching by Tate Mcrae , loose my mind by Don Toliver.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

three years ago. it was just one night.

room 305. miami. two top-billed names on the same award show lineup, both half-drunk and too good-looking for their own good. it started with a dare, ended with wonbin pressed up against the hotel window with sungchan’s hand on his jaw, whispering things no one else ever heard him say. ever.

wonbin still remembers it. the sheets. the taste. one night. that was the deal.

they agreed it was nothing. just one night. just one fucking night. a secret between two men who didn’t do feelings and couldn’t afford headlines.

but before sungchan left, pulling on his shirt with messy hair and that look in his eyes, he said it.

“if we ever end up in miami at the same time again…” he didn’t finish the sentence.

he didn’t have to.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

three years later, wonbin sees the post.

some paparazzi shot, low-res and too zoomed in—but it’s him. sungchan. at a rooftop bar in south beach, in sunglasses and loose linen, laughing like he forgot how it felt to keep things quiet.

wonbin hated that photo. he stared at it for an hour and a half. wonbin doesn’t think. he books the flight that night.

he’s been with other people. he’s kissed fans backstage and left parties with strangers. but no one ever touched him the way sungchan did. no one ever made him want to stay.

and now sungchan’s in miami again.

so he lands at 2 a.m. the miami air tastes the same. warm , heavy , laced with salt and something sweeter—like someone else’s perfume caught in your throat.

wonbin steps through the glass doors into the hotel lobby, his sunglasses sliding off like habit, like maybe the $2,000 a night air conditioning can calm the heat in his chest. it doesn’t.

the marble floors gleam under soft, golden lighting. the chandelier overhead is obnoxiously delicate—like if you breathed too hard, it might fall.

he doesn’t look up. he knows this place.

same scent—jasmine and cash.

same concierge with the polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

same elevator tucked behind those glossy black panels, the kind you can’t tell are mirrored until it’s too late.

and the same memory.

a towel hitting the herringbone floor. sungchan turning around, shirtless, smirking like he didn’t just ruin him in twelve hours flat. he knew exactly what he was doing.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

the lobby is too quiet. not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful. the kind that costs money. soft jazz hums through hidden speakers. the air smells like something expensive—sandalwood, vetiver, and apology.

wonbin moves like he belongs here. like he hasn’t rehearsed this a hundred times in his head. his hoodie’s designer, but lived-in. sunglasses pushed up into his hair. a takeaway coffee in one hand he hasn’t touched. his other hand? stuffed in his pocket, clenched.

he doesn’t ask for a key. doesn’t go to the desk. just heads for the elevator.

the doors open with a sigh, cool and gold-lined. his reflection stares back from every wall—ten different angles of someone pretending not to be nervous. floor thirty. penthouse level. of course.

he presses the button and leans back against the rail, heart thudding like bass under skin.

it’s probably stupid.

sungchan might not even be in. might slam the door in his face. might’ve just said that line three years ago—“if we ever end up in miami again…” because it sounded cool at the time.

but wonbin’s here anyway. because he remembers how sungchan said it without looking at him. like it was dangerous. like he meant it.

the elevator dings. the hallway: silent, carpeted, dimly lit. the kind of expensive that says privacy, please in 18 languages.

he walks slow. lets himself breathe.

room 305.

still the same number. he knocks once. then again, a little harder. and just when he thinks he should turn around and lea— the door opens.

sungchan doesn’t look shocked. just annoyed. just amused. just hot. hair messy. shirt half-on. jaw tight like he’d just rolled out of bed or just finished ruining someone else. “no way,” he says, voice rough from sleep or something worse.

his eyes drag over him like it’s been three minutes, not three years. wonbin leans on the doorframe, cocky on the outside, cracking underneath. “you said if we were ever in miami again.”

sungchan raises one eyebrow, leans against the doorframe like he owns the city. “and you remembered that?”

wonbin shrugs. “i haven’t forgotten anything from that night.”

they stare at each other for one second too long. then sungchan opens the door wide. “well,” he says. “don’t just stand there.”

and just like that,

it happens again.

his mouth tastes the same—mint and something bitter, like guilt burned slow. but the way he kisses? it’s worse now. slower. rougher. like he’s been waiting. like he’s mad about it.

sungchan pushes him back against the door first, hands already under his hoodie, tugging him in like he can’t remember what space is supposed to feel like.

wonbin bites his lip, gasps into his mouth, forgets why he thought this would be casual.

they stumble toward the bed. not like lovers. like rivals. neither of them willing to say who missed the other more, so they show it with teeth and hands instead.

clothes hit the floor in pieces—hoodie, shirt, belt buckle undone with fingers that shake too much to be cocky. wonbin lets sungchan pull him onto the bed, palms flat against his chest like he’s trying to memorize the shape of him again.

the sheets are silk. cool. expensive. but the way they move? nothing about it is smooth.

sungchan’s breath catches when wonbin arches beneath him. wonbin curses under his breath when sungchan kisses down his throat like he’s owed this.

like he’s been replaying it in his head for three fucking years.

“say it,” sungchan growls at one point. wonbin laughs, breathless, eyes half-lidded. “say what?”

“that you missed me.”

wonbin doesn’t say it.

he just kisses him harder.

the bed creaks. the headboard slams the wall once. the window fogs. they don’t pace themselves. they just try to feel more than the other. harder. faster. deeper. like if they fuck good enough, maybe the memory won’t haunt them this time.

but it’s not just sex. it hasn’t been since night one in 305. not when sungchan clutches the back of wonbin’s neck like he’ll float away. not when wonbin whispers his name so soft it sounds like regret. not when their foreheads press together mid-thrust, gasping, desperate, silent.

moans pressed into skin. fingers clawing like they want to leave proof. hands gripping hips like maybe holding tighter will undo all the time they lost.

they don’t speak. not the words that matter.

just panting, swearing, broken little sounds between half-kisses and even worse eye contact. no one says “i missed you.” no one says “i never stopped thinking about you.”

but they both feel it. too much. too late. again.

what wonbin and sungchan had should’ve just been sex. nothing more, nothing less. but they know better than to leave it at just that, not after what just unfolded.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

the light in the room is gone when wonbin opens his eyes.

not because it’s morning. because it’s already night again.

the curtains are still cracked just enough to show the city glowing in pinks and golds, miami heat humming through the glass.

he blinks. slow. warm. sore in that way that makes him press his face into the pillow and groan softly.

the bed’s still a mess. the sheets still smell like sex and sungchan. he’s still here too. sungchan’s lying on his back now, arm flung over his face, mouth parted like sleep caught him off-guard.

chain still on. hair a little damp from whatever their bodies turned into last night. he looks expensive and wrecked, like he belongs on a magazine cover titled “don’t call it a mistake if you’d do it again.”

wonbin stretches. groans again. checks his phone.

7: freaking 48 p.m.

“fuck,” he mutters.

sungchan stirs, eyes slitting open. “what time is it?”

“we slept through an entire day,” wonbin says, sitting up, dragging a hand through his hair.

“jesus.” sungchan yawns. smirks. “guess we were tired.”

wonbin tosses a pillow at him. “guess someone has stamina issues.”

they both laugh, low and sleepy, and it feels a little too easy.

they dress slower this time. no rush. no real words. just glances that linger too long, fingers brushing near the sink, the kind of silence that only happens when two people really, really don’t want to say how they feel.

wonbin throws on the hoodie again. sungchan’s in all black—tee tucked into designer jeans, jacket thrown over one shoulder.

they don’t try to match.

they just do.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

the hotel lobby is quiet when they pass through—soft lighting, murmured greetings from staff who definitely know.

they walk shoulder to shoulder, not touching.

not talking.

outside, the night air hits warm.

and then—

flash. flash. flash. not one. not two. not discreet. paparazzi. more than last time.

someone must’ve tipped them off. someone always does.

wonbin puts his gentle monster on like it’s part of the outfit.

sungchan just exhales, calm. bored. like they’ve done this before. like they aren’t still a little raw from earlier.

a camera catches the moment just before they slide into the car. wonbin glances at sungchan. not smiling. just looking. like he’s trying to figure out if this is the start of something or just another rerun.

one pap, maybe two. nothing wild. just enough.

hours later — twitter is on fire

“ why does wonbin look like he just got railed by someone rich? ”

“ why do they look fucked and also better than me? ”

“ they’re fags and i love that for them. ”

“ they walked out like ‘ don’t ask questions. ’ i am asking. was it good? who cried first? ”

no one confirms anything.

no one denies it either.

sungchan posts an instagram story that night:

a blurry photo of wonbin in the hotel hallway.

caption: miami, baby. 🤍

ten minutes later, wonbin likes it.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

[ 🪼 ] um hi gng i blacked out and wrote this in one sitting after hearing “ if we’re ever in miami again ” and realizing that’s literally the most evil sentence someone as delicious as jinsu could say to you post-rendezvous 😭 syongnen crawled out of the walls of my mind like “ write about us or perish you lil filth ” so i did. this one’s for the gays, and the ones who’ve ever stared at a blurry paparazzi pic and gone “ they definitely just had sex and are pretending it meant nothing. ” (you’re valid. you’re correct.) thanks for reading this emotionally stunted, overslept ex situationship drama. pls like, reblog, and drop ur favorite tweet about them in the comments i wanna suffer w u

305 forever. no they are not friends.

love always,

rin .☘︎ ݁˖

[strawbrryvyy]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ what friends don't do ꒱ ˎˊ˗

sunghoon x fem!reader x jake || 6.9k

౨ৎ toxic friendship, emotional betrayal (not cheating), unresolved romantic tension, unrequited love, angst, love triangle, sunghoon's an asshole... jake's a yearner.

“uh, i didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

the camera adjusts, zooming and focusing slightly to focus on sunghoon, seated casually on a stool, one foot hook on the bottom rung, the other plants firmly on the studio floor, tapping his feet.. he wears a muted gray sweater, sleeves roll to his elbows, hair sweeps back, not styled so much as raked through his hair. the mole on his nose catches the soft studio lighting.

“you mean dating her?” 

sunghoon tilts his head at first like he’s in a thought, then nods. slowly. his shoulders give a mild shrug, as though trying to shake something off. his gaze flicker down and to the left—toward the floor, the memory, or maybe the guilt—before returning to the lens. his lips lift into a half-smile. not sheepish. not smug. just soft.

not guilty either. just nostalgic.

in the background, the cameraman shifts, the mic briefly catching the creak of the rig. the room holds its breath for a second. 

sunghoon blinks, thumb brushing his ring finger absently. 

cut.

—

the classroom door slammed open with the metallic scrape of plastic on the tile. “dude! why didn’t you tell me she’s in your class?!” jake’s voice rang out before his body even fully entered the frame. few heads turned, but he didn’t care.

he was still out of breath from soccer practice, hair messy and damp and tousled, shirt clinging to his collarbone, only half–buttoned over the white tee beneath. his bag hung off one shoulder like an afterthought, swinging as he made a beeline for the back row.

sunghoon pulled out one earbud and looked up, brows lifting in confusion.

“what?”

jake dragged a vacant chair across the floor and dropped into it beside sunghoon’s desk with a thud, exhaling hard and dramatically. his eyes were wide, buzzing with disbelief. “yn! yn ln! she’s in your class this whole time?” 

sunghoon blinked, pulled halfway out of his nap. “who? we just started school last week.”

jake groaned, running his hand across his face. “are you serious? my primary school crush! you know i liked her since forever, right?” 

the friend leaned back in his seat and turned slightly, eyes scanning the front rows. the classroom was half-full—just a few students finishing lunch or completing their homeworks for the next period. someone was napping near the teacher’s desk, and some boys were playing moba games in their circle.

somewhere in the middle of the class—a pink and white bag with a rabbit keychain hung from the back of a chair. the seat was empty, but her presence lingered like the smell of a body lotion after someone passed you in the hallway.

jake followed sunghoon’s gaze—pointed at it, nearly leaping out of the chair he was sitting on.

“that’s hers! that’s her bag—she was here just now,” his eyes went wide, smacking sunghoon’s forearm. he winched softly. “dude, you seriously didn’t notice her? are you even my real friend?” he joked, shaking his head with mock betrayal. his grin was all teeth and obvious.

yeah—he hadn’t noticed. 

but now that jake said it, now that he was looking—he could picture you. it came back like a slow pour. the way you always came into class with the same two girls by your side, always laughing over some inside joke only the three of you knew. always in those white socks higher than regulation because you think it’s boring to be the same as others. 

your hair was always tied loosely with a ribbon, strands falling into your eyes, and you’d blow them away with a breath even when your hands weren’t full. the boys in class noticed.

honestly, everyone kind of did. 

“she just moved—and for the record, the last time i saw her was when we were 12.” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “you expect me to remember her face after five years?”  jake turned, eyebrows raised. “yeah? i mean, i do. i’ve remembered everything.”

he said it like a joke, but there was something almost serious in his tone. “she had braces then and she always tied her braid with a yellow ribbon.” sunghoon chuckled under his breath, “you’re insane.”

jake went out—recounting old stories, from how pretty you looked during a sports carnival when you had to be the mascot, the time you beat everyone in musical chairs, the time you cried when the class hamster died—sunghoon found himself searching through his own memory.

your face then was rounder, softer. you had those blindingly overly chalked white velcro shoes everyone hated (because they get dirty so quick) that you wore with pride anyway. your fringe was always a little crooked like you trimmed them yourself. 

then he remembered your voice, light and unbothered and painfully childish. sunghoon remembered you running in socks down the corridor when one of the boys took your shoes. how he always found it so fucking weird that you held your chopsticks like pen. it was all coming back, bit by bit.

“—then she had to move to japan when we were starting middle school,” jake sighed, planting his chin atop the heel of his palm. “gosh, i didn’t know she came back.” he continued, almost dreamily. as if your return to korea was fate for jake.

sunghoon didn’t answer. he was still looking at your desk, still trying to match that blurry–faced girl from the past with the version of you now (that he only caught a glimpse of when everyone was doing self-introduction). 

but then, the sound of the door sliding open woke both jake and sunghoon from their drifting thoughts. you stepped in, laughing at something your friend said. the sunlight from the hallway poured in behind you, catching in your hair and casting your silhouette long across the floor.

you didn’t look their way.

jake perked up almost immediately, he grabbed his water bottle, slung his bag over one shoulder like he hadn’t just been melting into some rando’s seat for the past fifteen minutes. “fuck, pretty girl is here,” he said under his breath, pushing the chair back. “gonna head out, see ya hoon.” he muttered it casually but there was a bright, giddy buzz to his voice. 

“keep your eyes on her for me, thanks!” he exclaimed just as he exited the classroom.

sunghoon didn’t even get to bid his goodbye or reply when the chair clattered as jake left, footsteps fading quickly down the hallway. then, quiet.

his eyes flicked to the front again. 

at you, who sat in the middle row stuffing your lunchbox inside your bag.

yeah. sunghoon remembered you now.

—

the screen fades in from black.

the lighting is softer. a handheld camera, maybe, from the way the frame sways just slightly. a girl sits across from the camera, legs crossed, hands resting in her lap. you wear a soft cream cardigan, hair tucked behind one ear. 

a faint shuffle. “so… jake?”

you blink, a light hesitation. “jake…?” you repeat the name. or the question.

“he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend.” you smile, and laugh—the kind people give when they’re confused and not sure what’s funny. “yeah. i know him, of course! he’s always around, since… high school. but apparently we went to the same primary too,” you nod, recalling. “we were classmates but we weren’t close close.”

you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, posture straightening. you’re not sure where the question is going, but it doesn’t seem like the crew is going to change it anytime soon. “jake has always been so nice. he’s a really fun person to be around with. so comfortable to talk to.” you continue, smiling.

your eyes flick to the crew, hoping they’ll cut to the next question—but the silence stretches. you clear your throat softly.

“jake… jake’s always been by hoonie’s side. the two of them are like a package deal.” you laugh, genuinely this time. “he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend, since forever. so i always felt like i had to try a little harder when he’s around. not in a bad way—! just, ‘okay, this is my boyfriend’s bestfriend. don’t mess this up.’” you chuckle, puffing your cheeks as blush creeps over. 

“i mean, you want the people they love to like you too, right?”

a beat.

then, behind the camera, the crew asks—”do you think jake likes you?”

your head jerks slightly, and you furrow, like you misheard.

“...sorry?”

“do you think sim jaeyun likes you?” 

you blink, the question catches you off guard. the smile on your face falters just slightly, like someone opened a window and let a chill in.

“i… i hope so?” you let out a dry chuckle, breathier now. “i mean—i hope so! he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend.” you shift in your seat, something awkward curling in your posture now, like again—you’re not sure what the question means.

“i’d like to think he likes me,” you clarify, nodding. the implication is warm and safe. “as a person. as… as his bestfriend’s fiance.” 

cut.

—

the afternoon sun hit a little too hard for a school day. it’s the beginning of summer, after all. 

p.e was held at the old outdoor courts, and because two classes were being merged today, things were messier than usual. the teachers barely cared—just gave them the freedom to do anything, as long as they didn’t leave the court. most students split into uneven groups—some did something, and some did nothing at all. 

tennis balls and shuttlecocks rolled everywhere. 

sunghoon sat on the sideline, back against the fence, his water bottle sweating beside him. jake was lounging next to him, his legs stretched out as he chewed his gum. 

across the court, a few girls from sunghoon’s class were passing a racket around, laughing loudly. you—were there too. hair tied up in a low ponytail, sleeved rolled, movements messy and quick. you swung and missed. your friends laughed. then all tried again.

it was hard not to notice—not when jake was staring. not in that creepy, open-mouthed way with saliva drooling, no. he was staring in that long, silent, watching way that sunghoon learned to recognise. jake wasn’t blinking much. his gaze was locked like he was watching something reel out in slow motion.

then sunghoon noticed it—your shirt hiked a little when you went for a serve—just a sliver of skin, just an inch above your waistband. the sun kissed it like it was trying to get a look too.

“stop staring,” sunghoon muttered, glancing at jake from the corner of his eyes. jake didn’t flinch, he didn’t even react. “wasn’t.”

—which was ironic, since chungdam high uniform literally included a skirt that exposed the female students' knees down to their ankles. yet, jake’s staring at something so little and small of your waist.

“you were.”

“whatever. she’s so cute.” jake leaned back, arms behind his head now, cushioning. his gaze stared up at the sky. “gotten so cute since the last time i saw her.” he continued.

sunghoon just hummed in response, not agreeing nor disagreeing. just acknowledging.

the sound of sneakers squeaking against the pavement. you’d just missed the ball again, but grinned with your hands on your hips, pretending to argue with your friend about it being unfair. you looked warm and flushed.

“do you think she remembers me?” jake suddenly said. 

sunghoon let the question hang. 

a tennis ball rolled near them, and he kicked it lazily back onto the court.

“don’t know,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck from where the sun hit. “if you guys talked before, then probably. yeah.” 

jake paused. “well that didn’t help.” 

you were hard to miss—but not because you tried to stand out. maybe it was because of the way you always looked so at ease, walking in the middle of a pack of girls at twelve years old. the kind of girls boys didn’t talk to because you never really allowed them to. 

sunghoon figured that’s probably why jake never did. 

“maybe i should talk to her. say hi, or something…” jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. sunghoon didn’t look at him, instead, he plucked the little grass poking out from the edge of the court. “go for it, then,” 

“just don’t be weird about it.” he added after a beat. sunghoon could imagine jake saying something dumb—too loud or too confident or too insecure. flashing that same smile he used on literally everyone. he could already vision it: jake stopping you in your tracks to say hi, you blinking slowly, unsure of what to say back, and glance at your friends for help.

sunghoon might not be known as a good person like jake is, but he’s not a bad friend. 

“maybe wait until she’s not surrounded,” sunghoon mumbled, flicking a strand of grass. “you’ll scare her off.” he didn’t say it unkindly. just plainly—like it was fact. jake squinted up at the sun, groaning as the little pebbles poked at his back. “i won’t scare her. i’ll make her like me back.”

sunghoon just shrugged, didn’t bother answering. whatever makes jake happy—whatever floats his boat. 

you probably would. 

like jake back. 

— 

sunghoon blamed the universe for putting both you and him in the same university—and jake away. he didn’t mean it in a mean way. it was more like… a bad alignment. like one of those stupid cosmic jokes where everything’s just slightly off, but enough to make you wonder if someone up there had it out for you.

you weren’t supposed to be here. you were supposed to go back japan. everyone knew. everyone said so.

sunghoon almost, almost didn’t recognise you at first. the first last time sunghoon saw you was when everyone was twelve, then eighteen, then now twenty three. five-year intervals, like you were some ghost the calendar coughed up every half-decade just to mess with his head.

you looked good. grown pretty in the way people do when life has taken them somewhere far and dropped them back off, just a little changed. your hair’s gotten longer, but you still have that baby face. when he first spotted you, like a magnet, people surrounded and handed you pieces of everything.

he tried avoiding you.

but there you were, sitting across from sunghoon at the welcoming party. you were clutching a plate of skewers and you’ve only managed to get even prettier. a few seniors had gathered the new intakes by one of the rich kids’ lawn, red and white fairy lights looping overhead, papercups scattered by the folding tables. someone was passing around watermelon, and a lot were surrounding the grill. mingling—trying to win over seniors for their own future advantages. 

“park sunghoon?” 

he looked up, feigning surprise like he hadn’t already clocked you the second he walked in. you were hard to miss.

you were always hard to miss.

“sunghoon, right?” you said again, tilting your head and sunghoon could see the gears functioning in your little head. he blinked, pausing mid-sip from his papercup. fuck…

“...hey,” he said finally, tone neutral and light. your shoulders dropped, visibly relieved. “oh thank god. i was really scared i got the wrong person for a second.” you smiled. sunghoon let out a breath of a chuckle, just the smallest exhale through his nose. “nah.”

you scooted closer to the table, hands clutching the edge of your bench. “do you… remember me?”

sunghoon looked at you. really looked this time. he took in the way your hair framed your face differently now. five years really changed someone’s features, huh, he thought. you lost the baby fat in your cheeks, the one that puff up whenever you smiled.

you eyes were the same, though. still full of curiosity. you sounded the same too, more grown, but still soft around the edges.

beneath it all—how could he forget you? when his own bestfriend’s world revolved around you. 

you, who jake watched from a distance with a quiet devotion that sunghoon came to learn how to hold the secret in his hands. you, who jake never approached but always talked about on every occasion. you, who jake liked the way kids liked impossible things: constellations, miracles, the idea of requited love.

you, who jake loves so very much. 

and probably still do.

you, who sunghoon knew the story by heart.

sunghoon’s tongue felt dry. he crumpled the rim of his cup slightly more, but you didn’t notice. 

so yeah—”yeah,” he said, finally. “i remember you.”

turns out, you were supposed to fly to japan but your grandmother got sick so you ended up deferring. then reapplying. then staying. and for almost the whole night, the two of you ended up talking about things sunghoon couldn’t recall even if he’d like to. about life after high school, about this person, and that person. sunghoon nodded here and there, but the truth was—he didn’t really get what you were trying to say. not entirely. he knew how to pretend, though.

you didn’t bring up jake—not like you had to. for the whole senior year, jake didn’t approach you at all. despite him saying numerous, billions, quadrillions, countless times that he definitely would. and you’d one-hundred-one percent will fall in love with him. all bark no bite, sunghoon wanted to say then.

sunghoon remembered how jake would say your name like a prayer and carry your presence like a bruise. remembered how he’d skip his own curriculum just to catch a glimpse of you doing yours. 

did you even remember jake, at all? sunghoon was sure you’d at least know his bestfriend’s existence, but that was all about it. maybe by name, maybe by face—a blurry boy from childhood who was the captain of the soccer team? the boy with fluffy black hair and confused face?

he could’ve brought him up—just a simple, “you know your primary school’s classmate, jake?” maybe that would’ve jogged something loose. maybe you’d tilt your head, squint a little, and say, “oh… that name sounds familiar.”

and from there, maybe sunghoon could’ve eased jake into the conversation. could’ve helped reconnect a thread that once tried to form (one-sided). maybe even give jake the chance he never, always scared, to take. 

but sunghoon didn’t.

—

the camera flickers back on. jake is in the frame.

he’s seated with one leg bouncing as he leans slightly toward the camera. the lighting is lower now, duskier. the shadows fall longer on his handsome face, though it doesn’t dim the softness in his eyes. 

someone off-camera clears their throat. 

“tell us about sunghoon.”

jake laughs through his nose, nodding. “mmm. sunghoon,” tongue poking his cheek before he answers. “he’s like a brother to me.” he leans back, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“we’ve known each other since forever. forever, forever. he’s the first person i met when i moved to korea from australia, and sunghoon… he’s that one person who just stays, no matter how much time passes. no matter how many things change,” his smile lifts, faint but fond. “sunghoon means a lot to me.”

a pause.

“we don’t have to talk all the time. being around sunghoon is already enough. with him, there’s this ease—maybe because we’re opposite of one another, so we make a pretty good pair.” 

the camera cut to jake fidgeting the hem of his shirt. 

“he’s been through a lot,” jake says, softer now. “but he never shows it. which is why—i think—a lot of people thinks sunghoon’s cold and intimidating. that dude’s just reserved, he carries everything in silence, but he…” 

a beat. jake swallows the lump in his throat. “he’s one of the kindest person i know.”

another pause. longer this time. the clock ticks in the background.

“what about his fiance?” 

jake’s eyes flick up, surprised. “what do you mean?”

“what do you think of her?”

jake blinks. his smile stays, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“she’s…” he trails, then nods. “she’s wonderful.” he shifts in his seat, like something in him tightens. “she’s always been great,” he continues. “another kind person i know aside sunghoon. she’s warm, and she tends to talk a lot when she’s nervous.” he laughs, almost to himself.

“being around her makes me feel like i’m a teen again.” he laughs and slips out like an afterthought. he doesn’t look at the camera, his eyes drift slightly to the side, like he’s seeing something only he can see—like he’s remembering something no one else, besides himself, and maybe his bestfriend, ever witnessed. 

“sometimes i catch myself wanting to tell her things i can’t tell sunghoon,” he shrugs, a little helpless, a little guilty, so bold. “and that’s saying something.” his knee starts bouncing again, but slower now. the camera zooms in just a little. enough to see the shift in his expression, the slight crease in his brow. 

“... they make sense together,” he smiles, raking his hair through his fingers. “sunghoon’s good for her. she’s good for him,” 

his smile returns, faint, but this time a little more fixed. like it’s being held in place. “i’m happy for them.” he says again.

beat.

then: 

“do you like her?”

it’s the same question, asked in the same tone. neutral. non-threatening. 

jake stills. he lifts his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to figure out if it’s a joke. “what?” 

“do you like her, jake?”

the bounce in his leg stops as the silence stretches. his eyes flick toward the crew, then past the camera, then back down. jake smiles again—this one’s thinner, faint, tired. “yeah, of course i do,” he says finally. 

“she’s sunghoon’s fiance.” 

cut.

—

there were a lot of moments where jake wanted to tell you that he liked you way before sunghoon ever did. if he even liked you at all. it’s unfair.

because what jake felt for you… it had a name. he just couldn’t say it out loud. he just didn’t get to be the one who told you, because sunghoon said it first. and yeah sure—it’s partially his fault as well for not taking the chance earlier, but he was only scared teen with an uncertain future ahead. 

he had a draft email titled “don’t send this” to you for goodness sake—a reminder to himself of everything he never said, and maybe never would. he wrote it during his finals week when he needed to blame someone for his lack of time managerial skills. jake started typing because he couldn’t bring himself to study—not with the thought of you tucked under sunghoon’s arm after the study session that jake skipped on purpose.

the draft started as a joke. a what-if. but turned into something else entirely.

you probably don’t know and will never do. but i’ve liked you since we were 9. you spilled yogurt on my worksheet and apologised and tried to wipe it off but it only tore the paper apart. i was angry but then you smiled and i guess that ruined everything for me.

this probably sounds so fucking dumb. you’re sunghoon’s girlfriend. you’re my bestfriend’s girlfriend and i’m not saying he doesn’t. but there’s no way he likes you.

at least, there’s no way he likes you more than i do. there’s no way sunghoon likes you, whom i’ve been in love with since fifteen years ago. he only knows you work part-time during senior year because i told him. he only knows you keep band-aids in your wallet because i found your wallet when you lost it. he doesn’t notice that you stop talking when the rain starts getting too loud. i cry when we graduated and you had to leave cheongdam.

the things that sunghoon knew, they all came from me.

jake didn’t continue writing or finishing the email. he never finished the sentence, never hit send, just let it sit there. collecting dust and cowardice. sitting in his drafts folder like a wound he picked at every few months—just to feel. just to make sure it’s still there, even if it hurts.

once, he hovered over the send button, tipsy on cheap liquor and the way your name looked in his inbox. he could’ve—jake could’ve ended it all. ended your relationship with sunghoon when you knew that your boyfriend ‘stole’ you, his own bestfriend’s first love. you were always the type to choose moral over anything.

he could’ve told you the truth and changed everything. but instead—he shut the laptop, took another swig, and passed out with your name still burning in his chest. because even in his worst, messiest, moment, jake was good at being a bestfriend.

even if sunghoon isn’t. 

even if sunghoon looked him in the eye after months of not seeing each other and said, “i think i like her,” and jake laughed like it was funny, like the universe hadn’t just slammed a door in his face. even if sunghoon knew—the first and last to know—and still asked, “you don’t mind, right?” while sipping on his drink.

and of course jake said no, of course he didn’t mind. what kind of bestfriend would he be if he said yes? 

“how—? why, though?” jake asked, swallowing the lump in his throat as he had to force his leg to stop bouncing anxiously under the table. “i mean… out of everyone?” he let out a dry chuckle, gripping the edge of his drink, cold sweat clinging to the glass. 

“you… you never cared about her back then.” 

sunghoon shrugged, eyes on the amber swirl in his cup. “she’s easy to talk to. we have a lot in common, actually,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “i never really noticed it before. but i get it now.”

jake furrowed his brows. “get what?” 

sunghoon finally looked at him, and there was something unreadable in his expression. wistful, maybe. or selfish. or both. “what you felt,” he said. “back then. when you said you liked her.”

the words landed like a slap across jake’s face—too casual, too late. 

momentarily, how dare he, jake thought. how fucking dare he. 

after all these years—after holding his silence like a vow, after standing at sunghoon’s side through every dumb fight and every rant about his parents—sunghoon said this now? like it’s a moment they can both laugh about?

“what you felt”—like sunghoon understood. as if he understood unrequited feelings for fifteen long years. jake had loved you when he was still learning what love even was. he loved you when your friends surprised you with a flour attack for your birthday—and loved you the same when you dressed up as a disney princess for halloween. he loved you when you didn’t love him back. 

and still, he kept loving you.

and sunghoon…

sunghoon was the one person he trusted with that love. the one person he let. he told him in a late-night haze before their high school finals that he was thinking of confessing to you on the last day of school.

he’d never do that to park sunghoon.

but here they were. 

and sunghoon dared to say he understood. as if ‘stealing’ the only thing jake ever wanted was some rite of passage. 

jake let out a quiet laugh, all breath and no humour. “yeah?” he said, eyes fixed on the ashtray between them. “you understand now?” sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he just nodded, the end of his lips curled into a smile. “i never get why you liked her so much. and then one day i just… did.”

“life’s so weird,” he chuckled, swirling the melting ice in his glass.

jake hummed, noncommittal. he reached for his drink, but didn’t take a sip. sunghoon had a choice, and you were one of it—and he blamed life for the things he decided.

“she’s exactly like you said. so funny even when she’s not trying to be. i get it now.”

“you were the first person i told,” jake said softly. he wasn’t sure where he was going with it, but it’s the only thing that felt right. “back then.” sunghoon’s gaze flicked to him, he didn’t say anything. “do you remember your reaction? you just said oh, and then you kept on telling me to just talk to her.” 

sunghoon’s lips pressed into a thin line. he leaned back, eyes drifting somewhere past jake’s shoulder like he didn’t want to be in the memory. what’s past is past, right? 

“you should’ve,” sunghoon finally replied. he ran his hand through his hair, taking a sip of his drink. when he sets it down, he locked his eyes on jake, blinking. “you don’t mind though, right?” 

the question settled like fog between them—dense and inescapable. 

jake looked at him. this boy—the same boy he’d grown up with, shared bedrooms with and bathed together, exchanged secrets with—the first boy jake told when he had his first wet dream, the same boy jake shared his older brother’s porn magazines with. the same boy who knew everything about jake. including how much she meant to him. 

he forced a smile, the kind that curved his mouth but never reached his eyes. “yeah,” jake said, voice too light for the weight in his chest. “of course not.”

because what else was he supposed to say?

and both answers would affect their friendship, anyway. it was just the matter of whether it was a good, or a bad outcome.

but both were bad for jake. 

if he said yes, he’d be the selfish one—the jealous bestfriend who couldn’t be happy for someone else’s happiness. the one who couldn’t let go. it wasn’t as if by saying yes, you would come to like him anyway.

if he said no, he’d lose you anyway. and he already did. 

sunghoon didn’t mean to hurt him—jake knew that. jake hoped so. but that didn’t make it any less cruel. sometimes, the worst kind of pain wasn’t from people who hated you. it was from the ones who loved you, and still chose themselves. 

“she’s not mine anyway,” jake joked, half to sunghoon, half to himself. he watched the amber liquid slosh against the sides like it might spill out what he couldn’t. 

“goodluck sunghoon.” 

—

“did you know jake liked her?”

sunghoon doesn’t respond right away. his mouth parts like he might—but then he shuts it, jaw flexing slightly as he looks down at his hands. fingers threaded now, thumbs pressing together. 

“yeah,” he says, finally. almost comes out as a whisper. “i did.”

the pause that follows is thick, almost uncomfortable. apparent in the way the crew members look at each other. even the equipment knows now to make a sound. sunghoon lets out a slow exhale, tilting his head to glance at something off-screen. his voice is shockingly steadier when he continues. 

“i know he liked her ever since we were nine. but then she moved, so i thought the feeling was done and over with,” sunghoon said, nodding to himself like he was fact-checking his words. “then she came back just during our senior year, and jake was back to square one.” 

he exhales through his nose, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the edge of his lips. it disappears as quickly as it formed. “i didn’t think it was a big deal at first because i thought he’ll get over it. y’know, people change.” he shifts in the stool, thumb rubbing a faint circle into his palm. “but she didn’t feel like just anybody to him. and i should’ve remembered that.”

a beat.

“she’s someone to me now, too.” 

sunghoon doesn’t blink right away. his gaze hangs in the space just past the camera, like he’s not really looking at anything—more like he’s remembering. “she’s…” he starts, then exhales a soft laugh, like he caught himself saying too much, but isn’t going to stop. “you know when someone makes you feel like the best version of yourself without trying?”

his thumb continues to worry his ring finger.

“it’s not even the obvious things… not the way she looks or how she dresses. it’s…” he pauses, then shrugs lightly, his voice softening. “the way she’s so focused on you when you’re talking. yn can light up a whole room with her presence alone. she makes you feel like you’re the only person who truly matters.”

sunghoon exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. he rubs the back of his neck, heat rises up to his ears, painting them red. his gaze still hasn’t met the camera—it hovers somewhere to the side, distant. “when someone like her exists—how do you not fall?”

he lets the silence stretch out. then, like the thought only just occurred to him, sunghoon adds,

“i mean,” he says, darting his tongue to wet his lips. “i probably would’ve liked her even if she was my older brother’s ex, or something,” a half-smile tugs at his lips. “that’s just the kind of person yn is.”

cut.

—

the room was quiet except for the hum of the wind whistling through the sheer curtains and your breathing—slow, warm against sunghoon’s chest. your leg hooked loosely over his, cheek resting on his bicep, lashes still damp where they kissed the swell of your cheek.

so peaceful. lovely and trusting.

sunghoon just stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing the faint shadows cast from outside. he could feel the weight of your arm around his stomach. your scent lingered, the mixture of his bedroom, your shampoo, skin, sweat, and sex.

he swallowed.

yeah—the two of you did it. sunghoon made love to his bestfriend’s dream girl. he became the reason for your pleasured tears and meek moans. sunghoon was your first, as much as you were his. 

jake must’ve at least once—dreamt about this. to be the one on top of you. to be the one who held you close and tight and heard the way you whispered his name, breathless, like it was holy. sunghoon knew how jake talked about taking you out if the two of you happened—the flowers he’ll buy, the separate bank account he’ll have just to take you out on lavish dates.

you didn’t even like luxury things. sunghoon knew that much.

the thought didn’t disgust him, but it didn’t sit quite right either.

you were soft, beautiful, asleep on his chest like you’ve always belonged there. the taste that you weren’t just jake’s—sunghoon’s bestfriend’s—girl anymore, but sunghoon’s, stayed bitter on his tongue. he turned his head slightly, just enough to see your hair fanned out across his pillow. it was easy to forget everything when you were looking at him like that.

but here in the quiet. in the dark, you’re asleep. so everything came back.

sunghoon liked you. he really did, genuinely, truthfully. but there was an annoying voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t shut up. 

would he still have wanted you if jake didn’t? 

would he still have kissed you if you hadn’t once belonged to the fantasy of someone else?

he hated those questions. hated that not even him could answer that.

why was he doing all this? 

his arm curled around your bare waist without thinking, pulling you against his chest as he rested his chin atop of your head. your breath was steady, warm against his skin.

sunghoon was just about to shut his eyes when a quiet part of him whispered—that it wasn’t just about you. 

maybe it was also about jake.

sunghoon swallowed thickly, jaw clenching. maybe that was it—maybe all this time, he just wanted to prove that he could get the thing jake never could. like a game—a challenge. because in order to deserve something, you had to work for it, right?

and no one worked harder for you than jake. 

so sunghoon wanted to beat that. he wanted to beat the boy who watched from a distance for years but never made a move. wanted to beat that ache in jake’s throat everytime your name came up, the way his voice got so soft when talking about you like he was holding fragile in his mouth.

but sunghoon didn’t hate jake. he never did. he swore on his mother about that. they grew up side by side, shared secrets, rides home, birthdays, roadtrips, and vacations. everything. jake knew about sunghoon’s family's bad relationship, and sunghoon even knew about jake’s father's infidelity, for god’s sake. they knew each other better than anyone else. he knew the way jake carried affection, but still went after the one thing jake could never reach for. 

sunghoon just needed to know he could.

he closed his eyes, tried to breathe without waking you up. he snuggled and pulled you closer, planting your face in his chest as he inhaled the scent of your hair. “i would’ve liked you even if you were his,” he whispered, almost bitterly. 

“maybe i liked you because you were his.”

—

“congratulations on your wedding!” 

the camera zooms and pans across each guest—a college friend flashing a peace sign, your uncle dabbing sweat off his forehead, sunghoon’s little cousin waving at the lens, your two friends deciding on what pose to make—and then, jake.

he stands beside sunghoon as the best man, hand in his pocket, smile steady but soft. familiar. 

the camera captures him glancing to the side—to you.

you’re adjusting your bouquet, tilting your head to fix a curl that escaped your updo. that strand falls gently across your cheek, catching the golden light like thread spun from sunlight. it reminded jake of the first time he saw you again after five years. your lips are painted soft, your lashes long, and there’s that bride glow to you—and it’s not just from the highlighter dusted across your cheekbones. 

you look so beautiful. radiant in a way that doesn’t ask to be seen, but still steals the breath of anyone who dares to look.

sunghoon pulls you close to him, arm winding easily around his wife’s waist like second nature. you lean to his side, bouquet nestled between you. the soft rustle of your dress barely audible beneath the clicks of camera shutters. he grins—leaning his head slightly to match yours. 

somewhere during the afterparty, when the music has softened and most of the guests are busy picking at the dessert table or swaying lazily on the dancefloor, sunghoon finds jake outside.

the air is cooler, quieter. just two bestfriends under the garden lights, their ties loosened and their drinks half-finished.

“...hey,” sunghoon starts, approaching jake from behind. jake looks over, the corners of his mouth lifting politely. 

“congrats, man,” he says again, like he hasn’t already said it twice that day.

sunghoon smiles and lets out a breath, eyes fix on the rim of his glass. “thanks. i just…” he hesitates before meeting jake’s gaze. that’s just how sunghoon is—confrontational to others, but not to himself. “i wanted to say thank you. for… y’know, being here. for everything.”

jake gives a small nod, sipping his drink. “of course. i wouldn’t skip this big day for anything.”

a pause stretch between them. 

“i mean it,” he adds, more serious now. “yn is everything to me. i love her, jake, genuinely. so—” he shook his head, lips twisting into a dry smile. “thank you for liking her first for me.”

jake says nothing. the words land heavy, heavier than the music and laughter behind them. they press into his ribs like an old bruise—one he knows never healed, anyway. sunghoon looks at him like he doesn’t know what to expect. a forgiveness, or an understanding that neither jake owes. 

he just… blinks. because if jake says what he’s really thinking—that sunghoon’s a shitty friend and an asshole then it would ruin everything. the friendship was already fragile enough. 

so he swallows it all down like always has. what good would it do now?

you looked happy. radiant. you probably want to settle down by thirty. he’s happy for you, as much as he hates to say it. and sunghoon… well, he got everything he wanted, didn’t he? 

“you’re lucky,” he says, voice low but steady. jake claps a hand on sunghoon’s shoulder—too firm to be gentle, too soft to be angry—he gives it a light squeeze.

”don’t fuck it up. i’m still here, y’know?” then he turns and walks off, leaving sunghoon behind, mouth parted—almost confused. 

as if that wasn’t what he did. 

stealing you away.

💭 me after coming to just. drop one fic n dip again... :( i've been so emotionally drained lately and i don't know why. i feel like i'm not producing n giving you guys good quality (long) fics and it's fucking me up. i'm so sorry </3 i can only write short drabble ones (not like this) for the time being.

anyway, i hope you guys enjoy! i wanted to try interview style like this again in the future ^-^ this was idk inspired by what i just wanna make sunghoon a not good person haha. as usual, reblogs, comments, and asks are what keeps me going so feel free~ <3

[strawbrryvyy]

Hate Me

pairing: anton x gn!reader

warning: vague age gap (older!reader), angst, mentions of food/eating and alcohol

wc: 2.1k

a/n:  I bought dnd dice recently so i’m beginning to incorporate those into my writing hehehe >:3 also thank you, anon, for requesting this! it was so fun to write <3 genuinely got me out of my writers block

Your usual Friday night routine was going over to a friend’s house for movies. Someone would host and order or make dinner for you all before having some drinks and watching movies. It was usually a roulette of who hosted, although some friends enjoyed hosting more than others.

After a few too many drinks, though it was the host’s fault for always overstocking their liquor, you were enjoying the breeze outside. The balcony was small, your friend’s apartment was in the city and you never got to be greedy when dealing with these types of buildings. Your knees were bunched towards your shoulders, folding in to fit in the small area.

You were beside Anton, you can’t say you two were close friends but you always hung around the same circles. Both of you relaxed as the breeze picked up, cooling you off from the heat and humidity building in the small apartment. While you loved your friends, it was hard enjoying how stuffy and sweaty the Friday night parties could get.

You hadn’t noticed how long Anton was staring at you. Your eyes were mostly closed, relaxing against the brick exterior of the balcony. The few times you’d open your eyes was to see the constellations above you. The city was always too cloudy or full of debris to allow the stars to shine through. Being able to see them felt like a treat.

Anton, on the other hand, was far from relaxed. He was constantly fidgeting and adjusting. He’d never gotten this close to you and he was thinking of the few chances he’d ever get to confessing to you. He could feel how fast his heartbeat was, how tight his throat felt. Anton really liked you and if he was gonna do this he’d want to make it right.

“Are you okay?”

Anton looked up at you, feeling his face warm.

“You look really warm, did you need to go home?”

Anton smiled sheepishly, nodding as you turned towards him. In all honestly, he only had a single beer, all of this was his nerves going off and making him look upset.

You stood, helping Anton get up beside you, walking out of the balcony before grabbing your things. You both walked out, saying goodbye before leaving.

You were able to walk off of some the alcohol you drank, stopping by a convenience store for some water bottles. The walk to his place wasn’t terrible, he was just a few blocks away from your friend’s house.

As you made it to his front door, he told you he sobered up more. You sighed in relief, glad he didn’t need anything serious before you left him.

You nodded, “It was nice seeing you.”

“Y/n.”

You stopped, looking back at Anton.

“I, um.” 

You took a step forward, trying to see his downturned face. He looked nervous, almost like he needed something from you but was scared to say it. He didn’t look sick, he said he sobered up.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“What?” You blurted out.

Fuck.

Anton froze, looking around before he grabbed at his door.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said—”

Anton closed his door before he could do anything.

“Fuck.” He said to himself, burying his face in his hands.

You stared at his front door, every ounce of alcohol leaving your body as that sobered you up. For a second you stayed, in case he walked out looking for you but you quickly left. Your mind was still sifting through that entire scene.

Anton likes you? He’s in love with you? You tried to wrap your head around it all, this felt like a cold plunge. He liked you? Did you like him?

You spent your walk home in a half daze, thinking about Anton and his behavior towards you. He was always shy around people, he was never loud or too bold. He didn’t have any unattractive traits but you just never paid much attention to him.

You felt bad but a part of you didn’t. How were you supposed to know he liked you? You’ve always been the younger one of any relationship, never the older one. You were never close, either, closest you have ever sat or stood by each other was with another person in between.

As you walked into your home, you locked your door and crashed onto your bed. You were exhausted. Even as you were drifting off to sleep, your mind continued replaying those moments. Flashing Anton’s face into your mind’s vision and making your stomach knot in nerves.

’Should I text him?’

You wondered if you even had his number. You grabbed at your phone and looked through your contacts, going through as many as you could. Not a single Anton.

There was nothing you could do but your inability made it feel worse. Maybe tomorrow or some time later.

The next new days passed by, working and doing your usual tasks. You could almost entirely forget the whole thing with Anton until your friend, Sohee, invited everyone out for lunch. You were fine until Anton walked in, everything rushing back into your memory as you sat down.

You could’ve played it cool but the only empty seat was beside yours, making everything feel even worse than it could have been. You were grateful your talkative friends were across from you, making it far easier to ignore the growing tension between the two of you.

Despite the mutual awkwardness and silent agreement to keep things short and silent between the two of you, something about Anton kept grabbing your attention. You were smelling his cologne more, noticing the way he shifted beside you. You were almost staring at him every time he laughed at some joke.

There was something gravitating you towards Anton in the most evil, self-destructive way.

After eating, you found yourself alone with him. He looked nervous but no more than usual, you wondered if this was a good time to bring his confession up.

“So,” You say, “about what you said.”

Anton looks at you, his eyes looking nervous before he relaxed.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that, I guess I drank a little more than I expected.” He laughed.

“Yeah, it was just the drinks, right?”

“Huh?” He asked.

“You know, that was just the drinks. You’re not actually into me, right?”

You tried playing it cool but the way it came out was far from cool. You could see on Anton’s face you’re just adding insult to injury.

Anton’s face flexed, his cheeks beginning to flush.

“No, that was,” he paused, “it was some strong beer, you know.”

“Yeah!” You laughed, “I thought so, you’re just so much younger than me.”

Anton’s eyes widened, “Younger? I’m that much younger than you?”

“Well, you’re like a baby, no way we could date or anything.”

“Oh.”

Anton had a tight smile.

You gave a last look at Anton before your friends walked back. He was able to compose himself but you saw it. That hurt, painful expression before everyone sat down. His smile was already forced and your confrontation didn’t help. The rest of lunch went by silently.

You were grateful things were finished and packed up soon. Some of your friends going back to work, other’s having errands or an emergency they had to go to. You said goodbye to Anton but he gave you a tight smile before walking away.

Everything sank in a little more.

As you went back home, your thoughts were plagued with everything that went down. Anton was more than serious. He probably lied back being drunk. Every time he looked at you it showed how badly he wanted to leave, to go somewhere where he didn’t feel embarrassed and mocked.

His face stuck in your mind. His irritation and shock. You really fucked up.

The rest of your say went by slowly. Going to grab groceries was slow, cooking was slow, even your shower was slow. You were dragging your feet as you stepped out of the steamy bathroom, spending some extra time in there replaying those moments.

Even if you had good intentions, you still hurt Anton.

After drying your hair, you laid in bed. You were trying anything to distract yourself from thinking about Anton, soon you would have another dinner with him invited. You were more than sure he’d take a rain check and the thought of him not even wanting to be in the same room as you hurt.

Scrolling through your social media, you noticed how slow and dry everything was. The universe really wanted to teach you something. You tossed your phone onto the side of your bed, staring up at your ceiling. Everything was going bad and it was entirely your fault.

Grabbing at your phone to close your apps, your feed refreshed and showed a notification from your direct messages. Clicking around, you saw it was from Anton. It was a spotify link.

Opening the link, your phone began playing ‘Age is Nothing but a Number’ by Pretty Ricky.

You sighed in relief, “He doesn’t hate me.”

Of course you knew he was upset with you but you were expecting him to block you on everything and completely cut you out.

Doing back to your DMs, you thought about texting him back. What could you say? “I’m sorry,”? No way. This was something you’d have to do in person.

As the weekend rolled around and you were getting ready for your weekly get togethers, you were hoping Anton would be there. By now he’d see his message was send and read, you could only hope he was kind enough to hear your apology.

Arriving at Sungchan’s house, you looked over everyone there so far. You saw Eunseok and Sohee, Minjeong and Giselle, some other mutual friends but not Anton. You were growing nervous thinking about him.

When he arrived, you were relieved. Anton looked normal, better than some of your previous hang outs. You kept some distance, nervous about being confrontational like before. Thinking back, that was a horrible idea, maybe later you’d message him.

Sungchan ordered pizza for everyone, a couple boxes of different styles while he put on some movie. Your mind was too busy worried about Anton to actually watch anything, barely able to hear the questions Minjeong was asking you.

After a few movies, some people stayed in the living room while others moved to different areas. Some people moved outside for a smoke, others were drinking in the kitchen. You excused yourself to the bathroom. On your way there you messaged Anton to ask if you both could talk.

Your messages showed he’s read the text. Now you were worried if he’d just ignore you or walk over. Both scenarios made you scared but you couldn’t tell which was worse.

After a minute you heard someone walking towards you, turning into the hallway was Anton. You sighed in relief, ‘Okay, he doesn’t hate me.’

“You wanted to talk?” He said.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being a bitch.”

Anton laughed, “When were you being a bitch.”

“I was confrontational and rude. I, I hurt your feelings and I didn’t realize it until it was too late, I’m sorry.”

Anton leaned against the wall, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You DM’d me a song, it’s not a small deal.”

You cringed slightly, thinking of what you just said.

“I,” Anton shifted, “I was being petty.”

“I hurt you and that wasn’t cool.”

“It wasn’t cool.”

You stay silent as Anton said that. Feeling the full weight of this.

“I’m not saying this to excuse what I did, I just, I’ve never been with anyone younger. I didn’t know you felt that way and I’m sorry.”

“Let’s forget this happened.”

“There’s no way forget this happened.”

“Maybe but we can try.”

“Or we can start over.”

Anton almost laughed, “You want to start over?”

“We can try.”

Anton let the silence hang in the air. You swore your ears would start ringing if he didn’t speak soon enough.

“Sure, we can start over.”

You sighed in relief. Grabbing your phone,

“Here, it’ll be on your call.”

You exchanged numbers, letting Anton be the one making the first call or text. You, obviously, weren’t the best at that.

As you walked back you could feel Anton lean down, “You’re gonna let me take you on a date?”

“I promise I won’t call you a baby.”

Anton laughed, you could feel your shoulders relax from how genuine he sounded.

[strawbrryvyy]

ꕥ SOFTIE ⸝⸝⸝ S. EUNSEOK !

[ req? yes / no ]

⧼ 📎 ⧽ 一 pairing。 ⸝⸝ song eunseok x fem!reader 𓄵 wc. 0.4k genre。smut contains! soft dom eunseok , unprotected sex , { back to library }

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ── eunseok being a huge softie for his girl in bed …

eunseok often came off as a guy who looked like he didn’t take shit — but in reality he was a softie; especially when it came to you in bed.

“such a pretty pretty girl.” his hips rocked against yours , his cock dragging along your insides. “such a good girl for me.” he was so gentle , you never didn’t feel satisfied when having sex with eunseok , he never let you wanting more.

“eunseok.” you moaned , clenching around him. “sh-shit princess , you need to relax i’m gonna cum if you do that”. he groaned. “wanna last to make you cum so more , don’t you wanna cum?” you nodded your head. “nu-uh.” he stopped moving , grabbing your jaw. “what’s my one rule baby?”

you could barely say anything; stuttering. “u-use — eunseok.” he tutted , shaking his head. “m’not gonna move unless you answer , what’s my one rule.” he gave you one slow stroke. “us-use your w-words.” he hummed and. “good , now i asked you a question , don’t you wanna cum?” waiting for your answer. “ye-yes i wanna cum.” he continued moving with a satisfied smile. “good fucking girl..” he went faster , your moans growing louder. “doing so good for me.”

you felt so overwhelmed; tears starting to stream down your cheeks due to the immense pleasure; eunseok catching on. “oh pretty girl , you’re overwhelmed.” he groaned. “am i fucking you to good? is it too much?” you moaned out , nodding. “ye-yeah.” he kissed the apples of your cheeks. “but you can take it right? my good girl you can take my cock right? don’t you wanna cum?” he picked up the pace some , the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. “ye-yes , m’gonna cum.” he toyed with your swollen clit.

“yeah , gonna -shit- make a mess.” he spoke. “make a mess all over my cock?” you nodded. “yes! yes please can i cum?” you begged. “please can i cum.” he groaned as you clenched down on him , he was gonna cum to. “yeah princess be good and cum on my cock.” his cock twitched , making you cum all over him. “fuck that’s it , keep cumming on my dick.” his voice was low as he buried himself deep inside you. “fuck i’m cumming.” he hissed as he came , you could feel his warm seed filled you up. “e-eunseok.”

he slipped out of you, but it didn’t last long because you felt the tip of his cock pushing back into you. “yo-you can give another one can’t you baby?” he said softly , you nodded.

“good girl , such a good girl.”

©️LUVYENI

[strawbrryvyy]

Scandal-l.CH

Plot summary : you had barely stepped onto the global stage. After years of grueling training, tears, and rejection, your long-awaited debut finally arrived: the world now knew you as the center and lead vocal of HYRA, a powerful multinational girl group with SM Entertainment. It was meant to be your big day—press conferences, trending hashtags, glowing articles. But everything took a sharp turn within hours of your debut showcase. Your very first scandal with Anton of RIIZE.

HYRA RIIZE

chp 1: NOT DATING

taglist : @jvngw0nlvr @saranghoeforanton @younjo @flaminghotyourmom