#When I started genuinely smiling so often

[xylatox]

When Cameras Stop Rolling | psh by the lovely Rei!! I'm so excited to read it :))

Before I start I wanna say how genuinely excited I am

that reader is actually an aspiring director here, I feel like I haven't seen that explored so it's a new perspective!!

It’s just another day in the world of film production—one where your name barely carries weight, where you’re another invisible cog in the relentless machine that keeps everything running. No one notices you unless they need something.— my heart already breaks, poor baby:((

Rising star, adored by millions, praised for his talent, his charm, his ability to command a scene like he was born for it. He’s the kind of actor whose name alone can secure funding for a film. He’s also notoriously difficult.— hehe Sunghoon introduction (im so downbad for him). I'm smiling like an idiot reading this, I'm so excited!!

God, their first interaction makes me so excited to see how this relationship will progress. —He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.— Rei your words, are always able to enrapture me, it's so good.

Sunghoon’s coldness also interests me, like, what more is there to it? What causes you to behave like this? Defense mechanism perchance? I'm so invested. —Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.— if this happened to me though, I'd feel so embarrassed ah😭

The tense atmosphere as they read through the lines??? oh my god. —You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.” — we love it when women talk back to men, we cheer! AND THE WAY HE JUST LISTENS 😵‍💫 ugh I love it.

You let out a sharp breath. “Because your tantrum is delaying the schedule, and if you refuse to wear it, I have to be the one to fix the mess it creates. So, forgive me for caring, but some of us don’t have the luxury of making everyone cater to our every whim.” — God I'm so in love with reader wow she's amazing😭

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.— he's so infuriating in the most attractive way. God, I absolutely love all the tension between them, it so attractive.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.— he's so fucking cute I'm going to cry I love him. And the way the small gestures continue ugh, my poor heart.

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”— I'm so loving this moment, they finally have a bonding moment about constantly being busy. I totally get it, being busy, despite the tiredness you often feel, helps with not thinking, especially when you want to avoid the loudness that thoughts bring. I love how Sunghoon opens up, and we see how he too struggled in the beginning and it makes sense why he behaves the way he does.

I love that the conversation sets the tone moving forward and the subtle change in the relationship is there with Sunghoon’s sweetness popping out a bit more.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. — giggly and smiley!!! I love them so much.—His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– I WILL GO INSANE AHH

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him. — I will pass out

THE KISS, IN THE RAIN????? I AM GOING TO DIE OH MY GOD.

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.— no but it's so cute thst he intertwines their fingers what if I ??? I'm freaking out.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."— I am not okay, mentally running laps.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."— the things I wanna say, my face is so hot LOL😭

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.— I could cry, i love that he's still there the day after :(( —But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.— :(((((

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”— I'm going to cry :(

I love how we see the slip ups, going from subtle to more obvious, I am loving this.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the weeks of restraint snap like a frayed wire. The first kiss is slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a patience that contradicts the tension crackling between you. But then you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his control shatters.— I am going to insane rn.

ALMOST GETTING CAUGHT???? AHHH

No but them hiding and going out is actually so cute :( I love them aww. Also I love how supportive Sunghoon is about reader's dream :((((

And the angst creeps in....the way he pulls away, the way he's leaving to go overseas, the way reader was transferred to another crew, I'm heartbroken:(

I am so glad that despite the angst between them, reader finally got her moment and is having her first movie and Sunghoon isn't the star this time :( and it somehow gets worse??? he's with someone no :((

REI REIIIIII😭 I FORGOT YOU WRITE THE MOST GUT WRENCHING ANGST AND IT JUST ENDING NOO[ MY BABIES DIDNT GET A HAPPY END :(((

I was so invested in this I absolutely forgot how good Rei is at doing an angst, I was so caught up that the ending crept up on me like a stranger in the night. It was an amazing piece though Rei :( I always love your work. I never really comment on smut as it isn't my thing, but I have been trying my best to let people know my thoughts relating to it and I just wanna say that portion was absolutely insane, like the emotions were there, it wasn't overdone to a point where it's a bit much, it was just perfect. Again Rei, it was a wonderful piece even if you left me heartbroken in the end ♡

When Cameras Stop Rolling | P.SH

Pairing: actor!sunghoon x fem aspiringdirector!reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Warnings/Themes: Mature content, explicit language and sexual content, kind of enemies to lovers to ??? , multiple smut scenes (2), soft dom!sunghoon, fingering!, oral! (f! and m! rec) , unprotected!sex, kind of public!sex, creampie! (reader is on birth control but wasn't mentioned), (might've missed some)

Summary: When the cameras stop rolling, the world still watches. You’ve spent years behind the scenes, dreaming of the day you’ll call the shots.

Then there’s Sunghoon—an untouchable star, distant yet impossibly captivating. To him, you’re just another face in the crowd—until tension sparks and walls crack.

When love and ambition collide, will either of you risk it all?

Word count: 21.1k

You weave through the chaos of the set, clipboard in hand, heart pounding as you check the schedule for the hundredth time today. The towering lights cast long shadows over the crew, the air thick with the scent of coffee, sweat, and expensive perfume from the high-profile actors preparing for their next scene.

It’s just another day in the world of film production—one where your name barely carries weight, where you’re another invisible cog in the relentless machine that keeps everything running. No one notices you unless they need something.

“Y/N, can you grab another battery pack for the boom mic?” someone shouts.

“Where’s the set list?”

“We need a fresh slate over here—hey, Y/N, did you double-check the continuity?”

The calls blur together, but you answer each one with practiced ease. You’ve been here long enough to know how it works: the crew hustles behind the scenes, the actors shine under the lights, and the director calls the shots. And you? You exist somewhere in between—essential but unnoticed, striving for a position that still feels painfully out of reach.

Directing. That’s the dream.

Not running errands, not handling last-minute crises, not fetching coffee for people who don’t bother to learn your name. You want to be the one in the chair, guiding the vision, telling a story the way you see it. But for now, you bite your tongue and do the work, knowing that ambition means little in an industry where experience and connections dictate your worth. Still, it stings.

You pause near the monitor, watching as the director—your director—gives notes to the lead actor. He commands attention effortlessly, his vision shaping the world on screen. You watch, envy curling deep in your gut, because that’s where you want to be. “Someday,” you murmur under your breath, gripping your clipboard tighter.

A sharp voice jolts you from your thoughts. “Y/N! Stop standing around! We need the next prop setup now!”

With a sigh, you push your dreams aside and dive back into the fray. Because in this industry, dreaming is the easy part. Making it happen? That’s another battle entirely.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The day has been long, and you’re running on little more than sheer willpower and the half-empty cup of coffee you left somewhere on set hours ago. The schedule is tight, and tensions are high—as they always are on a production of this scale. You’re used to the pressure. Used to being the unseen force that keeps things moving. But today, something is different.

“Y/N!” Your head snaps up at the sound of your name. One of the assistant directors is striding toward you, her expression pinched with impatience. You barely have time to acknowledge her before she thrusts a neatly folded call sheet into your hands.

“You’re assigned to Park Sunghoon today.” You blink. “What?”

She exhales sharply, already looking past you to another crisis unfolding elsewhere on set. “Sunghoon’s personal assistant isn’t here, so you’re filling in. Keep him on schedule, make sure he has what he needs, and for God’s sake, don’t piss him off. Got it?”

Your stomach sinks. Park Sunghoon. The industry’s golden boy.

Rising star, adored by millions, praised for his talent, his charm, his ability to command a scene like he was born for it. He’s the kind of actor whose name alone can secure funding for a film. He’s also notoriously difficult.

Rumors circulate about him—how he’s cold, distant, impossible to please. He rarely speaks to crew members unless necessary, and when he does, it’s often with clipped, impersonal words. Some say it’s arrogance. Others say it’s just the way he is.

Either way, being assigned to him is a daunting task. You swallow your apprehension, nodding before the assistant director disappears. There’s no time to dwell on your nerves. Straightening your shoulders, you make your way toward Sunghoon’s trailer.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The door is slightly ajar when you reach it. You hesitate for only a second before knocking firmly against the frame. No answer. Another knock. Still nothing.

Taking a steadying breath, you push the door open and step inside.

The air is noticeably cooler inside the trailer, the hum of the AC the only sound aside from your own footsteps. At first, you don’t see him. Then, your eyes land on the figure seated in the far corner, completely absorbed in his phone.

Park Sunghoon.

Up close, he’s even more striking than in magazines or on screen. His sharp features are almost too perfect, framed by jet-black hair that falls effortlessly into place. He’s dressed in his costume for the next scene—a tailored black suit, pristine and elegant. He looks every bit the star he is. But what stands out the most is the air of disinterest that radiates from him. You clear your throat lightly. “Mr. Park?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even look up. You shift on your feet, fingers tightening around the call sheet in your hand. “I’ve been assigned as your assistant for today. If there’s anything you need—”

“I don’t need anything,” he says flatly, still not sparing you a glance. His voice is smooth but devoid of warmth, and the dismissal in his tone is obvious.

You hesitate. “Right. Well, I still have to make sure you’re on schedule, so I’ll be around—”

“Do whatever you want,” he interrupts, swiping through something on his phone. “Just don’t get in my way.”

The words are a slap to the face. You’ve worked with difficult actors before, but something about his complete disregard stings more than you care to admit. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence properly—just writes you off as another faceless crew member not worth his time.

Still, you’re professional. You force a neutral expression, ignoring the quiet prickle of irritation crawling up your spine. “There’s water and snacks here if you get hungry,” you say, motioning toward the neatly arranged table near the window. “And if you need any adjustments to your costume or makeup before the next scene, let me know.”

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes settling on you for the first time. For a brief second, you think he might say something—maybe even a simple acknowledgment. But instead, his gaze flickers over you, uninterested, before he leans back in his chair.

“Are you done?”

Your jaw tightens. “Yes.”

“Then you can go.” You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to nod before turning on your heel and walking out.

The second you’re outside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You should have expected this. The rumors weren’t exaggerated. Sunghoon doesn’t just act indifferent—he embodies it. And yet, despite the irritation simmering beneath your skin, you shake it off.

He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The tension on set is suffocating.

It’s been a long morning of filming, the crew scrambling to keep everything on schedule. The lead actors are preparing for the next scene, cameras are being adjusted, and you—unfortunately—are still tethered to Park Sunghoon, ensuring everything runs smoothly on his end. Not that he’s made it easy.

Since your first encounter, he’s continued to treat you with the same cold indifference. He never acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary, and when he does, it’s with clipped words and dismissive glances. You try to ignore it, reminding yourself that this is just part of the job.

You’ve worked with plenty of high-maintenance actors before. But none of them have ever gotten under your skin quite like this.

“Y/N, make sure Sunghoon’s costume is properly set before we roll,” one of the assistant directors calls.

You nod and step forward, glancing at Sunghoon’s suit. It looks fine, but experience has taught you to double-check everything. You reach out to smooth the lapel of his jacket, making a small adjustment to the way it sits on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers brush the fabric, Sunghoon recoils. “Don’t touch it.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise around you.

You freeze, startled by the sudden hostility in his tone. “I was just fixing—”

“It’s fine,” he snaps, brushing your hand away as if your mere presence is an inconvenience. “Next time, ask before you do something unnecessary.” A hush falls over the surrounding crew. People turn to glance at the commotion, their eyes darting between you and Sunghoon.

Humiliation burns through you. It’s not just what he said—it’s the way he said it. Cold, dismissive, like you’re nothing more than an annoyance. Like you don’t belong here.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay composed. “I was just doing my job,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Making sure you look perfect for the shot.”

Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been looked down on in this industry. You’re used to the hierarchy, to being treated like background noise. But something about Sunghoon’s attitude—his complete disregard for you—stings deeper than it should.

Because it’s not just indifference. It’s deliberate. He wants you to know you don’t matter to him.

The assistant director, sensing the tension, quickly intervenes. “Alright, let’s get into position! We’re rolling in five!”

The moment is over, but the sting of embarrassment lingers. You take a step back, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing yourself to ignore the quiet murmurs from the surrounding staff. Sunghoon, meanwhile, has already moved on—expression impassive, eyes fixed ahead as if you don’t exist.

You bite the inside of your cheek, swallowing the anger bubbling in your chest. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it, you won’t let him get under your skin. You straighten your shoulders, stepping out of his space and returning to your duties.

You won’t let Park Sunghoon make you feel small.

Not today. Not ever.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is alive with movement—crew members adjusting lights, cameras rolling into position, and makeup artists doing last-minute touch-ups on the lead actors. You also stay busy, as you always do, keeping things organized and ensuring every detail aligns with the director’s vision.

And, of course, keeping your distance from Park Sunghoon.

It’s been a few days since he had humiliated you in front of the crew, but the irritation still simmers beneath your skin. You’ve barely interacted with him since, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. If he wants to pretend you don’t exist, you’re more than happy to return the favour.

Still, your job requires you to be aware of everything happening on set—including him.

Sunghoon is standing near the monitors, listening intently as the director gives him notes for the next scene. His posture is straight, his face stoic and unreadable, every part of him exuding that effortless confidence he’s known for.

You hate to admit it, but you understand why the industry adores him.

He carries himself like a star—like someone who was born to be in front of a camera. Every movement is deliberate, every glance is calculated. He doesn’t just act; he becomes the character, slipping into the role with practiced ease when the cameras start rolling. It’s infuriating how effortless it seems.

You’re still standing at a distance, flipping through the schedule on your clipboard, when a voice calls your name. “Y/N, we need someone to run lines with Sunghoon before we roll. Can you do it just until his co-star gets here?”

You pause, gripping your clipboard tighter. Of all the tasks you could’ve been assigned, this is what they ask you to do? You glance around, hoping someone else is free to step in, but no one does.

Damn it. Forcing a neutral expression, you nod. “Got it.”

The second you approach, Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you. His eyes give away nothing—no recognition, no irritation, just the same blank indifference he always reserves for you.

“We need to run lines,” you say, keeping your tone strictly professional. Sunghoon barely reacts. “Fine.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and open the script, scanning the lines. The scene is heavy—an emotional confrontation between his character and the female lead. It requires tension, anger, and heartbreak.

Not that you care. You just want to get this over with.

Clearing your throat, you begin reading. Obviously, you’re not the best at this, this wasn’t what you signed up for but you do your best. Your voice is steady, controlled, giving just enough emotion to make the lines flow naturally. You expect Sunghoon to do the same—to deliver his part with the same distant professionalism he treats everything with.

But then he looks at you. Really looks at you. For the first time, his gaze isn’t skimming past you or dismissing you outright. It’s focused—intense. He delivers his lines smoothly, his voice calm but layered with the controlled fury his character is meant to convey.

“You said you loved me… I gave you everything, I’d even give you the world if I could, but this? This is how you repay me?”

And for a moment, you almost forget that this is just a read-through.

“Let me explain, I can’t lose us but I also can’t lose this…”

You read from the script, voice quivering the slightest bit. Your pulse quickens, Not because of him, but because of the sheer force of his presence. It’s unsettling how easily he commands attention, how his eyes lock onto yours and make it feel like there’s no one else in the room. 

But this isn’t real. It’s just acting. It’s literally his job. He’s trained for this. And yet, the way he holds your gaze makes it impossible to ignore the shift in the air around you.

The second the scene ends, the weight of his stare disappears. He looks away as if nothing happened, flipping the script shut with practiced indifference.

“That’s enough,” he mutters. 

You blink. Once. Twice. You’re momentarily thrown off by how abruptly he drops the intensity.

He doesn’t respond. Just turns away, already focusing on something else, as if the last few minutes meant nothing at all. And they didn’t. You don’t dwell on it. You can’t. Because no matter how sharp his gaze feels when it lingers on you, or how easily he commands attention, you refuse to let it mean anything. 

He’s an actor.

He was just acting.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The days bleed together, a relentless cycle of early mornings and late nights, and somehow, you always find yourself clashing with Park Sunghoon.

It’s not intentional—at least, not on your part.

He just always has something to complain about. The lighting is too harsh. The script revisions are unnecessary. The costume department didn’t get his measurements right. And when there’s nothing else to nitpick, he directs his irritation toward you.

You, who is only doing your job.

You, who has done nothing to warrant the thinly veiled condescension in his tone whenever he speaks to you.

And yet, every interaction feels like another reminder that to him, you’re just an inconvenience.

“Y/N.” You glance up from the monitor, catching sight of Sunghoon approaching with that same unreadable expression he always wears. His suit is immaculate—no surprise there—but there’s a slight furrow between his brows, a sure sign that he’s about to complain.

You brace yourself. “Yes?”

“This—” He gestures to the set behind you, where props and lighting have been carefully arranged for the next scene. “It’s wrong.”

You blink. “What do you mean, wrong?”

“The setup,” he says flatly, as if it should be obvious. “The table is in the wrong position.”

You glance over your shoulder. The table in question sits precisely where it was placed per the set designer’s notes. Nothing has changed since this morning. “It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be,” you tell him, crossing your arms.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”

“That’s because they adjusted it to match the camera angles for today’s shoot,” you explain, keeping your voice even. “It’s intentional.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s distracting.”

You stare at him. “It’s a table.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. “It’s in the wrong place.”

You release a slow breath, forcing yourself to remain patient. “Look, Sunghoon, I get that you have your preferences, but moving the table now would mess with continuity. Everything is already set up for the next shot.”

His expression remains impassive, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his side, like he’s resisting the urge to argue further. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go. “Move it anyway.”

Your patience snaps. “No.” It’s a simple word, firm and unwavering, but it seems to catch him off guard.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Excuse me?”

You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.”

A tense silence stretches between you. The crew nearby pretends not to eavesdrop, but you can feel their eyes darting toward the confrontation, waiting to see how Sunghoon will react.

His expression darkens, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. “Fine.”

You blink. Did he just… give up? Sunghoon exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he studies you. His gaze is sharp, calculating, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. But just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Do whatever you want,” he mutters before turning on his heel and walking away.

You watch him go, chest rising and falling with quiet frustration.

The crew resumes their work, the tension in the air dissipating, but you’re still left with a lingering sense of unease. Because for the first time since you started working on this set, Park Sunghoon didn’t just dismiss you.

He listened. And somehow, that unsettles you more than anything.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It happens again.

You don’t know if Sunghoon is actually making your life difficult on purpose, or if he’s just that naturally insufferable. Either way, he’s quickly becoming the single biggest source of frustration in your already overwhelming workload.

Today, it’s the costume. “I’m not wearing this,” Sunghoon says flatly, standing in the middle of the dressing room, arms crossed over his chest.

You glance at the mirror behind him, where the reflection of his current outfit stares back at you. The suit is tailored perfectly, sleek and elegant, designed specifically to fit the tone of the upcoming scene. It looks fine. More than fine. It looks good. But, of course, Park Sunghoon has a problem with it.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly before responding. “Sunghoon, the costume department spent weeks finalizing the designs. It’s already been approved by the director.”

“I don’t care,” he says, tone as impassive as ever. “It’s uncomfortable. The fabric is stiff, and the collar is too tight.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s a suit. It’s supposed to fit that way.”

“It’s restricting.”

“That’s the point.”

His eyes narrow slightly at your tone, but you don’t back down. You’re already exhausted from dealing with the hundred other problems popping up on set today. The last thing you need is Sunghoon refusing to cooperate over something as trivial as a suit.

“Look,” you continue, crossing your arms, “I get that you have preferences, but the wardrobe team put a lot of thought into this. You can’t just refuse to wear it because it’s slightly uncomfortable.”

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, regarding you with that unreadable stare of his. “Why do you care so much?”

You let out a sharp breath. “Because your tantrum is delaying the schedule, and if you refuse to wear it, I have to be the one to fix the mess it creates. So, forgive me for caring, but some of us don’t have the luxury of making everyone cater to our every whim.”

The room falls silent.

A quiet tension settles between you, thick and unyielding. You can feel the wardrobe assistants nervously shifting in the background, the air charged with the weight of unspoken words. Sunghoon, for once, says nothing. He just watches you, gaze unwavering.

You hold your breath, expecting him to lash out, to throw another dismissive remark your way. But instead, he sighs. A small, almost imperceptible exhale. Then, without another word, he turns back to the mirror and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. The message is clear. He’s letting it go.

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected lack of resistance. Then, realizing this is your win, you straighten your posture and nod. “Good. I’ll let the team know we’re moving forward.”

Sunghoon doesn’t acknowledge your words. He just finishes fixing the suit himself, his expression unreadable.

You turn on your heel and walk out of the dressing room, your pulse still buzzing with the remnants of the confrontation. But for the first time, you don’t feel small under Sunghoon’s scrutiny. You don’t feel insignificant. You stood your ground. And, whether he’d admit it or not, he backed down.

It’s a small victory. But in this industry? Even the smallest wins count.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You should have seen this coming.

When the assistant director approached you this afternoon, clipboard in hand, and told you that Sunghoon needed someone to help him rehearse lines for an overnight shoot, “You’ve done it before last time, you’re doing nothing else later too,” you should have made an excuse. Should have told them you were too busy. Should have assigned the task to someone else.

But instead, here you are. Trapped. In a dimly lit corner of the set, sitting across from Park Sunghoon in a cramped backstage area that barely fits the two of you.

The main set is being rearranged for the next scene, and since filming can’t resume until everything is in place, the crew is scattered—some grabbing a late-night coffee, others reviewing notes, all leaving you with no escape from this situation.

Sunghoon flips through the script, eyes skimming over the lines. He hasn’t said much since you sat down, aside from a brief nod of acknowledgment. He’s as unreadable as ever, and you’re too exhausted to figure out whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“You ready?” you ask, stretching your fingers as you grip your copy of the script.

Sunghoon barely glances at you. “You sure you can keep up?”

Your lips press into a thin line. It’s been like this for weeks. Constantly butting heads, trading sharp words that always carry the edge of something heavier. You exhale through your nose and roll your shoulders back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.

The scene is intense—a heated argument between his character and the female lead, raw with tension and emotion. You read your lines smoothly, keeping your voice steady, but Sunghoon…

Sunghoon doesn’t just recite his lines. He delivers them. His voice shifts seamlessly into character, rich with frustration and unspoken anger, his presence filling the small space between you. Even though you’re just reading, the sheer weight of his performance is enough to make your pulse stutter.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unwavering, and suddenly it feels like the world outside this moment doesn’t exist.

You know it’s just acting. You know that. And yet, there’s something unnerving about being on the receiving end of his intensity. You push through, refusing to let his presence throw you off. You meet his stare head-on, refusing to waver, delivering your lines with just as much weight.

The words from the script fly between you like sparks igniting dry air.

“That’s all you ever do. Walk away. Like none of this ever mattered to you.”“Don’t you dare turn this on me. I was the only one who ever fought for us.” Sunghoon scoffs, the sound low and bitter.

“Fought? Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone who gave up the moment things got hard.” You tighten your grip on the script.

“No. I gave up when I realized I was the only one still trying. YOU chose to not have me, have US, as a priority.”

The words hang between you. Heavy. Unrelenting. It’s just a script. Just a scene. But the weight of it presses down like something real.

The next line in the script is a pause—a moment of silence where the characters stare at each other, the fight teetering between rage and something neither of them can name.

Neither of you move. The quiet hum of distant voices from the main set barely reaches you. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of paper as Sunghoon shifts his grip on the script, his gaze still trained on you.

Your heartbeat is annoyingly loud in your ears. You should say something. Make a joke. Brush it off. But before you can, a crew member’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

“Sunghoon! You’re needed for blocking in five minutes!”

The moment shatters.

Sunghoon blinks, the tension breaking just as quickly as it had formed. He exhales, rolling his shoulders back before finally looking away.

“Guess we’re done here,” he mutters, flipping his script shut.

You swallow, nodding as you quickly gather your things. “Yeah.”

Neither of you say anything else as you stand and step out of the confined space, rejoining the rest of the crew. But as you walk away, shaking off the strange weight lingering in your chest, you can’t shake the feeling that something between you and Sunghoon just shifted.

And you don’t know what that means.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The exhaustion is starting to creep in.

Overnight shoots have a way of draining every last bit of energy from you, stretching time into something unrecognizable. The set is bathed in artificial light to mimic the illusion of late evening, but outside, the sky is already bleeding into the soft hues of dawn.

You sit at the far end of the set, sipping what is probably your third—no, fourth—cup of coffee, going over the schedule for the day. Your body aches, your eyelids feel heavier than usual, and yet, you can’t rest. There’s still too much to do, too much to coordinate.

You barely register Sunghoon’s presence at first. He’s sitting nearby, reviewing notes with the director, his usually pristine appearance slightly undone—his tie is loose, the cuffs of his dress shirt unbuttoned, dark strands of hair falling into his eyes. It’s the most unpolished you’ve ever seen him. Not that you care.

You force your attention back to the clipboard in your hands, mentally preparing for the chaos of the coming hours. But then, something shifts.

A soft thud.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

For a moment, you just stare at the cup, as if trying to decipher its presence. “…What’s this?” you ask cautiously.

Sunghoon shrugs, gaze flickering away. “You’ve been up longer than most of the crew. Figured you needed it. Don’t want you messing things up again.”

You blink again, stunned into silence. Sunghoon? Offering you something? Voluntarily? The world must be ending. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the warm cup, the heat seeping into your chilled skin. You hesitate before murmuring, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon says nothing. He simply nods once before walking away, leaving you with a cup of coffee and a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. That’s all it is.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The small gestures don’t stop there.

Over the next few days, there’s a shift. Subtle, but noticeable. Sunghoon still keeps his distance, still maintains that cool indifference that makes him impossible to read. But there are… moments.

Like when he passes by the props table and subtly fixes something out of place before you can do it yourself.

Or when he doesn’t argue—for once—when you tell him to adjust his costume before a scene.

Or when you find a neatly folded jacket draped over the back of your chair one evening, long after the sun has set, when the set has turned quiet and you’re the only one left working.

You never catch him in the act. But you know. And you don’t know what to make of it, because this isn’t Sunghoon. At least, not the Sunghoon you thought you knew. The one who went out of his way to ignore you, to dismiss you as nothing more than an inconvenience.

So why does it feel like—despite everything—he’s starting to notice you?

You shake the thought from your head. It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Because Sunghoon is still Sunghoon.

And you? You’re still just another crew member. A nobody in his world for now. You have to focus on your goal.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is nearly empty, save for a few crew members wrapping up for the night. The usual hum of voices and movement has died down, replaced by the occasional rustling of equipment being packed away. You should have left hours ago, but your body moves on autopilot as you double-check the next day’s schedule, making sure nothing has slipped through the cracks.

The exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You rub your temples, trying to will away the dull ache forming between your brows, when a voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re still here?” You flinch, turning sharply.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, leaning casually against a production crate. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his usual polished demeanor replaced by something looser, less composed. He looks just as tired as you feel.

You clear your throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just studies you for a beat before shrugging. “Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

You frown slightly. “Why not?”

Another pause. His gaze flickers away for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quieter than usual. “Silence feels heavier when you’re alone.”

The words catch you off guard. You’ve never heard Sunghoon speak like this before—without sarcasm, without that usual edge of indifference. Just… honest. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that why you work so much?”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t deny it.

You exhale softly, leaning back against the chair. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker back to you, sharp with curiosity. “Do you?”

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s surprisingly insightful,” Sunghoon murmurs.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m full of surprises.”

Sunghoon leans against the crate, tilting his head slightly. His usual sharp gaze softens, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I used to be terrified,” he says suddenly, his voice lower than before.

You blink, caught off guard by the confession. “Of what?”

His fingers drum idly against the crate’s surface. “Failing.”

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“When I first started out, no one took me seriously. People saw my face and assumed I was just another pretty boy who got lucky.” He exhales through his nose. “I had to work twice as hard just to prove I belonged here.”

You watch him carefully. You’ve never heard him talk about this before—not in interviews, not in passing conversations with the crew. Sunghoon rarely lets people see beyond the polished surface, beyond the image of perfection he’s carefully built. But right now, there’s no mask. No arrogance. Just raw honesty.

You shift in your seat. “What was the hardest part?”

He hesitates.  “The rejection.” His fingers tighten slightly. “You think you’re good enough, and then someone tells you you’re not. Over and over again.”

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. “But you made it,” you say softly.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But the fear never really goes away.”

You tilt your head. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” His voice is calm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. “When you reach a certain point, people stop caring about how hard you worked to get there. All they see is what you are now. And if you slip, even for a second, they’re ready to move on to the next rising star.”

You don’t break his gaze. You should have guessed this—should have realized that someone as successful as Sunghoon would carry the weight of expectations heavier than most. Still, hearing it from him directly makes it feel different. Real.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away. “No.” A pause. “But sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to just… stop. To not have to care about every little thing, to not have to be perfect all the time.” His voice is softer than before, almost distant. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “That sounds… lonely.”

Sunghoon exhales. “It is.”

The silence between you stretches, not uncomfortable but different. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to fill the space with unnecessary words.

And for once, you don’t feel the need to either. It’s strange—this quiet, fragile understanding between you. But maybe, just for tonight, you don’t have to question it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know exactly when it happened, or how, but the shift between you and Sunghoon is undeniable. It’s not sudden or dramatic. There’s no grand moment of realization, no obvious turning point. It’s something quieter. Subtle.

You notice it in the way he doesn’t immediately shut you down when you speak to him anymore.

In the way his sharp remarks have softened, turning into dry humor instead of outright dismissal.

In the way he looks at you sometimes—not with disdain, not with indifference, but with something… else.

You don’t question it. You don’t acknowledge it because whatever this is, it’s fragile. And you don’t dare disturb it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with the little things.

Like today. You’re going over the schedule for the next scene when a shadow falls over your clipboard. You look up, surprised to find Sunghoon standing beside you.

“Here.” You blink as he hands you something. A protein bar.

You stare at it for a moment, then back at him. “What’s this for?”

Sunghoon shrugs, looking anywhere but at you. “You forgot to eat lunch.”

You frown. “How do you—?”

“I just noticed,” he says quickly, cutting you off.

You raise an eyebrow but take the protein bar anyway. “Thanks, I guess.”

He nods, already stepping away. But before he leaves, you hear him mumble, just loud enough for you to catch— “Don’t make a habit of skipping meals.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond before he disappears down the hall. You stare after him, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. This… isn’t normal. At least, not for him. Park Sunghoon doesn’t notice people. He doesn’t care about the little things. And yet, here he is, paying attention to you in ways that don’t make sense.

You shake your head, stuffing the protein bar into your bag.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Right?

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

A few days later, it happens again.

This time, it’s late at night, and you’re reviewing notes in one of the empty break rooms. Most of the crew has already gone home, but you’re still here, buried in work as usual.

You barely hear the door open. “You’re still here?” You glance up, unsurprised to see Sunghoon standing in the doorway. This is becoming a pattern.

You sigh. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

He smirks faintly. “Maybe you just need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you go back to your notes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.”

Sunghoon hums, stepping further into the room. He leans against the table beside you, arms crossed. “You work too much.”

You huff. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable gaze of his. Then, after a pause, he says, “You’re good at what you do.”

You freeze. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, you look up. “What?”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable, but there’s no sarcasm in his voice when he repeats, “You’re good at your job.”

You swallow, caught off guard. Compliments aren’t something you hear often—especially not from him. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

Finally, you manage, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon nods once before pushing off the table. “Don’t stay too late.” And just like that, he’s gone again.

You stare after him, heart pounding with something you really don’t want to name because whatever this is—whatever is happening between you and Sunghoon—it’s starting to feel dangerously close to something real.

And you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know what’s worse—the tension before you and Sunghoon started tolerating each other, or the tension now.

Before, you could dismiss him as insufferable, a man too caught up in his own world to care about anyone else. But now?

Now, he lingers.

Now, he notices.

Now, he watches you in a way that makes your skin feel too warm, makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

And the worst part? You catch yourself doing the same.

It’s nothing—just a series of small moments, insignificant on their own but unbearable when strung together.

Like the way his gaze always seems to find you first when he enters a room.

Like the way your fingers brush against his more often than they should when handing him a prop or adjusting his mic.

Like the way silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but something else entirely—something thick and unspoken.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. It has to be nothing because anything else would be a mistake.

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

You’re walking across the set, flipping through the pages of your clipboard as you weave between crew members adjusting lights and moving props. The scene is nearly ready, and you just need to confirm a few last-minute adjustments before filming starts.

You’re so focused on your notes that you don’t see the stray cable lying across your path. Your foot catches. The world tilts.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you stumble forward, clipboard slipping from your fingers. But before you can hit the ground, a firm hand grips your wrist.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

His hold is firm but careful, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you before you can fully process what just happened. For a moment, neither of you move. The air around you feels heavier, thick with something neither of you acknowledge.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You finally look up.

Big mistake. Because he’s closer than you thought he was.

The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a second, the world around you blurs—reduced to nothing but the space between you.

Your pulse pounds. “I—I was busy,” you stammer, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, gaze never leaving yours. “Too busy to notice where you’re walking?”

You swallow hard, willing your heart to calm down. “Maybe.”

His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– 

“Sunghoon! We need you on set!”

His expression hardens in an instant, as if someone flipped a switch. His hands fall away, the warmth of his touch disappearing too fast. You take a quick step back, still trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon clears his throat, straightening his posture. “Try not to trip again.”

You scowl, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your face. “Try not to catch me next time.”

He smirks—just barely, just enough to make your stomach twist in a way you refuse to acknowledge. And then he’s gone. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your chest to steady yourself.

This—whatever this is—is getting out of control and you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The air is thick with tension.

Not the bad kind, not the simmering annoyance that used to define your interactions with Sunghoon. This is different.

This is the kind of tension that makes your pulse race, that makes your skin tingle whenever he’s too close, that makes every glance feel too much.

The night shoot has stretched longer than expected, with last-minute script adjustments and lighting corrections delaying the schedule. Most of the crew is exhausted, but the director is pushing to get one last take before they call it a wrap.

Sunghoon has been in and out of wardrobe for hours, and by now, even he looks tired. His usual pristine appearance is slightly undone—his tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

You try not to look. You really did, but you fail.

“Y/N, can you check the lighting cues with Sunghoon before we roll?” You nod, gripping your clipboard a little too tightly. “Got it.”

You make your way toward Sunghoon, who’s reviewing the script under one of the set lights. When he notices you approaching, he sighs. “What now?” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Relax. I’m just making sure you’re ready for the next take.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. Just tired.”

You hesitate, taken aback by his honesty. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The usual biting remarks, the sarcastic exchanges—none of it comes. Instead, there’s just silence, filled with something heavier.

Sunghoon looks at you then. Really looks at you.

And that’s when everything shifts. It happens too fast.

One second, you’re stepping forward to adjust the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against the fabric. The next, you lose your footing, maybe your own exhaustion catching up to you.

Either way, you stumble and Sunghoon catches you. Again.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall. Your fingers clutch onto his shirt instinctively, holding onto him as the world tilts for just a moment.

And then you realize. He’s close. Too close.

Your breaths mingle in the small space between you, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. His hands are firm, his touch warm, and when you finally gather the courage to look up, his eyes are already on you.

Something flickers in them, something unreadable yet impossibly heavy. His gaze drops briefly—to your lips, just for a split second—before snapping back up.

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him.

Your grip on his shirt tightens, his fingers flex against your arms, and the world around you fades—reduced to nothing but this moment, this space, him.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re fine with the thought of kissi-

A loud crash from across the set breaks the spell. Someone curses, something clatters to the floor, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You and Sunghoon jerk away from each other as if burned, the air between you suddenly too cold, too empty. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something dangerously close to frustration… or maybe regret.

You don’t stick around to find out. “I—uh—should check on that,” you blurt, stepping back too quickly. “The crash. Someone probably—”

Sunghoon nods stiffly, jaw tight. “Yeah. You should.”

And then you walk away. Fast. Too fast. Because whatever that was?

It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

You tell yourself it was nothing.

That the near-kiss, the tension, the way Sunghoon’s hands felt on your skin—none of it mattered. It was just exhaustion. A moment of stupid miscalculation. But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

Because now, every glance between you lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns a little hotter. And every moment spent alone feels like standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you don’t want to name.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend it isn’t happening.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s raining.

The shoot ran late—again. By the time you step outside, the studio parking lot is nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The rain isn’t heavy, just a steady drizzle that coats everything in a thin sheen of water. You tug your jacket closer around yourself, shivering slightly as you rummage through your bag for your keys. Fuck where is it?

“You forgot this.”

You spin around.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, holding out your clipboard. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, his white dress shirt clinging to his frame. He looks different like this—less put together, less like the untouchable star everyone sees on screen. More real.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Thanks.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he just watches you.

Like he’s waiting for something.

Like he’s fighting something.

And you know—you know—that this is the moment.

The one where you either walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

Or you give in.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears. “Sunghoon…” His name comes out softer than you intended and that’s all it takes. The tension between you snaps.

One second, you’re standing in the rain, barely breathing. The next, Sunghoon is closing the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands coming up to cup your face as his lips crash into yours.

Your breath catches as heat floods through you, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt before. His grip is firm but careful, as if he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he holds too tight.

And maybe he should be. Because this—whatever this is—feels impossible. But right now, at this moment, you don’t care. You kiss him back.

Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, pouring every ounce of frustration, of confusion, of longing into the kiss. The rain keeps falling, soaking into your clothes, tangling in your hair, but neither of you notice. The only thing that exists is this.

Sunghoon tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. He tastes like coffee and rain, like something dangerous and addictive all at once.

And you know—you know—that this is a mistake. But you don’t stop.

Not when his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you against him.

Not when your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging lightly, making him groan softly against your lips.

Not when he presses you back against the side of your car, his body solid and warm against yours despite the cold night air.

You don’t stop, because for the first time in weeks, you don’t want to.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t remember how you get home. All you know is that one minute, you’re in the rain, drowning in him, and the next, you’re in your apartment.

His jacket is on the floor. So is yours.

His lips molding against yours, passionate and hungry. Your back meets the door, hands travelling to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens as your tongues fight against each other.  

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.

You stop in front of your bedroom door, his free hand opens it and turns some of the lights on.  This time when your eyes meet, it's different. His eyes are dark and wreaking with lust as he closes in. His slender fingers reach forward as he cups your chin. He tilts your head up, eyes searching mine.  

He must have found exactly what he was looking for because he finally leans back in. Somehow, this kiss is even more passionate than before. You barely notice the movement as he slowly guides you toward the bed.

The moment your knees hit the frame, he pulls away. His hand on your chin trails down to your chest, pushing gently. You fall onto the bed, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as your back meets the soft material of your comforter.

He moves forward, his gaze never leaving yours. One of his knees props up against the bed next to your thigh. You look down briefly before focusing your attention on his fingers, watching as they slowly work at the buttons of his white button-up shirt, releasing them one by one until he reaches the final one.  

He shrugs off his shirt, allowing it to fall effortlessly, showing his toned chest and firm stomach. Your breath catches as he totally removes the sleeves before flinging the fabric on the floor.

If you had any doubts about what was going on, they were quickly dispelled when you noticed the tent in his pants. Is this actually happening? To be honest, everything seemed to fall into place too wonderfully, almost like a dream.

Sunghoon moves forward, taking his place above you. You’re so close that instinct kicks in, and you shift slightly, ensuring you're comfortably situated on the bed beneath him.

His hand moves down, tracing along your sides with slow, deliberate sensuality. Each brush of his fingers sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Your hair, your eyes, your lips," he murmurs, his touch following the path of his words. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasps, his voice thick with something you can't quite name. "What are you doing to me?"

Your heart skips a beat when he grasps the bottom of your shirt. "There's just something about you..."

"May I?" he asks, though all you can manage is a small nod.

A wave of last-minute nerves crashes over you as he slowly drags the fabric up, taking his time revealing your upper body. Once he’s done, he moves on to your jeans, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you before tossing them aside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heat rising to your face in a flush of embarrassment. "You're beautiful," Sunghoon says, his words so genuine it almost hurts.Your hands fly up to cover your face, the warmth of your own skin only confirming how flustered you feel. But thinking back to his words, his actions—there’s no reason to be embarrassed at all.

You feel him shift before his hands grasp your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You let him, but you still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly. You can't.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."

His head dips down, his lips capturing yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he trails kisses down your neck, each one wet and slow, traveling lower—across the crook of your neck, down to your chest, your stomach, and then—your thighs.

His lips press gently against the top of your thigh, a lingering, tender kiss. His fingers graze your skin as he does so, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body.

The closer his kisses get, the deeper you feel them, your stomach twisting with anticipation. Soon, he reaches the inner part of your thigh, and the second his skin meets yours, a fire ignites inside you. The insecurities from before melt away, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought.

The kisses quickly turn into pure torment. "Sunghoon," you whine, "stop teasing." He hums in response, his fingers hooking onto your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, giving you every chance to stop him—but you never do.

A groan escapes him as he finally sees the part of you he's been waiting for. He slides the fabric down your legs, discarding it to the floor before moving back up—closer, hungrier.

Each of his hands grips your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You hide your face again, this time out of sheer shyness. Any lingering insecurities are so far gone they don’t even cross your mind anymore—not when you feel his right hand leave your thigh and trail toward your core.

The moment his fingers graze over your clit, a breathless mewl escapes your lips, the sound completely involuntary. He chuckles. "You're so wet already, and I haven't even touched you properly."

You groan, both flustered and frustrated by his teasing. "’hoon."

He laughs again, his left hand squeezing your thigh. "What?"

"Touch me, please," you plead, your voice quiet, needy.

"Anything for you."

His fingers move into your folds, spreading them apart, before pressing his thumb against your clit. He begins with slow, rhythmic circles, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It feels good—too good—but you crave "more." He obliges without hesitation, understanding exactly what you desire as his lips meet your heat. A hushed cry escapes your lips, and your fist flies up to your mouth, biting down in an attempt to muffle any crude sounds.

His hand moves aside, then back to your thigh while his tongue takes control. He grabs the back of your thighs, forcing you up slightly as he devours you, working his mouth against you with such fervor that your head spins.

It doesn't take long before the familiar feeling coils inside you. The sensation grows stronger with each flick of his tongue and measured movement of his lips, with pleasure increasing by the second.

A long moan leaves you as his hold tightens and his tongue presses down with precisely the proper pressure. He smiles against you, a soft chuckle spilling from his lips, and the vibrations send another rush of pleasure through your body.

Your hand flies from your mouth, clutching the blankets. "Fuck," you gasp, your hand clenched.

His right hand moves away from your thigh and back to your core, but this time he isn't simply focusing on your clit.

Your breath is caught as his fingertip softly pushes past your entrance, slipping inside with ease, your arousal covering his digit. Sunghoon groans at the vulgar sight, and the sound sends jolts down to your heat in more ways than one. Then he inserts another finger, carefully pushing it in and out as his lips suck down harder on your clit.

It's just too much.

A shattered cry escapes your mouth as your peak draws near. You pry your eyes open, looking down at him—and instantly wish you hadn't. Seeing him positioned between your legs is nearly unbearable.  

His gaze catches yours from beneath, deep and brimming with desire, and you sense his grin on your skin. His fingers turn, curling perfectly as the pressure on your clit intensifies. The way he moves creates waves of pleasure surging within you, his tongue synchronizing flawlessly with his hands.  

The feeling is so strong that your body surrenders, collapsing onto the bed as your head touches the plush duvet. Your abdomen constricts, your muscles gripping his fingers.  

"I'm almost there," you whine, voice trembling and gasping.  

He remains unwavering, maintaining his pace as the strain in your stomach intensifies to the limit.  "Oh God—fuck," you exclaim, your hand moving to bring him nearer.  

Your fingers weave through his dark hair, pulling gently, and the low groan that slips from his mouth resonates profoundly within you. That sound—combined with the movements of his tongue—pushes you to the brink.  

A sharp breath escapes you as your spine bends, ecstasy flooding your body in overwhelming surges. Blinding sparks fill your sight as your climax overwhelms you. Your grip on his hair strengthens, and your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head.

"It feels so good," you murmur, voice dazed and dripping with lust. "Shit, Sunghoon, you're so good.”

He hums with contentment, his tongue skillfully navigating you through your peak, extending every surge of pleasure until it gradually starts to fade. You fall onto the bed, your hold on his head loosening, your legs parting a bit.

His fingers withdraw from you—but his mouth remains. His tongue caresses your delicate folds once more, savoring every single drop of your climax.  

A whimper slips from you. "Sensitive, ah—"  Your thighs shake, the overexcitement delivering intense yet pleasurable jolts throughout you. It's intense—agonizing and exhilarating simultaneously.

Satisfied, he finally pulls away. "You taste so good," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "So sweet."

Your dazed eyes meet his, and you watch as he licks his lips, his lower face glistening with your arousal. Just seeing this sight alone sends another chill up your spine.

He climbs up your body, trapping you beneath him. The moment his lips crash into yours, you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. When he pulls away, you instinctively chase after his lips, only for him to chuckle and gently push you back down.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before moving down to your neck, lips trailing lower in search of your sweet spot. When he finds it, your body jerks, a sharp inhale giving you away. He smirks against your skin, sucking down before biting softly, marking you his.

He continues his path down, leaving a trail of bruises along your neck and collarbone. Your hands find their way to his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his lips descend further.

Kneeling between your legs, his hands slide around your back. You arch instinctively, allowing him access to the clasp of your bra. His fingers fumble with the material, trying to unhook it.

A quiet curse leaves his lips when he fails. He tries again—another curse. You giggle, tapping his back. He lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze with pleading eyes.

Chuckling, you sit up slightly, giving him room as he leans back on his knees. Your hands move behind you, unclasping your bra on the second try. He watches, mesmerized, as you shrug it off, discarding the fabric to the floor.

He’s about to push you back down, but you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest. Reaching forward, you hook your fingers into the loops of his slacks. "Take it off," you say, voice firm with want.

You’re already completely bare beneath him, while he’s only shirtless. That’s not fair, is it?

Sensing your impatience, his fingers work swifty to unbuckle his belt, throwing it aside before undoing the button of his slacks. When he pulls down the zipper, you let go, allowing him to rid himself of the material on his own.

Your mouth practically waters as Sunghoon reveals his black boxer briefs, the outline of his arousal leaving nothing to the imagination. He kicks them off, letting the fabric join the scattered mess of clothing on the bedroom floor.

Your fingers instinctively reach forward, tracing the rigid shape still clothed beneath the thin material. A low groan escapes him at your touch, his brows furrowing as pleasure flickers across his face. The way he reacts makes your stomach tighten—you want to return the favor.

You grab hold of the waistband, ready to pull them down, but before you can, he pushes you back against the mattress, towering over you once more.

"Wait," you whine, looking up at him. "I wanna make you feel good."

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, equal parts frustration and anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Your gaze stays locked onto his briefs—he still needs to take them off. But he's moving too slowly, teasing you on purpose. Huffing, you reach forward and yank them down in one swift motion.

His cock finally springs free, the motion making it smack against the firm plane of his stomach. You can’t help but stare. It’s odd to admit, but—God, it’s pretty. Of course, it is. Just look at his damn face.

He chuckles, the deep sound laced with amusement. "Is my baby getting impatient?"

"You're such a tease," you mumble, cheeks burning as you refuse to look away from his lower half.

"But you like it, don't you?"

You don’t deny it, though words fail you. As much as you love his teasing, the ache inside you is unbearable now, your body begging for his. The want in your stomach is almost outmatched by the throbbing between your legs.

A groan of frustration slips past your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. "Sunghoon," you scold, voice strained with impatience.

"Hm?" He hums innocently. "What is it?" The playfulness in his tone only makes it worse.

You swallow hard, your entire body burning with need. "I need you."

"Yeah?" His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh.

"Yeah." A sharp gasp leaves you as he grinds against you, his cock sliding along your folds, spreading the wetness. The friction makes your breath hitch, but it’s not enough. You reach for him, arms winding around his back, pulling him closer.

"Stop teasing," you beg, voice trembling. "I can't take it anymore."

His gaze darkens as he takes in your desperate expression. "Shit. I can’t either."

One of his hands leaves your thigh, wrapping around his length as he strokes himself briefly. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he aligns himself at your entrance.

A sharp moan tears from your throat as he pushes inside, inch by inch. The wetness between your legs makes it easy, the stretch deep but not painful. He bottoms out, and for a second, neither of you moves, the moment overwhelming.

Not only is he perfect, but he fits inside you like he was meant to be there. Like your body was made to take him.

"You feel so good," he groans, his head dipping to press against your neck. "So fucking good."

His breath is warm against your skin as he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. You get lost in the sensation—the heat of his body against yours, the way he fills you so perfectly, the rough yet tender press of his lips at the curve of your throat.

His pace quickens, his strokes deeper, more insistent. Each thrust ignites something inside you, and you whimper, fingers threading through his hair.

"I don’t think I'm gonna last long," he confesses, voice hushed against your ear.

"That's okay," you whisper back, your lips brushing against his temple. "Just feel good for me."

A strangled groan rumbles from his chest. His teeth graze your neck before biting down gently. One of his hands snakes between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit. The moment he starts to rub slow, firm circles, you let out a gasp.

Your hand tightens in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Your other arm clings to his back, fingers digging into his skin.

"More," you plead, voice breaking.

"Like this?" He applies more pressure, his movements precise, skilled.

Your only response is a hurried nod, your body arching into his touch. "Yes—just like that."

He lets out a desperate moan, hips snapping harder. His rhythm falters slightly, but the intensity only makes it better. Each thrust hits something deep inside you, winding the coil in your stomach impossibly tight.

You’re close. So close. "Sunghoon—"

He answers before you can even finish, slamming into you just right. The air is knocked from your lungs, a cry of pleasure escaping before you can stop it.

The knot inside you snaps. Your entire body trembles as pleasure crashes over you in waves, your walls tightening around him. Your hands fall from his body, too weak to hold on any longer.

A broken moan tumbles from his lips. "Fuck—baby, I'm gonna—"

His hips stutter, his cock twitching deep inside you. A strangled groan escapes him as he spills his seed inside you, his face still buried in your shoulder. Even through his climax, he keeps moving, his thrusts growing sloppy as he works you both through the high.

Eventually, his movements slow. The pleasure lingers, buzzing through your veins even after he pulls out. His fingers slip away from your clit, leaving your body aching but satisfied.

Silence settles between you, the only sound filling the room being your ragged breathing.

Sunghoon is the first to move, letting out a low groan as he sits up. 

You let out a slow breath, running your hands over your face, then through your now-messy hair. The post-orgasmic haze still lingers, making you feel weightless. When you turn your head, you find Sunghoon already watching you.

He offers you a lazy smile. "How do you feel?" His fingers trace gently along the side of your face.

"Amazing," you murmur. "I feel amazing."

"Good." He leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

You reach up, fingers curling into his hair, and pull him in for a slow, lingering kiss, before exhaustion takes over both of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth.

The second is that you’re not alone.

Your eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through your curtains. Your body is sore in ways that make your face heat up, the memories of last night flashing through your mind in fragmented pieces—his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was something precious.

You swallow hard, pulse stuttering.

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.

For a moment, you just stare. Because this? This is different.

You’ve seen Sunghoon in a hundred different ways—on set, in magazines, under the harsh glow of studio lights. But never like this. Never so unguarded.

Your heart clenches, confusion and something dangerously close to longing twisting inside you.

Whatever this is—feels real. Too real and that’s what scares you the most.

You shift slightly, trying to untangle yourself from him, but the small movement stirs him.

Sunghoon hums low in his throat, his grip tightening around you for just a second before his breathing changes, his body stretching out as he starts to wake up.

His eyes open, still heavy with sleep, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at you without his usual guarded expression.

His gaze flickers over your face, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your hip beneath the sheets. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet.

Your throat goes dry. You should say something. Something easy. Light. Anything that will make this feel normal. But before you can, reality slams into you like a freight train.

This is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who is always in control.

Sunghoon, who has spent weeks pretending you didn’t exist only to kiss you like he was drowning last night.

Sunghoon, who—despite everything—still belongs to a world that isn’t yours.

The thought is sobering And judging by the way his gaze sharpens slightly, the way his fingers still against your skin, he sees the shift in your expression. He sighs. “You’re overthinking.”

You force a small, stiff laugh. “I just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, voice unreadable now.

Your lips press together.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Sunghoon is sitting up, the warmth of his body leaving yours as he runs a hand through his hair. The loss of contact makes something inside you ache but you don’t stop him.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees for a second before exhaling sharply. Then, he reaches for his clothes. And just like that, the spell is broken.

You watch as he dresses, his movements slower than usual, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, but you don’t, because you don’t know what to say.

By the time he buttons his shirt, the tension between you is suffocating. Sunghoon finally turns, his gaze meeting yours again. “I have to go.”

You nod. “Right. Early shoot.”

He hesitates. “Yeah.” He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t leave. Just lingers by the bed, like there’s something else he wants to say.

“You regret it?” The question is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade.

Your stomach twists. “I—”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable. “It’s fine if you do.”

You don’t know what you feel. But regret? No.

You shake your head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Sunghoon exhales through his nose, nodding once before stepping toward the door.

You watch as he reaches for the handle, your fingers clenching against the sheets. You should stop him. You should say something.

But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.

And for the first time, you wonder if walking away was easier when he was just a stranger.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days are torture.

You and Sunghoon don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk at all.

It’s not like before, when he was cold and dismissive, or when every glance between you carried an undercurrent of tension.

This is different. This is silence filled with something too heavy to ignore.

And Sunghoon? Sunghoon looks at you like he’s waiting.

For you to acknowledge it.

For you to say something.

For you to do something.

But you don’t.

Until one night, he makes the decision for you.

You’re the last one on set, flipping through notes in one of the break rooms, pretending you’re focused when your mind has been elsewhere all day.

You hear him before you see him. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. The faint sigh of someone bracing themselves before speaking.

“We need to talk.”

You tense. Slowly, you look up.

Sunghoon is standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

You swallow. “About what?”

He exhales sharply, stepping forward. “You know what.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

A humorless chuckle. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Your jaw tightens. “Sunghoon—”

“Why are you pretending it didn’t happen?” he cuts in, voice edged with frustration.

You flinch. “Because it shouldn’t have.”

His expression flickers—just for a second. But you see it.

The hurt. The hesitation. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“So that’s it?” His voice is quieter now, calmer. “You’re just going to pretend nothing happened?”

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what you want from me, Sunghoon.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“I want you.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, gaze steady. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He swallows hard, voice softer now. “I just care about you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

And you realize…

Maybe you don’t have to be ready.

Maybe you just have to try.

So you inhale deeply, steadying yourself. You nod and Sunghoon smiles.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping a secret relationship on set is harder than you thought.

It’s not just about avoiding suspicion—it’s about suppressing the way your eyes linger on each other longer than they should. About keeping your hands to yourself when all you want to do is reach for him. About pretending that nothing between you has changed, when in reality, everything has.

And Sunghoon isn’t making it any easier.

It’s in the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking.

The way his fingers brush against yours when he hands you something, even though there’s no reason for them to.

The way his expression softens, just barely, whenever your eyes meet.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. And every time it happens, your heart stutters in your chest.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first time you slip up, it’s barely noticeable.

You’re standing by the monitors, going over the director’s notes, when Sunghoon walks past you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—he’s just moving to his next position for the scene, but as he passes, his fingers graze lightly against your waist.

It’s so brief, so quick, that if anyone were watching, they’d assume it was an accident, but you know better, and judging by the way he smirks as he walks away, he knows you know better.

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay composed. This man is going to be the death of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The second time, it’s more obvious.

You’re on set, waiting for the next scene to start, when you feel the weight of his gaze. You try to ignore it and you fail. Against your better judgment, you glance up—and sure enough, Sunghoon is watching you from across the room. His eyes are unreadable, dark and steady, as if he’s daring you to react.

You scowl, mouthing, What?

Instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down—just for a second—before meeting your eyes again.

It takes you a moment to process what he just did, and when you do, your face burns, because he wasn’t just looking at you. He was looking at your lips.

You inhale sharply, whipping your head away before anyone can catch the way your expression betrays you. Sunghoon chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained.

You hate him. You really hate him. But the worst part? You don’t. Not even a little.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The third time, it’s a problem.

Sunghoon is filming an emotional scene, one that requires complete focus. The cameras are rolling, the entire crew is watching, and you should be paying attention to the details—the lighting, the sound cues, the blocking, but instead, all you can focus on is him.

Because for the first time, his eyes aren’t just on his co-star. They’re on you. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But you see it.

Every time the camera resets, every time there’s a break between takes, his gaze flickers to you. Just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, during takes, a green monster appears. The female lead—a well-known actress, beautiful and elegant—laughs at something Sunghoon says. She leans in slightly, playfully nudging his arm, and he chuckles in return.

It’s nothing. It’s acting. It’s professional. But it still makes something bitter curl in your chest. You hate that feeling. You have no right to feel it, and yet Sunghoon glances at you then, as if he knows. As if he can see the shift in your expression, despite how hard you try to mask it.

You force yourself to look away, because this is dangerous. Because if you let yourself get caught up in this—if you let yourself forge that this is a secret—you’re going to get hurt.

And Sunghoon? You can’t be the reason his career gets ruined.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping your relationship a secret is turning into a losing battle.

It was easier at first. The stolen moments, the quick touches, the looks that only the two of you understood—it was thrilling in a way, like playing a game where no one else knew the rules. But the longer it goes on, the more reckless Sunghoon gets. And the more reckless you get.

The moment happens during a break in filming. You’re standing near the refreshment table, absentmindedly stirring sugar into your coffee, when you feel him before you even see him.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just steps up beside you, close enough that his arm brushes against yours. Your body tenses instinctively, your grip tightening around your cup.

“Careful,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “You’re gonna spill.”

You exhale sharply. “Maybe don’t sneak up on me, then.”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Didn’t realize I was sneaking.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

He hums, pretending to consider it. “I could use some sugar in my coffee.”

You move to hand him the packet in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, holding them in place. Your breath catches. This is dangerous. Anyone could see. Anyone could notice.

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens for a second before he finally releases you, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the sugar packet. The smirk never leaves his face. You glare at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon chuckles, tearing the packet open. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath before turning to leave. But before you can take a step, his voice stops you. “You look good today.”

You freeze. Your heart lurches against your ribs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugs, casually stirring his coffee. “Just saying.”

There’s nothing just about it. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you walk away before you do something really reckless. Something like kissing him in the middle of set.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The director is giving notes to the cast, and you’re standing at a distance, pretending to be focused on your clipboard when, in reality, your thoughts are nowhere near work.

You don’t mean to look at Sunghoon, but you do, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse stutters. You don’t know how long he’s been staring, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. Instead, he smirks. It’s barely there—a small twitch of his lips, a flicker of amusement—but you feel it.

Heat prickles up your spine, your fingers gripping the edge of your clipboard so tightly your knuckles turn white. You mouth, Stop it.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, pretending not to understand. He knows what he’s doing. And worse? He’s enjoying it.

You scowl, turning your attention back to your notes. But the damage is already done. Your face is warm, your thoughts scrambled, and you know Sunghoon isn’t going to let you live this down.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You’ve spent weeks walking a tightrope, balancing between professionalism and the undeniable pull toward Sunghoon. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment spent too close when no one is looking—it’s all been a careful game of control. But control is a fleeting thing. 

And tonight, you lose it.

It happens after another long shoot, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.

The set has cleared out for the night, most of the crew heading home, but you linger, finishing up last-minute adjustments for tomorrow’s call sheet. You don’t hear him approach—you never do.

“You’re still here.”

You sigh, glancing up from your notes. “So are you.”

Sunghoon shrugs, stepping closer. “Didn’t feel like leaving yet.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You should. We have another early morning.”

Instead of listening, he moves behind you, leaning down slightly until his voice is right beside your ear. “So should you.”

Your breath catches. You should step away. You should remind him that this is dangerous. That someone has already seen too much, that you’re walking on thin ice. But instead, you stand there, your fingers gripping the edge of the table as warmth spreads down your spine.

Sunghoon notices. Of course he does. “Come with me.”

You blink, turning to face him. “What?” He’s already reaching for your wrist, tugging you gently toward the far side of the set. You hesitate for only a second before following, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

Sunghoon leads you down a quiet hallway, past dressing rooms and storage spaces, until he finds an unlocked door. Without another word, he pulls you inside. It’s a small space—an old wardrobe storage room, lined with racks of costumes and forgotten props. The air is still, thick with dust and the faint scent of fabric softener.

And then, before you can even ask, Sunghoon shuts the door and locks it. Then he turns to you.

Your back presses against the cool surface, his hands resting on either side of you, caging you in. The only sound is the distant hum of the studio lights, the uneven rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Probably.”

You swallow hard. “Then why—”

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “I can’t pretend like I don’t want you.”

Your pulse skyrockets. You should stop this. You should. But when Sunghoon leans in, so close that his lips brush against your jaw, you don’t.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the weeks of restraint snap like a frayed wire. The first kiss is slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a patience that contradicts the tension crackling between you. But then you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his control shatters.

A quiet groan escapes him as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to get more.

More of you.

More of this.

More of everything he’s been denying himself.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him curse under his breath. The sound sends heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, you don’t care where you are. You don’t care about the risk. All you care about is him.

Sunghoon presses you further against the door, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands tracing fire along your skin. You gasp, tilting your head back, and he takes the opportunity to press another open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your skin.

You don’t. Instead, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his once more.

Sunghoon groans, gripping your hips tighter, and you know you’ve lost. Completely, but if this is losing, you don’t think you ever want to win.

The kiss is scorching, heat pooling between you as Sunghoon tightens his grip on your ass and lifts you effortlessly against the wall. A gasp escapes you, your lips parting, and he takes full advantage—his tongue slipping past your own, greedy and demanding. A needy whine slips from your throat as your legs wrap around his waist, his arousal unmistakable as he presses against you.

“Sunghoon, fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back to hit the wall with a soft thud. He seizes the opportunity, dragging his mouth down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, licking a slow stripe up your neck before nipping at your earlobe. “Someone could walk in. Do you really want them to hear you?”

You glare at him, the expression meant to be a warning—but all it takes is a slow roll of his hips, and any fight in you melts away.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks, blinking in surprise as you suddenly push at his shoulders, dropping down onto your knees before him.

“What do you think?” You flash him a knowing look, amusement laced with something darker, more deliberate, as your fingers make quick work of his belt. Tugging his pants down his thighs, you smirk. “Didn’t get to do this last time, remember?”

Sunghoon’s head falls back with a groan the moment you pull him free from his boxers, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck, why didn’t I let you do this sooner?” he groans, fingers threading into your hair as you begin to bob your head. You hum around him, the vibration making his knees nearly buckle.  

His hips jerk shallowly, testing, and when you grip his thighs and let your mouth open wider, he gets the message. Glancing up at him with watery eyes, you meet him halfway, hollowing your cheeks. A curse falls from his lips as he tightens his hold on your hair, taking control. His thrusts grow deeper, his pelvis pressing into your face with every movement, and you use his thighs to steady yourself as he groans above you.

“Baby, fuck—you feel so good,” he pants, muscles tensing as heat coils low in his stomach.

Your jaw goes slack as you accept more of his cock, relaxing into the feeling. He picks up the pace, basking in view of his glossy cock dragging against your lips. You’re a vision. So beautiful to him. The disgusting wet noises your throat makes when he pulls away are deafening. He loves the way you gag when he pushes back in.

“Mhm, it’s yours, baby. Take it.” He licks his lips and nods, looking at you with hooded lustful eyes. You hollow your cheeks, drawing a strangled moan from him. “Shit, I’m not gonna last.”

Determined, you push forward, taking him to the base, your nose pressing against the soft hair at his pelvis. He lets out a broken curse, his grip tightening as he thrusts once, twice—before he’s unraveling with a sharp groan. “Fuck—”

“Excuse me?” A voice. From outside the storage room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snap open, panic flashing across his face.

“Yes?” you call out, pulling away as if you hadn’t just had him down your throat moments ago. There’s a translucent strand of spit connecting his penis to your mouth. You swallow, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. A fit of coughs want to erupt through your chest, but you’re able to stop it. You can’t really focus at the moment.

“Uh… is everything all right?”

“Yep! All good,” you reply, voice bright but just a little hoarse as you quickly pull his pants back up. “I just dropped something while looking for some equipment.”

“Oh. Do you need help?”

“Nope, I got it. Thanks, though!” A pause. Then retreating footsteps.

Sunghoon sags against the wall, exhaling hard. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Holy shit indeed. Now, let me go out first. Meet me at my apartment later?” You grin before slipping out the door, leaving him to catch his breath.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s been days since that night in the storage room—days of stolen moments and whispered conversations, of Sunghoon pulling you into empty hallways when no one’s looking, of his lips ghosting against your skin right before he’s called back on set.

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. But it’s addictive.

And now, sitting beside him at a long restaurant table filled with the entire production team, you’re starting to realize just how stupid this is. Because Sunghoon is doing it again.

That thing where he pretends to be focused on his conversation, nodding along to whatever the director is saying, while his foot slowly nudges against yours under the table.

You shoot him a warning glance. Stop it. He doesn’t. If anything, he makes it worse. His foot slides up the side of your calf, subtle but deliberate, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. You nearly drop your chopsticks, barely managing to recover before anyone notices. Sunghoon smirks behind the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip of his drink like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your life.

You inhale sharply, gripping your napkin with unnecessary force. Two can play this game. Carefully—casually—you shift your foot, pressing against his ankle before dragging it up just enough to make him twitch this time. His smirk falters, just barely, but it’s enough Your turn to smirk.

Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, and you know—you know—he’s not letting this slide. And then, without warning, his hand finds yours under the table.

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that. The teasing was one thing. The flirting, the pushing, the secret little games you played when no one was watching.

But this? This is different, this was… sweet. His fingers lace through yours, warm and solid, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles. It’s not playful. It’s not reckless. It’s soft. And that’s what terrifies you.

You could have ignored the teasing. You could have laughed off the flirting. But this quiet gesture—the way he holds your hand like it’s normal, like it’s natural—makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around his before you can stop yourself.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you, barely for a second, but the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He knows. He feels it too.

But before either of you can say—or do—anything, someone calls your name. You jolt, quickly pulling your hand back, hoping your face isn’t betraying anything. One of the assistant directors grins, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been quiet. What, Sunghoon making you nervous?” Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, effortlessly sliding back into his usual composed demeanor. “Why would she be nervous around me?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Please. If anything, he’s the one who should be nervous.” The table erupts in laughter, and just like that, the moment is gone. But under the table, Sunghoon’s fingers brush against yours one last time before pulling away.

And even as the dinner continues, even as conversations shift and drinks are poured, you can still feel the imprint of his touch against your skin.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The rumors are starting.

You hear them in passing—casual whispers from crew members, quiet speculations during coffee breaks, the occasional knowing glance when you and Sunghoon are in the same room. No one knows, not for sure. But people are noticing, and that’s dangerous.

So when Sunghoon pulls you aside after filming one night, his expression unreadable, you already know what he’s about to say. “We need to be more careful,” he mutters, arms crossed as he leans against the wall of an empty dressing room.

You sigh, mirroring his posture. “No kidding.”

He exhales sharply, tilting his head back slightly. “Someone almost caught us last night.”

Your stomach twists. “Who?”

“One of the lighting techs,” he says. “They walked in right after you left my trailer.”

You curse under your breath. “This is getting impossible.”

Sunghoon pushes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “We need to lay low for a while.”

You frown. You hate this—hiding, pretending, the constant paranoia that one wrong move could ruin everything. But you also know he’s right.

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

For a second, it seems like the conversation is over.

“…You free tonight?” Sunghoon asks, glancing at you.

You blink. “Didn’t we just agree to be careful?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “We will be.”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

His smirk widens. “Trust me.”

You groan. “That’s exactly what someone untrustworthy would say.”

But despite yourself, you agree.

And that’s how you end up standing outside his car later that night, staring at the ridiculous disguise he’s holding out to you.

A frumpy cardigan. A floral scarf. And—dear god—gray wig.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “No.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

You do, actually. It’s called staying inside like normal people instead of dressing like retirees on a Sunday stroll.

But Sunghoon is already shrugging into his own disguise—a baggy windbreaker, oversized glasses, and a gray newsboy cap that makes him look like he belongs in a retirement home. He looks ridiculous. You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

He catches it. “Say one word, and I’m leaving you here.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “Not a word.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking side by side through the city, looking like an elderly couple that escaped their nursing home. You shake your head, tucking the scarf tighter around your neck. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Sunghoon adjusts his fake glasses. “Genius, isn’t it?”

“I think ‘genius’ is a stretch.”

He smirks. “No one’s looking at us, are they?”

You glance around. To your absolute disbelief, no one is paying attention. Not a single person gives you a second glance. And somehow, that makes you laugh.

Sunghoon looks at you, amused. “What?”

“This is so stupid,” you giggle, shaking your head.

He grins. “Yeah. But it’s working.”

You sigh, looping your arm through his dramatically. “Fine, Grandpa. Where are we going?”

Sunghoon chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Wherever you want, Grandma.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight of secrecy feels a little lighter. Because right now, in this ridiculous moment, it’s just you and him.

And nothing else matters.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s late when you both make it back to your apartment.

After spending the night disguised as an elderly couple—walking through quiet streets, sneaking into a small late-night café, laughing at how absurd you both looked—there’s a strange kind of warmth settling in your chest.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

For the first time, you and Sunghoon were just two normal people.

Now, you sit on your couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching as Sunghoon flips idly through an old book on your coffee table. “You really read all of these?” he asks, eyes scanning the spines of stacked screenwriting books on the shelf.

You nod, sipping from your mug. “Some of them multiple times.”

Sunghoon hums in approval, setting the book down before leaning back against the couch. “You’re serious about this directing thing, huh?”

You shoot him a deadpan look. “I work on a movie set, Sunghoon.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but a lot of people say they want to be directors. Not everyone actually means it.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your mug. You’ve heard that before. From coworkers, from mentors, from people who’ve been in the industry long enough to know how brutal it is. Everyone wants to be a director, but only a few ever make it. And you refuse to be part of the majority that doesn’t. “I do mean it,” you say quietly. “I don’t just want to be some assistant forever.”

Sunghoon watches you carefully. “You won’t be.”

You glance at him. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Because it is.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know when Sunghoon started believing in you so much, but hearing it from him now—when you’re still fighting to believe in yourself—hits differently. A small silence stretches between you before you muster the courage to ask, “What about you?”

Sunghoon blinks. “What about me?”

You shrug. “You’ve been acting for years. You ever think about what’s next?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I try not to.”

You frown. “Why not?”

His lips press together, as if weighing his words. “Because thinking about the future means thinking about the end. And I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

You stare at him. For all his success, for all the ways he’s established himself in the industry, Sunghoon still carries fear. The same fear you have—the fear of not making it. The fear of being forgotten. You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Well,” you say softly, “if I ever do make it as a director…”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “If?”

You roll your eyes. “When I make it, then.”

He smirks, satisfied. “Go on.”

You inhale deeply. “I’ll cast you in my first movie. You can be the lead.”

Sunghoon scoffs, but there’s amusement in his expression. “Oh? That’s bold of you.”

You tilt your head. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I think you would.”

You smile, nudging him lightly. “And then when it wins an award, I’ll make sure to thank you in my speech.”

Sunghoon hums. “What would you say?”

You pretend to think. “Something like, ‘I’d like to thank Park Sunghoon, my first-ever lead actor, for not throwing a tantrum on set and actually listening to my direction.’”

Sunghoon laughs, a full, real laugh that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re hilarious,” he mutters.

“I try.”

He watches you for a moment, his laughter fading into something quieter, softer. His fingers brush against yours on the couch, his touch deliberate. “Promise me something,” he says.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“When you make it big—” His voice is low, steady. “Don’t forget about me.”

You blink. “Sunghoon…”

“I mean it.” His gaze is unreadable, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it. “You’re going to do great things. I know it.”

Your chest tightens. “I won’t forget you.” A small pause.

Then, just barely above a whisper, “You better not.”

Your fingers entwine with his, the silence between you heavy with things unsaid. And for the first time, you wonder. If this could last beyond stolen moments and whispered secrets.

If this—you and him—could ever belong to the future you’re both afraid to think about.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

For a while, everything is perfect.

Or at least, it feels that way.

Sunghoon’s hands find yours more easily now, even if they have to let go before anyone notices. His glances linger longer, his smiles come easier, and the time spent together—hidden away in the late hours of the night or in the quiet spaces between scenes—feels real.

The secrecy is still there, but it’s different now. It’s not something you tiptoe around in fear. It’s something you choose—a fragile world that exists only between the two of you, protected from the outside.

And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with small things.

Sunghoon doesn’t touch you as much anymore—not even when no one’s looking.

He still meets you in quiet corners of the set, still kisses you breathless when you’re alone, but there’s a distance now. A flicker of something restrained in his gaze, something held back.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. But then the silences grow longer. The laughter comes less often. Then you realize Sunghoon is pulling away.

The first time you bring it up, he brushes it off.

“I’m just tired,” he says, rubbing his temples.

You hesitate. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. Long shoots. Too much press. It’s nothing.”

But it doesn’t feel like nothing. The more time passes, the more you feel him slipping away.

It gets worse when he starts missing your usual late-night meetings.

You wait for him after shoots, sitting alone in the dimly lit studio hallways, only for your phone to vibrate with a short, clipped text.

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.

The first time, you let it slide.

The second time, you tell yourself he’s just busy.

The third time, you feel something inside you crack.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

One night, after another grueling day on set, you decide you can’t take it anymore.

You find Sunghoon sitting in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up when you enter. You close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest. “What’s happening?”

Sunghoon finally glances at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this—” you gesture between you “—is fine when we both know it’s not.”

He exhales, setting his phone down. “Y/N—”

“You’re pulling away,” you cut in, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. “I have a lot on my plate,” he mutters. “There’s a ton of press lined up, and the agency is already breathing down my neck about scheduling conflicts. They want me to be careful, especially with—” He stops himself, but you already know what he was going to say.

Especially with you.

Your chest tightens. “So what? I’m just another inconvenience?”

Sunghoon’s gaze snaps to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what it feels like.” Your voice wavers despite your best efforts. “You’re choosing to distance yourself, Sunghoon. And I don’t understand why.”

He exhales heavily, standing up and pacing across the room. “Because I have to, okay? Do you know what would happen if this got out? Do you know what the agency would do?”

You swallow hard. “So you’re just going to push me away?”

His hands clench at his sides. “I don’t have a choice.”

You laugh—bitter and hollow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Sunghoon flinches, but he doesn’t argue, and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “What’s happening to us?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence tells you everything.

You nod slowly, stepping back toward the door. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Y/N—”

“No,” you interrupt, voice raw. “I get it. You don’t have to say anything else.”

You leave before he can stop you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel alone.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You barely see Sunghoon after that night.

You don’t wait for him after shoots anymore. You don’t check your phone for his messages. You don’t seek him out in the quiet moments between takes. And, most of all, you don’t ask him for explanations he’s never going to give.

It’s easier this way. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. Because every time you step on set, every time you hear his voice in the distance, every time you feel his presence before you even see him—your chest tightens.

Sunghoon might be pulling away, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped wanting him to stay.

The breaking point comes when you least expect it.

Sunghoon has been acting off all day—more distant than usual, his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. The crew is extra careful around him, treading lightly, trying not to provoke whatever storm is brewing beneath the surface.

You do the same, but when the director announces a sudden scheduling change, everything snaps.

“We need to push the final filming dates up,” the director says, glancing at Sunghoon. “Your overseas project confirmed your start date, so we have to wrap this production sooner than expected.”

Your stomach drops. Overseas project? You turn toward Sunghoon, heart pounding.

He doesn’t look at you. “Understood,” he says stiffly.

The meeting ends, people disperse, and you stand frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. You don’t realize you’re walking toward him until you’re already standing in front of him. “Overseas?” your voice comes out unsteady. “When were you going to tell me?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, but his expression remains guarded. “I was going to.”

“When?” You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up. “After you left?”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N—”

“No.” Your hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull away for weeks and then act like this is nothing.”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “I never said it was nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

The tension in the air is suffocating. Crew members glance at you both nervously from a distance, sensing the hostility radiating off of you, but you don’t care. You’re too angry. Too tired.

“You’re leaving,” you say, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “And you weren’t even going to tell me.”

His lips part, but no words come out. And that—more than anything—breaks you.

“Right,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. “Got it.”

You turn to leave.

“If you love me, why are you making me choose?” His voice is quiet. Frustrated. Pained.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn back to face him.

Sunghoon’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Then in a hushed voice, “If you love me,” you whisper, “why won’t you choose me?”

His expression falters.

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Sunghoon looks at you, his gaze full of everything he wants to say but won’t, and that’s all you need to know.

You inhale sharply, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I hope your career was worth it. Take care ‘hoon, I mean it.” Then you walk away.

And this time, Sunghoon doesn’t stop you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set feels off today.

Sunghoon notices it the moment he steps onto the lot.

Everything looks the same—the cameras rolling into position, the crew bustling around, the murmurs of last-minute adjustments to the schedule.

But something is missing. No—someone is missing.

His eyes instinctively scan the space, searching for you. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s second nature by now—finding you in a crowd, watching you from across the set, waiting for the moment your eyes meet his.

Except today, that moment doesn’t come.

A strange weight settles in his chest. Maybe you’re just running late. Maybe you’re off handling something behind the scenes. Maybe—

“Sunghoon, we need you on set!”

He blinks, snapping out of it. Right. Focus. But as the morning drags on, the unease only grows.

By lunch, when he still hasn’t seen you, it becomes unbearable. He stops one of the assistant directors on their way back from a meeting. “Where’s Y/N?”

The assistant director hesitates. “You don’t know?”

Sunghoon’s stomach twists. “Know what?”

“She transferred to another crew.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stares at them, unable to process it. “What?”

“She requested a transfer last night.” The assistant director shifts uncomfortably. “The director approved it this morning. She’s working on another set now.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. You left. Not just him. Not just the late-night moments and stolen glances. You left everything. And you didn’t tell him. Didn’t give him a warning. Didn’t give him a chance.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that the set feels emptier now. Colder. And no matter how many times he looks, you’re not coming back.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Time moves forward, with or without you.

At first, it feels like you’re running on autopilot. The transfer to another crew is exactly what you needed—a fresh start, a clean slate, a distraction. The work is just as exhausting, the deadlines just as relentless, but at least here, no one looks at you like they know.

No one whispers behind your back.

No one searches for your eyes across the set.

No one makes your heart ache just by existing.

And that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To forget? To move on?

You tell yourself that enough times, and eventually, you almost start to believe it.

Months turn into years. Your career flourishes.

At first, you’re just another assistant, working your way up, taking whatever projects come your way. But then, little by little, your name starts to mean something.

Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. Producers take note of your efficiency. Directors praise your instincts. Soon, you’re getting bigger responsibilities—helping with shot lists, offering creative input, refining scenes.

Until, one day, you get the call.

The one that changes everything.

The one that makes your dream of becoming a director something more than just a dream.

Your first movie. Your name on the credits, not as an assistant, not as someone behind the scenes, but as the director.

You should be overjoyed. And you are. Really.

But success has a funny way of feeling lonely sometimes.

Because no matter how many awards you win, no matter how many people praise your vision, there’s still a part of you that wonders—

Would Sunghoon have been proud of you?

Would he have smiled the way he did that night on your couch, when you told him your dreams?

Would he have been your lead?

You never let yourself dwell on the answers, because the past is the past, and Sunghoon is nothing more than a ghost in it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Sunghoon gets everything he ever wanted.

The overseas project is a massive hit. Critics rave about his performance, calling it his most compelling work yet. He wins awards, lands more prestigious roles, works with some of the biggest names in the industry.

His career skyrockets. Every magazine cover, every interview, every red carpet event cements his status as one of the top actors of his generation. And yet, the higher he climbs, the emptier it feels.

The first few months after you left were the hardest. He would step on set and instinctively look for you, only to remember—you’re gone. He would scroll through his phone late at night, resisting the urge to type out a message he knew he’d never send. He told himself he had no right to miss you. That he made his choice. That this was the price of success. 

But sometimes, when the nights were too quiet and the loneliness too loud, he wondered, had he really chosen his career? Or had he just been too afraid to choose you?

But life moves on and Sunghoon learns to live with it.

He throws himself into work, into press tours, into pretending that nothing haunts him. It works. For a while.

Until one day, he sees you on a screen instead of beside him. Your name flashes across an industry article—"Breakout Director Y/N Takes the Film World by Storm." There’s a photo of you attached to it. You’re smiling, standing on a stage, accepting an award.You look different. More polished, more confident. Like the version of yourself you always wanted to be.

And for the first time in years, Sunghoon feels like he lost, because you made it. Without him.

And he doesn’t know if he should be proud of you, or devastated that he’s no longer a part of your story.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Success is supposed to be fulfilling.

That’s what you tell yourself when you sit in an empty editing room late at night, staring at the final cut of your latest film. The screen glows in the dimly lit space, casting shadows across your desk, but you don’t move.

You should be proud. This is your film. Your vision. Your name stamped onto something that will live beyond you. But right now, all you can feel is exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

And something else. Something lonelier.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the silence. You blink, glancing at the screen. A message from an old friend from your assistant days.

Did you see the headlines?

Your fingers hesitate before typing. What headlines? It doesn’t take long for the reply to come through.

Sunghoon just won another Best Actor award. His speech was everywhere.

You inhale sharply. Of course he did. Of course he’s still winning, still thriving. He’s Park Sunghoon. This is what he was always meant to do.

Still, your hands move on their own, searching his name. And there it is. A photo of him on stage, trophy in hand, looking every bit the polished, untouchable star he’s become.

You tell yourself not to click on the video. You tell yourself not to care, but your finger taps play before your mind can catch up.

Sunghoon stands before a packed audience, cameras flashing, his expression calm and composed as always.

“…There are too many people to thank,” he says, his voice steady. “But more than anything, I want to thank the people who believed in me before the rest of the world did.”

He pauses, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “And to those I let go of along the way,” he exhales quietly, “I hope you’re doing well.”

Your breath catches. Because he knows. He knows you’d be watching. He knows you’d hear those words and wonder, was he talking about you?

A lump forms in your throat. You close the video before it can play any longer, tossing your phone onto the desk as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

This is ridiculous. It’s been years. You shouldn’t still feel like this. But as you sit there, alone in a room filled with nothing but the echoes of your own thoughts, you realize something terrifying. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much you’ve accomplished.

Sunghoon is still a part of you, and you don’t know if that will ever change.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Years later, you’re working on the biggest project yet.

The set is already bustling when you arrive.

Your latest film—the one you spent years working toward—is finally in production, and you’re at the helm. The director’s chair belongs to you now, the vision in your hands, the weight of the project resting on your shoulders.

It should feel like a victory, but the moment you step onto set, something shifts.

A whisper moves through the crew, quiet but undeniable. You turn to your assistant, frowning slightly. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates. “Uh… the lead just arrived.”

Your stomach drops. You already know who it is. But what you don’t expect is for him to walk in with her.

Sunghoon enters the set with his co-star—an actress whose name has been plastered across magazines, her face just as recognizable as his. She’s beautiful, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who fits perfectly into the world he’s built for himself.

And she’s holding his hand.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard in your hands as you watch her lean in close, whispering something against his ear. Sunghoon chuckles, his lips curling into an easy smile—one that looks far too public, too polished. Too different from the way he used to smile at you.

Your chest tightens. Because this? This is nothing like what the two of you had.

Sunghoon was never the type to be affectionate in front of others. With you, everything was secret—stolen glances, hidden touches, late-night meetings where the only witnesses were the shadows.

But with her? He isn’t hiding. He isn’t holding back. It’s as if whatever existed between you never even mattered. You force yourself to breathe, schooling your expression into something unreadable.

Sunghoon’s eyes sweep over the room, taking everything in, before they land on you. And for the first time in years, your gazes lock. The noise around you fades. The years that have passed, the distance that’s settled, the choices that have been made—they all press into the space between you, heavy and suffocating. Sunghoon’s smile falters for just a second. But it’s enough. Because in that second, you see it—the flicker of recognition, of hesitation. The realization that you’re here, that this is real, that after all this time, after all the choices that led you both here— You’re standing in front of him again. And then, just as quickly, the moment is gone.

Sunghoon’s expression smooths over, unreadable once more. His grip on her hand tightens ever so slightly, a silent reminder of the life he’s built without you. He takes a step forward, nodding in greeting.

“Director,” he says, his voice even.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Mr. Park,” you reply, just as composed. The formalities sting. Especially when the last time you spoke, you were begging him to choose you.

Sunghoon watches you for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your face, and for the first time in years, you don’t let him find it.

You glance at your assistant, clearing your throat. “Let’s get started.” Then you turn away.Because no matter how much your heart still aches, no matter how much it kills you to see him like this.

You refuse to be a part of his past anymore. Because you’re living your future.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You do what you do best. You focus.

You drown yourself in your work, in camera angles and shot compositions, in the steady rhythm of directing. You give feedback, adjust blocking, consult with the cinematographer—anything to keep yourself from thinking about the fact that he’s here. That he’s with her. That you’re finally in the same place again, but this time, he’s standing next to someone else.

Sunghoon is professional. You expected nothing less. He follows directions with sharp precision, delivering each scene flawlessly, slipping into character with the kind of ease that made him famous. He listens when you speak, nods when you give him notes, keeps his distance when the cameras aren’t rolling. And for the first few days, it works.

Until one night, after an exhausting day on set, you step outside for some air and find him already there, waiting. The cool night air is a relief against your skin, but the sight of him standing by the railing, hands tucked into his pockets, sends a sharp wave of something unwelcome through your chest.

You should turn around. You shouldn’t let this happen. But then he turns, his gaze meeting yours, and just like before—just like always—you can’t look away. He exhales slowly. “I was wondering when we’d actually talk.”

Your fingers tighten around your jacket sleeves. “We talk every day.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “What do you want me to say, Sunghoon? That it’s weird seeing you again? That it’s strange directing you? That it’s exhausting pretending like the past doesn’t exist?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But something in his expression shifts. A crack in the carefully composed exterior. “That night,” he says quietly. “The night you left.”

Your breath catches.

“I let you walk away,” he continues, voice heavier now. “And I thought—no, I told myself—that was the right choice.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay still. To stay indifferent.

“But I watched your career take off. I saw your name in the headlines. I saw you win—without me.” His voice is softer now, more raw. “And for years, I convinced myself that was enough.” Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. “It wasn’t.”

Your heart clenches. This isn’t happening. You can’t let this happen. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice colder than you intend. “You don’t get to come back after all this time and say this.”

Sunghoon takes a slow step forward. “Why not?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Because you made your choice, Sunghoon. You chose your career. And I chose to stop waiting for you to choose me.”

He exhales sharply. “Y/N—”

“You have her now,” you cut in, your tone sharp, pointed. “So why are you standing here, saying these things?”

Sunghoon falls silent. For a moment, you almost think he won’t answer. “She’s not you.”

Your breath stutters. “Don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice. “That if I had someone who fit into my world, who didn’t make me question everything, it would be enough.”

You inhale shakily, willing yourself to stay calm. To stay unaffected.

“But it wasn’t,” Sunghoon murmurs, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “Because no matter where I went, no matter who I was with—” His voice drops lower, heavier. “It was always you.”

The words slice through you like a knife. But you don’t let them break you. You can’t. Because the past is the past. And you’re not that girl anymore. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze. “Then I feel sorry for you.” Sunghoon stills. You exhale slowly, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I moved on.”

It’s a lie. A lie so fragile that if he pushed just a little harder, if he looked at you just a second longer, it would shatter.

But Sunghoon doesn’t push, because maybe, just maybe, he already knows he’s too late.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days pass in a blur.

You and Sunghoon fall back into professionalism, neither of you acknowledging what was said that night. The crew doesn’t notice the way your exchanges are clipped, the way you avoid being alone together, the way Sunghoon’s co-star pulls him into picture-perfect embraces while you pretend not to see.

It’s exhausting. But you refuse to let it break you. You’ve spent years building yourself up again. You won’t let him tear you down now. So when you see him lingering after a late-night shoot, standing alone by the trailers, you tell yourself to keep walking. You don’t owe him anything.

“Y/N.” You stop. Sunghoon exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just—stay for a second.”

Against your better judgment, you do. But when you turn to face him, your expression is unreadable. “What do you want, Sunghoon?”

He hesitates. “The truth.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “The truth?”

He nods. “Did you really move on?”

Your stomach twists. Because you should say yes. You should lie. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath and meet his gaze, steady and firm. “I had to forgive you,” you say quietly. “Not for you. For me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He just watches you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You exhale slowly. “I had to forgive you because holding onto the anger and resentment wasn’t healthy for me. But remember that it made me who I am now.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N—”

You shake your head. “You have a long-term girlfriend now, too.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “You made your choice years ago. You have to live with it, just like I did.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “I know.”

You pause, letting the words settle between you. Then, with a small, tired smile, you add, “Don’t treat her like you did with me.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches.

“And hey,” you say, your tone softer now, “you’re already a step ahead of where we were. Be proud to be able to share her with the world.”

He doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, something fragile and almost broken in his gaze. But you don’t let yourself fall into it. Not anymore.

“We both moved on, maybe not from each other yet, but we’ve moved on with our lives already,” you continue, offering him one last bittersweet smile. “And I hope you find peace with it.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He finally understands. You’re not his anymore, and you might never be again.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

On the last day of filming, as the crew wraps up and the cast exchanges goodbyes, you step outside for a breath of air.

You should be celebrating. This film—the one you fought for, the one you poured your soul into—is finally complete. And yet, all you can think about is the fact that this means you’ll never see him again. That after today, Sunghoon will just be another name in the credits. Another person in your past. You exhale slowly, pressing a hand against your forehead. This is good, you remind yourself. This is how it’s supposed to be.

“Y/N.” You stiffen. You knew he’d come. You don’t know how, but you knew. Sunghoon stands behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “So… this is it.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He exhales, glancing up at the sky. “It’s funny. I used to think we’d meet again and everything would just… fall back into place.”

Your heart aches, but you don’t let it show. “That’s not how life works,” you murmur.

Sunghoon looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s no longing. No regret. Just quiet acceptance. “I know,” he says. Silence stretches between you. “I’m proud of you. Take care, Y/N.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, offering him a small, soft smile. “You too, Sunghoon.”

And with that, you turn and walk away. For the last time.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You watch as your hard work gets shown on the big screen, proud of where you’ve come.

The final shot of the film is of him.

The camera lingers as he delivers his last lines, “I’m happy for you,” his gaze drifting past the lens, it’s not obvious, but you notice it. And for a fleeting moment, as you and thousands of people watch the end of your film, you wonder if he’s looking at you.

But then the scene ends, the cameras stop rolling, and the moment fades.

Just like everything else.

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob @pagelets @laylasbunbunny @vrusha01 @enhaflixer @highway-143 @keloiu @m1kkso @cutehoons02 If you want to be tagged in all of my fics, go here to be added to my permanent taglist.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: It's here woooo, no one dies this time dw. I hope the smut improved from last time T^T Was heavily inspired by the k-drama Melo Movie, but the fic is more of a rough inspiration. Once again, I've broken my longest word count record, this time we went past 20k. Had to use a different divider instead of the usual image cuz of how long this was. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

[rekino2114]

Hi! I was hoping to put in a request for Eva, Diana, and Grace (P:EG) for jealously hcs? And how they get jealous and deal with jealously with a gn!reader?

How Eva, Diana, and Grace deal with jealousy

Eva tsunaka

Eva doesn't get jealous often. She trusts you won't leave her for some random girl and so she doesn't really do anything when she sees a girl she doesn't know is talking with you

Even when she's flirting with you she still won't do anything drastic, just maybe glare at her a bit

She kinda loves hearing you call her your girlfriend, so she lets you handle the situation most of the times

But if the girl doesn't leave even after you told her you had a girlfriend then that's when she'll step in and hold your hand telling the girl to not bother yo again

Even if she does really trust you, she's kinda insecure about your relationship, so you always reassure her that you'll never leave her after something like this happens which never fails to make her smile

"Y/n's taken, don't bother them again"

".....thanks for the save eva"

"It's nothing, that girl was just plain disrespectful"

"Yeah I know, did she serious think I'd leave someone as amazing as you for her?"

"Eh......yeah, you're right......thanks"

"No problem, I'm always here to tell you how much of a great girlfriend you are"

Diana venicia

This cinnamon roll of a girl does not have a jealous bone in her body, she lovess you too much to even think about the possibility that you could leave her

Whenever she sees you talking to anyone, she just smiles, happy to see that you're talking with one of your friends (even if she didn't know the girl she just assumed she was one of her friends) and joins the conversation while beaming and holding your hand

But when she notices how uncomfortable you look and starts to hear the conversation, which consists of the girl making unwanted remarks about you, then she gets mad (as mad as she can get)

She instantly tells the girl to stop as she is making you uncomfortable and if she doesn't then you two just leave

She's not jealous, just mad at the girl

"Hey, can't you see how uncomfortable you're making them, stop it that's not nice"

"Uncomfortable? I think they're just shy"

[Diana pouts and holds your hand while walking away]

"Sorry if I didn't do anything diana"

"Don't worry baby, I could tell how uneasy you were, she was really mean"

"Yeah"

"Buuuuut I think I know exactly what you need to feel better after that experience"

".....cuddles and kisses?"

"Bingo! You read my mind"

Grace madison

Grace will never admit being jealous, but she's actually very possessive of you. She doesn't want anyone she thinks might be interested in you to get close to you.

Even with how mad she is, she still just glares at the girl when she sees her approaching, but when she actually starts flirting, then she's really pissed off

She calls her a soybean and insults her to her face, telling her that you'd never choose someone like her and then leaves expecting you to follow her

If the girl starts touching you without your consent she genuinely might start beating her up

If later you tease her about how jealous she was she'll tell you to shut up while blushing

"Oi! Soybean, what do you think you're doing? Are you deaf? They told you they had a girlfriend or you're probably just an asshole"

[Grace leaves and you follow her]

"Thanks by the way"

"Why are thanking me? That girl was acting like a bitch with you what was I supposed to do?"

"are you sure you weren't jealous~?"

"N-no, you seriously think I get jealous over some random soybean hitting on you?"

"Then why are you all red?"

"J-just shut up!"

[sofisturns]

remember everything

chris’ pov

an au by me and @angeliolo

𓇼 chap.3 - something real

on the walk off the beach and back home it was quiet. not an awkward silence, just quiet. matt made a few attempts at asking about y/n but i kept my answers short, he ended up getting annoyed and leaving me alone. he often complains about how shut off i always was and i can’t do anything but agree, it’s true.

the house was dark when we walked in, the kind of dark that settles into your chest. it felt as if everyone was holding their breath, it had since dad left. almost like we were still awaiting his return, although i think everyone knew it wasn’t coming as much as we wanted it to.

matt stumbled ahead of me mumbling something about getting water then heading over to the couch. i didn’t really hear whatever it was he said, my mind was still on the beach.

on her.

the second i got upstairs and shut my door, the emptiness hit me. it always did when i ended up alone. i usually enjoyed it, and normally id’ve found it peaceful, using it as an escape from everything. but it felt heavy this time. really fucking heavy.

the faint sound of the ocean still echoed in my ears, blending with the memory of her laugh. it wasn’t just the sound— it was the way it made me feel. comfortable. and that scared me, almost as much as it made me want to feel it even more.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? wanting more. i never let myself want things like that anymore. not since he left.

it still didn’t make sense, even after all this time i spent most of my nights wondering why he did it. my parents were in love- the kind of love people talk about like it’s rare. we were happy, really happy. so i thought. and then one day he just packed up and left. no warning. no real explanation. just gone.

the fallout for the rest of us was horrible. mom pretended nothing happened, like she was better off that way, as if denial would magically heal her. matt and nick turned to parties, more importantly alcohol. and my older brother got angry— he still is angry most of the time. but me? i didn’t know how to handle it.

how do you trust anyone to stay when the one person who was never supposed to leave walks out and doesn’t look back?

it left me with this ache. this constant fear that everyone I cared about would eventually decide I wasn’t enough to stay for. it made it hard to let people in, hard to believe that love wasn’t just something people abandoned when things got too hard. commitment started to feel like a trap. something that could fall apart at any second, no matter how good it seemed.

and now there was her.

I didn’t know what scared me more, how easy it felt being around her, or how much I missed her presence already.

her face kept flickering in my mind. the way her eyes softened when she looked at me. the way her hair blew in my face, how the small pieces of sand tangled in it dusted over my cheeks. that quiet and easy connection, terrified me. but not enough to want to shut her out forever.

my phone buzzed in my pocket, i pulled it out not really paying attention until i saw the notification.

y/n just followed you!

i stared at it for a little longer than i should’ve, it was just a follow, i’m not sure why it hit me the way it did. without thinking too much about it i followed her back.

i clicked on her profile, absentmindedly tapping through her highlights. her smile was the same one i’d been staring at all night, genuine, warm. warm enough that it made me forget how cold it was after we ventured away from the fire.

it was strange, this feeling of wanting her presence, even when i’d been so careful to keep everyone at arms length.

i thought about the promise of what-ifs, how rare it was to find somebody who made me want to let my walls down, even after i spent so long convincing myself they were the only way to keep me from the inevitable— getting hurt.

tonight, i allowed myself to hope, even if it was just for a moment. hope for something more with her. hope that i’d allow myself to feel everything i wanted too for her and show it.

i wondered if she was sat there too, staring into her own quiet darkness looking for something real.

࿔ new message from: y/n!

⋆˚࿔ how are we loving remember everythingg

⋆.˚ taglist

@chrissweetheart @chrissturniolossidebitch @chrepsi @espressqe @samwinchesterisawhore @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @m00nl1tgh0st @mothstvrnz

[cherriiramen]

WARNING: Hyperactive idiot rambling

OH MY GOD okay so I might delete this later for uh safety reasons,

But this book seriously meant a lot to me on SO MANY LEVELS

Idc if it was way more optimistic than things would be in real life, I like to imagine that this book sets place a couple years in the future when things are miraculously better than our current time, or even some time far in the future and it gives me hope for a time like that. And you know what, this certainly gave me so much more comfort and genuine joy than the queer-love-with-a-tragic-ending trope and I feel like we need more books like that because it’s oKAY to fantasise of better times. It’s oKAY to write a happy ending even though it might not be as likely in our current time, but people most definitely wish for it. And I say this as someone coming from a strictly religious Arabic country in the Middle-East, where you basically have to go through 5x more of a headache to get a life you actually wanted (that being if you wanted to live anything out of the traditional). It’s much more riskier and sometimes even life endangering to stand up for yourself and for others who step away from the traditional norms. Reputation made up of spread rumours can easily determine how people would treat you, nevermind if those rumours were initially true or just blatant lies told by others. People would still treat the rumours as if it were really true. Everyone wants to be seen as righteous and is quickly deemed righteous if they start preaching about religion and traditions, being non-flawless is an excuse for them to rip apart at you behind your back and give you dirty looks when you walk by.

You constantly have to put up a flawless facade so you don’t ‘bring your family’s name to mud’. As a girl it’s much more hellish. Being flawed means ‘no man would ever want to marry you’ and you’ll ‘end up all alone’ and you’ve ‘brought shame to the family’. You’ll get picked apart and torn by everyone. It’s so suffocating, when you’re forced to act against your nature just to please others and live up to their standards. Live up to what they want to see you as. And that brings me to why I deeply related to Henry’s character, that “I don’t have a family who will support me” and “I can’t afford to be reckless like you so that the world would scrutinise me and tear me down even more” really hit a deep spot in my heart it actually made me tear up. And seeing someone I deeply related to on so many levels get the life they dreamed of and gain the courage stand up for themselves actually gave me hope, as cheesy as it may sound. It was healing to read those chapters of him meeting Alex’s dad and spending quality time together with June and Nora alongside them, knowing how it must’ve been such a big breath of fresh air for Henry and a massive change of atmosphere. Same with how the world immediately showed massive support for them and that crowd that cheered for Henry outside of the palace even though their emails were leaked, it seriously made me emotional. And so much more, like how Alex has an internal monologue whenever Henry starts rambling about his passion for specific parts of history, their little dance scene in the museum, and oh my god that “Dear Thisbe, I wish there weren’t a wall, Pyramus” letter and the way that people actually stood outside with the “History huh? Bet we could make some” printed on things as a way of support instead of mockery oh my GOD-

Everything about that book was immensely healing and I’ve smiled the stupidest smiles throughout chapters I stayed up at night reading, I’m going to have a long term attachment to this book and I could feel it. 😭

[misfxtteam]

Truthfully, Bucky did not want Tony to apologize. God the minute he hears this guy say sorry, Bucky wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He genuinely just needed a minute to get over being triggered, it didn’t happen very often nowadays. They shouldn’t be apologizing to each other, fuckin’ HYDRA should be apologizing to him. He wishes he could drag Alexander Pierce back from the dead just to kick an apology out of him.

He glances up at the mention of removing the memory, “Hell, one less memory of what those HYDRA fucks made me do, I wouldn’t complain,” he says with a faint smile. He goes back to watching Tony work now that he felt mostly back to normal. But Tony was right, they’d feel like they were missing something which would make them hunt it down and jesus the look in Tony’s eyes when he first saw the video, he didn’t want to see that look on his face again. The story of the child’s name was absolutely not what Bucky had been expecting, he can’t help the laugh a bit, covering his mouth with his flesh hand because it was still a serious conversation and laughing felt wrong. But he can’t remember ever really laughing around Tony, they were usually just shit talking each other. If anything he would laugh derisively or in a fed up sort of way. “I can’t believe you know anyone that would name their child that. I thought Bucky was bad enough for a nickname,” he chuckles as he shakes his head.

Half a smile is still there when Tony mentions a different association. His eyes drift down to Tony’s chest and then his arms again, remembering the heated thoughts from earlier. “A different association huh?” he says with a faint smirk as he meets Tony’s eyes again, he was starting to think that he wasn’t imagining it. The assumptions that Tony was straight, that was not how a straight guy looked at him. The way he bit his lip, Bucky can’t help the way his eyes slid down to watch, and out of the several loud thoughts in his head at that moment, the loudest by far was the desire to bit that lip himself. He clears his throat quietly, finding something else to stare at as Tony goes back to his work. He makes sure his bunched up shirt is in his lap just in case before speaking, “I get what you mean about the weird names becoming normal, but finding a different association for the two of us would have to be pretty..intense given that the current one is the most intense I can imagine,” he points out, “I used to associate Steve with thoughts like scrawny or underdog, and then he went through the most extreme transformation and became a completely different person, so those associations disappeared.”

Bucky’s eyes lower and he is silent. He had been stupid to think it wouldn’t come to this. His flesh hand is clenched into a fist so tightly that he can feel his fingernails digging into his skin. He glances at Tony as he says it’s not directed at Bucky but at him.

Bucky knows he isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, the assassin that HYDRA used to kill, he isn’t that thing anymore. But it got complicated because the person Tony was envisioning hurting his parents, it was him. Bucky had to deal with the hate that Tony felt because it had been his face, his arm, his body that did it. He glances at the Iron Man suit and half wishes he was as lucky as Tony because even if he had his mistakes with the weapons, how many people did he encounter regularly that reminded him in such gruesome detail? He doesn’t blame Tony for it, if anything he knows Tony is the only person who is haunted as much by this as Bucky.

He stares at the floor as Tony continues to work. He had been stupid to think they would be able to talk about science, about anything, and pass the time at least semi-cordially. It was honestly kind that Tony would want Bucky to know that there was a distinction in who he was truly angry at, but when he says things like ‘you saved choking my mom to death with your real hand’ it wasn’t directed to the Winter Solider, but to Bucky. And for a few god-awful seconds, all he can see is the memory. And now, to his horror, he was starting to remember the actual feeling of it the longer he thought about it. In his flesh hand he could remember the feeling of killing Maria Stark; he was so sickened that he would tear off his own skin and both his arms to stop it but it’s like he can’t pull himself out of the memories, same as how he couldn’t pull himself out of the conditioning that made him do it to begin with.

He snaps out of it when Tony speaks. He hears him explain that it was a muscular issue but that what Tony had done should help. His eyes are dim, he wasn’t really present mentally anymore but he was trying to be. All he wanted to do was get out of this lab, go somewhere, anywhere else. He nods and glances down at his arm, “right..i’ll talk to Steve, or Fury, find a surgeon who can remove it, I guess. Sorry you had to do this Stark, I appreciate you making the time,” he says roughly, twisting his shirt in his hands. He can’t look at Tony directly, but he’s picturing the look he might have in his eyes. If it had been him, if had to watch a video of someone killing his ma like that, he doesn’t think he would do even as much as Tony.

[devil-in-hiding]

something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)

you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.

Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.

They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.

Perfect gentlemen.

Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.

You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.

“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.

When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.

“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.

“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.

“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.

“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hm. Interesting.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[sttoru]

clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart��� to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister…  

c/w: incest, dubcon, oral (m receiving), rafe being a perv about his (adopted) sister & her being inexperienced, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.7k

part two & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx   

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her big brother has always been rather overbearing, which is something she’s tried to shrug off as him merely being protective, but as far as her understanding of siblings goes— they aren’t supposed to act the way Rafe does.  

Ever since they were little, Rafe has been weird about everyone in their strange family, but sometimes it makes her feel gross when he barges into her room while she’s changing— not even bothering to cover his eyes as he sits down on her mattress and starts ranting about something completely irrelevant.

It makes her feel disgusting when she notices the subtle smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze narrows down onto whatever bare sliver of skin she’s hurriedly trying to hide from his borderline hungry eyes.   

And she doesn’t particularly enjoy when he gets wasted or high off of whatever he’s snorted at some stupid party and insists that he just has to sleep next to her because he’s not feeling good. And despite her drowsy complaints, he’s always snuggling too close for comfort with his hands all over her; pulling her flush against him and letting the cushion of his lips graze the skin of her neck.

He keeps telling her that it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he gives her details about the girls he’s slept with and what his favorite positions are, even if she’s told him multiple times that she doesn’t want to know. And whenever they’re home alone, he even goes as far as bringing girls to his room— making sure their loud moans echo right into her bedroom when he knows she’s trying to study.   

And whenever he’s tagging along during her little shopping trips (he doesn’t let her go alone because what if something happens?), he always demands on joining her in the fitting rooms— even squeezing himself into the crammed space when she’s trying on lingerie, claiming that she absolutely needs his opinion.   

“Rafe, that’s weird,” she tries to get him to wait outside but of course he merely rolls his eyes.  

“S’not weird, know how indecisive you can be, jus’ wanna help,” he says, seemingly genuine while he’s already fiddling with the clip of her bra.   

And she feels her cheeks burning when the cashier mentions how sweet it is that her boyfriend is paying for her clothes— to which Rafe merely chuckles while she can’t find the words to correct the poor woman because she’d probably faint if she learned the truth about their relationship.

More often than not, he tends to be borderline territorial. One time, she’s simply talking to a guy at some party, when all of a sudden, she feels an all too familiar presence behind her.

“Who’s this, hm?” he slurs, slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder.   

“Oh, it’s…um, no one,” she peeps out because she knows how he is. However, her attempts at calming him down prove to be fruitless because he’s already approaching the guy with a scoff.   

“You, uh, you do know that this is m’sister, right? Mine. So, why don’t you, uh, go ‘n try to impress some other bitch, yeah?” he offers him a sickly-sweet smile, voice harsh before telling her they’re leaving— strong hands on her waist already dragging her towards his truck.

“I was having fun,” she complains when he’s putting the seatbelt on her— his breath smelling of beer when he drawls out a reply. “You can have all the fun you want with me when we get home, yeah?”   

“But I wanted to spend time with my friends,” she pouts.   

“That’s just too bad then, isn’t it?” he murmurs while starting the engine— resting a warm palm on her thigh soon after, ignoring her efforts of shrugging it off.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

When he learns that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet (because why would anyone even think about touching her when they know Rafe is a complete psycho), he mocks her to the point of her eyes growing glossy as she tries to blink away the soggy droplets.

“S’okay, you wanna get it over with, hm? I’ll help you,” he so kindly offers with faux concern glimmering in the moonstones of his eyes.   

“Rafe, that’s gross,” she frowns, to which he merely furrows his brows before scoffing— as if she’s the one being weird.   

“So, uh, so you tellin’ me you want some…some stranger at a party who only wants to get in your pants to do it instead?” he narrows his eyes as if that’s the only alternative.  

“N— no,” her answer is hesitant.  

“Listen, m’just…m’just, tryna be a good brother ‘n help my little sister out, but if you don’t want m’help then don’t come cryin’ to me when you embarrass yourself cause you don’t even know how to kiss,” he lifts his hands up in surrender before shrugging, suggesting that he’d merely be doing her a favor.   

And before her brain has the time to process what’s happening, he’s already dragging her into his lap. And it feels wrong when their mouths are suddenly slotting together— when he’s letting out a shallow groan and slipping his tongue past her teeth without so much as a warning.

“Rafe! You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that,” she squeaks out, pulling away with her face all crumpled up, feeling disconcerted.   

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up everyone, thought you wanted to learn?” he mutters out before he’s smearing his mouth on hers once more— this time with a tight grip on her jaw that forces her to stay put as the the kiss turns into something sloppy; wet.

And afterwards, he makes her promise that she won’t tell anyone because ‘you don’t want dad to get mad at you, do you?’ and even if she feels guilt eat away at her, she keeps it to herself because the last thing she wants is to upset anyone. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Rafe guess what? I have a date tomorrow,” she gives him a giddy smile while stepping into his room a few weeks later.  

“With who?” he eyes her while slouching on his bed, seemingly in the midst of texting someone.

“This guy I met on the beach today,” she sits down on the edge of the mattress when he places his phone on his nightstand.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” he asks, shifting closer.  

“Um, Ethan.” 

“Last name?”  

“I— I don’t know, didn’t ask…why does it matter? Was just wondering if you could drive me there?” she says, surprised by his sudden interest. 

“Where?” his tone sounds almost exasperated now, as if she’s done something bad.

“Um, we’re just gonna hang out at his house,” she chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“You havin’ a date at his house? You finally gonna lose that virginity, huh?” he asks as patronizing laughter bubbles from his chest.

“What? No! S’not like that,” she mumbles, her skin already boiling. 

“No? You do know when guys say they wanna hang out, it means they wanna fuck, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?” his gaze is borderline condescending when he raises his brows.

“Well, he’s not like that, he seems nice,” she tries to defend herself, feeling small all of a sudden.

“Sweetheart, every guy’s like that, especially the ones that seem nice, you’re so fuckin’ naive,” he scoffs while running a hand through his hair.

“You know what? Forget about it, I’ll just walk there,” she huffs out, standing up to leave, however, she doesn’t get far before he’s grabbing at her arm.

“Listen, m’just tryna look out for you, okay? Don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit ‘bout how he broke your heart. I mean, if you’re not gonna let him hit, he’s gonna be expectin’ somethin’ else, you know that, right?”

She swallows.

“I— are you sure? But…but I don’t even know how to—” 

“Poor baby, what would you do without your big brother, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, yeah?” he coos before pinky promising he’ll be gentle.

And that’s how she ends up on her knees in front of him. 

“Ray, this doesn’t feel…right,” she mumbles out, eyes focused on the ruddy tip he’s thumbing over while he stares at her.

“Shh, can be our little secret, yeah? Jus’ wanna make sure my little sister doesn’t embarrass herself,” he lets out a grunt when she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“Open your mouth, tongue out,” he instructs while moving closer to her tentative form, biting his lip when she gingerly does what he tells her to. Then, he’s thudding the drippy head on the flat of her tongue— one, two, three times, which makes her let out a noise; something that only seems to spur him on.

He tastes salty and she doesn’t necessarily mind it, which makes her feel entirely too gross about the situation altogether— the words ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ turning into a tangled muddle when he’s already pushing past her lips, making her gag around the sudden intrusion.

“Shit, tha’s good, jus’ take it, yeah?” he rumbles out; a big hand holding the back of her head as he stuffs himself deeper down her throat— cock twitching in response to her whines and attempts at drawing away for air.

It overwhelms her to no end when he’s so rough, abrasive, but despite his broken promise, she’s unable to prevent her thighs from pressing together when throaty moans keep escaping him; his respiration turning labored by each lazy rut of his hips while her head begins to spin.

Only when his sticky cum gushes onto her tongue— the white substance dribbling past the seam of her lips and covering her chin in the process, does he grant her a moment to catch her breath.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” his voice is like gravel when he pushes at her jaw, heady gaze glued to the way her throat bobs when she does just that, the aftertaste of what they’ve done making her feel stained; dirty.

“You know, s’cute you thought I’d let some, some shithead fuck my sister,” he sounds almost humored as he pats at the flushed skin of her cheek— making her eyes turn watery when he swipes a thumb under her wobbly bottom lip to clean up the remaining mess.

She feels something in her guts churn when he tucks it back into her mouth with a sick smile.

[syoddeye]

simon doesn't pursue people, he operates more like a one-man strike team. his approach to human connection is transactional, pragmatic, a matter of logistics.

on the rare occasion he's looking for company, he wants someone easy, who won't fuss when he introduces them to a thin motel mattress. won't ask what he does for work or try to make plans for the morning. won't bother him about 'next time'. nothing long-term. no strings.

he doesn't have a 'type' so much as a protocol: pick someone malleable, pliant, and preferably on the pill.

then you start working at his local.

the first time he sees you, he doesn't notice much beyond the basics: efficiency, attentiveness, pouring pints and bantering with the regulars with aplomb. by the second or third time, he's paying closer attention. you're not just good at your job—you're quick, always three steps ahead of the chaos. you give out smiles left and right, but it's more muscle memory than genuine warmth. and you're clever, too. funny, even, when someone manages to earn your attention for longer than a transaction.

you could probably keep up with his humor. go toe-to-toe.

you're off-limits, though. that's the rule. bartenders are switzerland—neutral territory. don't shit where you eat. it's a system that works, so long as he doesn't let himself think too much about the view when you lean over the counter or the lilt of your voice when you ask what he's having tonight.

then one evening, you take another man's number. some leering idiot, too comfortable with inserting himself into your space, grinning like he's cracked your code because you haven't humbled him. simon doesn't react, not outwardly. he nurses his drink and watches as you smile, slip the napkin into your pocket, and turn back to the bar.

but that's when you become a problem.

he tells himself it doesn't matter, that it's nothing. he doesn't want a number or a date. but the thought of someone else having you—someone who doesn't know what to do with a woman like you—it's a splinter buried just deep enough to keep him thinking about it. irritating, prone to fester.

how to approach you, though? he can't be as direct as he'd like, can't pin you down with a look or crass words. no way to corner you when you're safe behind the counter, or disappearing through a staff door. hanging around until you're off would be pathetic. dog behavior, he thinks, with a twinge of contempt for the mental image. he's got too much self-respect for that, at least.

no, he's got to actually make an effort. use his words.

the next time he comes in, he waits. no more corner tables or watching from afar. he sits close, pretends not to notice how your hands look slicing a lime. he orders his usual and tries not to overthink your tone when you set it down in front of him.

"you alright?"

you reach for his card, fingers pinching the plastic, but he holds on, smirking when you tug and then huff.

this is the moment. his moment. the one he's been building toward in his head for days. but there's a hitch, a blip in his usual confidence, and he fumbles. he blames your perfume.

"so…you come here often?"

not what he meant to say, but not the worst.

the shockwave of his nuclear-level failure doesn't register until your lips twitch, and it finally sinks in. his eyes widen a fraction as the realization lands. oh, he's fucked it. all his rehearsing, for nothing.

"…yeah," you say, voice flat, a single brow raised as you gesture vaguely toward the bar around you. "i work here?"

his mouth dries, but his face doesn't change. he doesn't fight it when you pull the card out of his grasp. there's the barest glint of something in your eyes—amusement, maybe, or pity. he's not sure which is worse.

you turn away to ring him up, but when you glance back, he's gone.

next

[moonlightwritingf1]

Raw | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have sex without a condom for the first time. He cums inside her.

𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.3k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

Based on this request.

Y/n stretched lazily on the couch, her toes curling into the soft fabric as she scrolled absently through her phone. The faint hum of London’s evening traffic drifted through the open window, but her mind was elsewhere—specifically, on Lando. They had been officially together for seven months now, and every moment with him felt like a whirlwind of emotions, teasing, and undeniable chemistry. But tonight… tonight was different.

She glanced at the clock. He would be here any minute. Her heart fluttered, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the nervous excitement bubbling inside her. They had talked about this earlier in the day, a conversation that had started with casual banter and ended with something much more intimate.

No condom, she thought, her cheeks flushing. She had finally decided to bring it up after weeks of consideration. After all, she was on birth control now, and the idea of feeling him—really feeling him—without any barriers had been on her mind more often than she cared to admit. When she mentioned it, Lando’s reaction had been… well, typical Lando. A mix of playful teasing and genuine enthusiasm. “Bold move, love,” he had said, his voice low and edged with mischief. “But I’m not complaining.”

The sound of the doorbell startled her out of her thoughts. She smoothed her hands over her jeans, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. There he was, leaning casually against the frame, his signature smirk already in place. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“Traffic,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair. “And you know how impatient I get when I’m coming to see you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth that spread through her chest. God, he’s impossible. And yet, there was something about his unapologetic confidence that made her knees weak.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers. “So… about earlier…”

Her breath hitched. “What about it?”

His grin widened, and he moved even closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened. “Are you?”

That earned her a laugh, deep and rich, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Always, love. Always.”

Their lips met in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a hunger that made her head spin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. His hands slid down her back, settling on her hips, and he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

When her back hit the mattress, he pulled away just enough to look at her, his eyes filled with desire. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along her jawline.

She shivered under his touch, her body already responding to him in ways that left her breathless. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Norris.”

“Oh, I think it just did,” he quipped, sliding his hands under her shirt and lifting it over her head. His eyes raked over her bare skin, and he let out a low whistle. “Definitely everywhere.”

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips found her neck, nipping and sucking lightly. His hands worked skillfully at the clasp of her bra, and within seconds, it joined her shirt on the floor. He groaned at the sight of her, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Lando…” she breathed, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He helped her, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, marveling at the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

He was lean, yes, but there was a strength to him that always surprised her. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—confident, assured—or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. Whatever it was, it made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. Things she hadn’t thought she could feel.

He leaned down, capturing her lips again, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, and she could feel the hardness of him through his jeans. She rocked her hips against his, earning a growl from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to undo her jeans. He tugged them off, along with her panties, and paused for a moment to just look at her. His gaze was intense, almost reverent, and it made her heart race.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Just… you’re perfect.”

She blushed, averting her eyes, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “Don’t look away. I want to see you. All of you.”

Her breath caught, and she nodded, unable to speak. Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her body, touching her everywhere but where she wanted him most. She squirmed beneath him, frustration building with every teasing stroke.

“Lando…” she whined, her hips lifting off the bed in silent pleading.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “Patience, love. Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” she retorted, grasping his wrist and guiding his hand between her legs.

He groaned when he felt how wet she was, his fingers slipping easily through her folds. “Holy shit, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “You’re absolutely soaking wet.”

She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her, her back arching off the bed. His thumb circled her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. He added another finger, stretching her, preparing her, and she whimpered, rocking her hips against his hand.

“Please,” she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I need you.”

He didn’t make her beg twice. He stripped off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free, hard and leaking. She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his length, and he hissed at the contact, his hips jerking forward.

“Careful,” he warned, though his tone was anything but serious. “Or I might not last long enough to make this worth your while.”

She smirked, giving him a little squeeze. “Promises, promises.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and then he was positioning himself between her legs, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with hers. “This is really what you want?”

She nodded, reaching up to cup his face. “Yes. I want to feel you. All of you.”

He kissed her gently, a stark contrast to the desperation they both felt, and then he pushed into her, slowly, inch by excruciating inch. Neither of them broke eye contact, and she could see the exact moment he felt her completely—the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched, the way his entire body seemed to shudder.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You feel… Jesus, you feel amazing.”

She couldn’t agree more. The sensation of him inside her, without any barriers, was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every vein, every ridge—she could feel it all, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one driving her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. Their breaths mingled, their bodies moving together in perfect sync, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly, completely connected to someone.

“Lando,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promised, his voice strained.

Lando’s lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm and ragged as he whispered, “You have no idea how good you feel right now.” His voice was low, husky, and dripping with desire, sending a shiver down her spine that made her arch into him. His hands roamed her body, tracing every curve, every dip, as if he were memorizing her all over again—and perhaps he was.

“I want to make you feel everything,” he continued, his teeth grazing her earlobe gently before he kissed the sensitive spot just below it. “Every inch of you… I want to worship it. I want to devour you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her body responding instantly. She could feel him inside her, every movement, every thrust, intensifying the pleasure coursing through her. His cock felt like it was made for her, stretching her in ways she hadn’t known were possible, filling her completely.

Lando’s hands slid down to her hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled her closer, driving himself deeper. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort. “And wet—Jesus, Y/n, you’re absolutely soaking. I can feel you… all of you.”

“Lando…” she whimpered, her voice trembling as she felt herself unraveling under him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as the sensations overwhelmed her. The way he moved inside her, slow yet deliberate, was driving her insane. She could feel the tension building, coiling tightly in her core, ready to snap.

His lips found hers again, capturing her moans as he kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that matched his thrusts. He broke the kiss only to whisper against her lips, “I love how responsive you are. How you move with me. How you take me.” His words were like gasoline to the fire already burning within her, igniting something primal, something raw.

Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She could feel how hard he was working to keep control, to keep his movements steady, but she could also sense the desperation in him. The way his breath quickened, the way his muscles tensed—it was as if he were holding back, waiting for her to fall first.

But she didn’t want to fall alone.

“Harder,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with urgency. “Please, Lando… I need more.”

He didn’t hesitate. His thrusts became harder, faster, each one hitting that perfect spot deep inside her that had her seeing stars. She gasped, her head falling back as the pleasure intensified, threatening to consume her entirely. “Fuck, y/n,” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips. “You feel too good. I’m losing my mind here.”

She could feel it too—the way his control was slipping, the way his rhythm faltered slightly as pleasure overtook him. But instead of pulling back, he pushed forward, giving her everything he had. His cock pulsed inside her, as if begging for release, but he held on, determined to bring her with him.

His lips found her neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there as he murmured against it, “I want to cum inside you. Can I? Please, baby, I need to feel you come around me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze briefly before she nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Yes… please.”

That was all the permission he needed. His thrusts became erratic, his breathing ragged as he gave in to the overwhelming pleasure. She could feel him twitching inside her, feel the heat building as he approached the edge. And then, with a groan that sounded almost primal, he came, spilling himself deep inside her.

The moment his hot seed filled her, something inside her snapped. The tension that had been building in her core exploded, and she cried out, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—intense, all-consuming, and utterly perfect.

Her legs trembled, her grip on him loosening as she fell back against the bed, completely spent. Lando followed her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

For a moment, they simply lay there, their bodies still connected, their hearts racing in sync. Then, slowly, Lando lifted his head to look at her, his eyes filled with emotion. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he whispered, “You’re incredible. Absolutely fucking incredible.”

She couldn’t help but smile, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of their shared climax. “So are you,” she replied softly, her hand resting on his cheek. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palm, the stubble rough yet comforting.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I want to worship you. Every part of you. Body, mind, soul… you’re mine, Y/n. All of you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the intensity in his gaze making her stomach flutter. She knew he meant it—every word, every promise. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe it. To believe in him.

Before she could respond, he kissed her again, this time soft and lingering, as if sealing a promise she wasn’t even sure she was ready to make. As their lips parted, he whispered, “Sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for once, she didn’t argue. She simply closed her eyes, her body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion claimed her. But just as sleep began to pull her under, she felt his arms wrap around her, holding her close, keeping her safe.

In that moment, she felt truly, completely his. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Cryptid Bruce

Martha and Thomas Wayne struggled to have a child for years and Thomas meets a shady man who tells him that a child will come to them soon

Thomas just ‘??? okaaaaaay’s him but in a week, Martha bursts into his office looking frazzled

“We’re being haunted.”

“….”

“Don’t give me that look, Thomas Wayne. The Manor. It’s haunted. Alfred! Tell him we’re being haunted!”

And Alfred comes in, also looking frazzled but to a lesser degree.

The two explain that things are moving around the Manor without any kind of explanation, but Thomas doesn’t believe them. Until he notices things in his office also being moved. The weirdest event is when they start hearing a child’s giggles. No explanation. None.

Not until Thomas, sleep deprived after going over paperwork for one too many hours, pops into the kitchen and…there is a child. Sitting on the kitchen counter.

The child, a boy, turns. Grins. Waves.

“Hi, daddy.”

—

Bruce, they name him, can melt into shadows. He finds it hilarious. Martha thinks she’s going to go grey at her young age. She adores him. Thomas adores him. He’s their son now.

The Waynes have a mysterious child, but they keep their private lives very private, so maybe they just successfully hid a pregnancy? And then a child. For…three years. They think Bruce is three, at least.

Despite how odd of a child Bruce is, they love him dearly. He’s some kind of miracle. A…very weird, possibly magical(?) miracle.

—

Dick thinks his adoptive father is strange. Extremely strange. Bruce makes absolutely no noise when he moves. He doesn’t cast shadows but he seemingly is able to *blend into them*. His smile, whilst genuine, seems a little too sharp.

He thinks he’s a vampire.

Bruce laughs so hard, he doubles over.

“No, but I am the Batman, so I guess you’re not far off.”

“…is this a joke?”

“Nope.”

“A dream?”

Bruce pinches him and Dick yelps.

Bruce doesn’t explain to Dick what he is, because he doesn’t have a clue himself. He just…is.

—

But when Jason comes along, he has a million and one questions. Bruce blinks at him.

“How did you do that? You literally *melted* into the shadows!”

Bruce shrugs.

“No. *No*. Explain.”

“I…can’t.”

“You said no secrets, B!”

Bruce puts his hands up defensively. “It’s not a secret! I really don’t know! It just…kind of happens.”

Jason stares at him. Bruce stands there. He seems to flicker? The edges of his body go a bit transparent and Dick knows he only does that when he’s stressed.

“Leave him alone, Jay. He’s telling the truth. He’s just…like that. But he’s still Bruce.”

It takes Jason two months to accept it. By then, his questions are more from genuine intrigue and wonder. He hides under Batman’s cape and somehow it’s spacious? It can even fit Dick at the same time. No one (but Bruce) can even hear them when they’re under there.

And then one day, when he goes to take a nap under Bruce’s cape, someone else is there.

“….B?”

“…”

“You know what I’m going to ask.”

“…”

“*Bruce*.”

“No real names, Robin.”

“No one can hear me!”

“…I didn’t kidnap him.”

“What his name?”

“Timothy Drake.”

“FROM DRAKE INDUSTRIES?”

And Tim wakes up, rubbing his eyes. He looks exhausted and way too skinny, and all of a sudden, Jason understands why Dick has cooed at him the first night Bruce brought him home.

“Um…hi.”

“B, we’re keeping him.”

Jason doesn’t need to see Bruce’s face to know he’s smiling.

—

Damian just…appears. Bruce suddenly understands his parents’ reactions to his first appearance because nearly the same exact thing happens. Bruce wakes up from a nap. He doesn’t need to sleep very often, something Tim finds incredibly annoying, declaring it to be *unfair*. He wakes up, and curled against his chest is…a boy. Who looks a *lot* like him.

“Uh.”

The child wakes up, blinks at him w striking green eyes.

“Hello Father.”

What the fuck.

Dick slams his way into Bruce’s office, followed by Jason and Tim, who are bickering with each other.

“DAAAAAAAD, THEY WON’T SHU- oh. Steal another kid?”

“…he just appeared.”

“That’s the excuse you used for Jason.”

“No. Literally. I fell asleep. No kid. Woke up. Kid.”

“My name is Damian.”

“That’s no fair. You came pre-named?”

Damian is as odd as Bruce. Actually, he’s weirder. And stabby. Bruce finds him *delightful*. He adores him.

—

Dick is Nightwing, Jason is Red Hood (no death, he just thought it was a cool name), Tim is Red Robin, and Damian’s Robin.

Bruce is Batman. Despite being in his late 30s, he still looks like he’s in his mid 20s.

—

Batman stands in front of a bank robber who’s going on about their evil bank robbing plans. Nightwing pops his head out from beneath Batman’s cape.

“Can you get to the point?”

Red Hood pops out next.

“I’m getting bored.”

Red Robin follows.

“This is sad.”

Damian.

“Scum.”

Batman sighs.

“Why are all of you here?”

“Missed you.”

They all chime in.

The robber.

“How…how the *fuck-?*”

“Language. There are kids around.”

“B, I’m 23.”

“Says the boy taking a nap in my cape. And I was talking about Red Robin and Robin.”

“…’s comfy.”

“I’m eighteen???”

“F- Batman! I am not a child!”

There’s some shuffling sounds, no doubt Red Hood moving over to ruffle Robin’s hair.

“Whatever you say, Tiny Demon.”

And then Red Hood shrieks.

“No stabbing your brothers, Robin.”

“He called me small!”

“…you are.”

“This is insulting, F- Batman. I will grow to be as big as you. No. *Bigger*.”

The robber watches in confusion, mild amusement, and horror.

Batman sighs.

“We’ll talk about this later. Now, you were saying? Blowing up the bank, terrorizing the people.” Batman yawns. “Anything else?”

“Just take me to Arkham. I think I’m insane.”

[catchastarorten]

—100 loaves of bread.

Pairing: the salesman/recruiter x bakeryowner!fem!reader

Summary: it started with a few visits from him buying 100 loaves of bread each time from your little bakery, but overtime the two of you started to get familiar, little did you know about his ‘work’ and how he should’ve given the card to you but didn't...

Content: fluff, aggressive stomping on bread, him having a soft spot for you, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care about you (it doesn’t work lol), a bit of reader's backstory, self-conflict and a bit of change of heart from him, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.1k

You were wiping down the counter when the familiar chime of the bell above the door jingled. It was late in the afternoon, and the bakery was quiet, except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint scent of freshly baked bread and sugar lingering in the air. You glanced up, already knowing who it was. He was here again—the man with the sharp suit and the briefcase who bought bread in quantities that always left you baffled.

“Afternoon,” you said, watching as he walked in with the same calm, measured way as always. He almost looked too friendly for someone who carried himself so formally.

“Afternoon,” he replied, stepping up to the counter and resting his briefcase at his feet. “I’ll need the usual. A hundred loaves.”

A hundred loaves of bread. It was such a ridiculous request, and yet, he never failed to make it.

You’d asked him once, early on, what on earth he did with all that bread. Selling it somewhere else for a profit? Feeding a small army? Storing up for an apocalypse? He had only smiled at you then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and said, “Something like that.”

It had been weeks since his first visit, and by now, the routine was familiar. You’d load loaf after loaf into paper bags while he stood patiently, sometimes asking about your day, sometimes quietly observing the modest little bakery. Today, though, you felt compelled to ask again.

“Are you sure you want all of it?” you asked, sliding the first bag across the counter. “That’s… a lot of bread.”

He smiled faintly, reaching for the bag and setting it beside him. “You ask me that every time.”

“Well, it’s not everyday someone comes in and buys out half my stock,” you said, tilting your head. “It makes me curious.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed like he might answer—really answer. But then he only shrugged slightly, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Let’s just say it goes to good use.”

You frowned, unsatisfied but unwilling to press further. He always paid in cash, crisp bills that he counted out with precision. You noticed, as you often did, that he never left without dropping a generous tip into the glass jar by the register. He offered you a warm look as he slipped a few bills into the tip jar again.

“Keep up the good work,” he said. “Your bread’s the best in the city.”

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or suspicious. He seemed genuine, but there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Still, it wasn’t your place to pry. You handed him the last of the bags, and he left with the same polite nod as always.

The next time he came in, it wasn’t for a hundred loaves of bread.

You were behind the counter again, rearranging a tray of pastries, when you heard the door chime. Glancing up, you saw him standing there, his briefcase nowhere in sight.

“Not the usual today?” you asked, half-teasing.

He smiled slightly, stepping up to the counter. “Not today. I was thinking I’d try something different.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He scanned the display case, his eyes lingering on a slice of strawberry shortcake near the center. “That,” he said, pointing.

You wrapped up the slice for him, and when you handed it over, he didn’t leave right away. Instead, he took a seat at one of the small tables by the window—a seat no one ever seemed to take—and unwrapped the cake with a kind of deliberate care. You watched, unable to help yourself, as he took a bite.

“It’s good,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Really good.”

A flicker of amusement crossed your face as you watched him eat. He wasn’t as neat as you’d expected—a bit of whipped cream ended up on the corner of his mouth, and he licked it away absentmindedly, his gaze drifting to the shelves of decorative knick-knacks you’d lined the walls with.

“I never really noticed these before,” he said, gesturing toward a small ceramic cat perched on one of the shelves. “Did you make them?”

You shook your head. “No, those were my parents’. They used to run this place before me. They had a thing for collecting stuff like that.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s nice. Feels… homey.”

You didn’t know why, but his words left you oddly self-conscious. The bakery had always been your parents’ dream, not yours, and while you’d taken it over out of necessity, you’d never thought much about how it felt to anyone else. But hearing him say it was homey made you feel a faint sense of pride.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He stayed longer than usual that day, finishing his cake and ordering a coffee to go with it.

You found yourself talking to him more than you normally would with a customer. He asked about the bakery, about your favorite thing to bake, about whether you’d ever considered expanding. You didn’t ask about him—not directly—but you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man he was.

By the time he left, it was dark outside, and the bakery was empty except for you. As you locked up for the night, you found yourself thinking about his smile, the way it lingered even after he was gone.

One day, as he was paying for a loaf of sourdough, he looked at you, his head tilting slightly. “Do you ever think about getting out of here?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… this place is great, but don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought about it—leaving, starting fresh somewhere new—but the bakery was all you’d ever known. It was safe, familiar. And after your parents passed, it felt like the only thing that tethered you to them.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I don’t know. This place… it’s home.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, there was a silence between you. Then he smiled again, that warm, almost disarming smile, and slid an extra bill across the counter. “For the tip jar,” he said.

You watched as he walked out the door, his briefcase in hand, and wondered—for the hundredth time—what kind of life he led.

...

The bell above the bakery door chimed familiarly.

He stepped inside, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket, his polished demeanor there as always. But inside, his stomach churned. He had made a decision today—a decision that, for once, made him feel something like guilt.

He scanned the shop. You were at the counter, hands dusted with flour as you arranged freshly baked rolls on a tray. The soft glow of the afternoon light spilling through the window caught on your hair, and the faintest smile tugged at your lips when you saw him. That smile… It was a problem.

“Afternoon,” you said, just as you always did. Your voice was warm, even though he could see the slight tiredness beneath it. That smile didn’t reach your eyes as much these days, but you still tried, didn’t you?

He nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Afternoon.”

You weren’t supposed to matter to him. That was the rule. He had a job to do, a system to uphold, and people like you—drowning in debt—were just part of the equation. It shouldn't have mattered how good-hearted you were, how hardworking you were.

You weren’t special... at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He first started coming to your bakery for convenience, but as time passed, the lines started to blur. The bread looked good, better than most places in this part of the city, and you didn’t ask too many questions.

The loaves weren’t for eating, of course. They were for a little ‘social experiment’.

“Bread or lottery?” That’s what he’d ask them—the desperate, homeless souls he scouted in the park. It was always the same. He’d hold out a loaf in one hand, a lottery scratcher in the other. The bread could fill their stomachs. But the lottery ticket? That promised a chance. A gamble. A way out.

They always chose the ticket. Every time.

He knew what came next. The moment they realized it wasn’t a winning ticket after all. They’d just stared at him, some cursed out loud, some were just disappointed, their hopes bleeding out onto the pavement.

And the bread? He destroyed it. Stomped it into the ground until it was unrecognizable, crumbs scattering across the concrete.

It was dramatic, yes, but it served its purpose. It showed them the choice that they had made, the food that they had thrown away and destroyed, not him. It was necessary. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the bread came from you.

That detail had started to bother him more and more. You put your heart into every loaf, every pastry, every crumb that came out of your oven. He saw it in the way you worked, the way you carefully packed the loaves into paper bags for him, the way you smiled when he left a tip. He had started tipping more, as if that would excuse him of the guilt of what he was doing with your work—it didn’t.

He had been keeping tabs on you. He knew about your debts, the ones you and your brother had racked up trying to keep the bakery afloat after your parents passed. He knew how hard you worked to stay above water, how you barely made enough to cover the bills some months.

You were exactly the kind of person he was supposed to recruit.

He told himself that’s why he started coming more often. He needed to assess you, to figure out the right moment to offer you the card. But the truth was, he liked being in the bakery. He liked the smell of fresh bread and sugar, the hum of the old refrigerator, the quiet way you moved behind the counter. He liked your voice when you asked him how his day was going, even though he never answered honestly.

And he hated himself for liking any of it.

The card was in his pocket today. He had been carrying it around for a while now, waiting for the right moment.

Today, he had decided, would be the day. After all, you deserved it, right? The games were brutal, yes, but they were also fair. A chance for people like you to escape the crushing weight of debt.

That’s what he told himself as he walked into the bakery. But when you looked up at him, your flour-dusted hands resting on the counter, and said, “So, what are you getting today?”—he froze.

He could feel the card in his pocket, its edges pressing against his fingers. All he had to do was pull it out, slide it across the counter, and say the words. But he couldn’t do it. Not to you.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I’ll take another slice of that cake,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

You looked over to the display. “The strawberry one?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his finger gently tapping the display glass that caged all the pastries. “It’s… good.”

You smiled faintly, wrapping up the slice and handing it to him. “Anything else?”

He hesitated, the card burning a hole in his pocket. But then your eyes met his, and something in them—something warm, something real—made his resolve crumble.

“No,” he said softly. “That’s all.”

As he ate the cake at the small table by the window again, he told himself that letting you go was the right thing to do. You didn’t belong in the games. You didn’t belong in his world. And yet, he felt something close to longing as he watched you work behind the counter, your movements quick and precise, your expression focused.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he felt human.

When he left the bakery that day, he slipped a few extra bills into the tip jar. He told himself it was just another gesture, another way to balance the scales. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to make up for what he did—what he was.

And yet, he didn’t offer you the card. He didn’t bring it the next time he visited, or the time after that. He told himself he’d do it eventually, that it was inevitable. But the truth was, he didn’t have the heart to drag you into the darkness he inhabited every day.

You weren’t like him. And he wanted—no, needed—to keep it that way.

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES TIP JAR

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

︎︎⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

Your future spouse will find how controlled you are but how they manage to make you lose control to be very sexy. You’ll have a natural sensuality going for you even outside the bedroom. Initially, they’ll feel like they see you because you’ll be sort of lonely, it’s not going to be something that you’ll be actively dwelling on instead you’ll be extremely nurturing and genuine with those around you, trying to take care of yourself, spreading kindness and remaining connected to what truly matters. You’re going to seem really grounded and based in reality, you’ll look like you take good care of yourself physically because at that time, you will be. When they’ll come in, you’ll still seem very controlled but the more time starts going by, the more you’ll start handing the control over to them. They’ll discover new sides of you - the side of you that gets angry and throws a fit when you lose something, the side of you that isolates yourself when hurt, the side of you that kicks your feet in the air joyfully whilst seated on a chair, the side of you that hasn’t told anyone that you carry all the bills, the side of you that cries when worried about your finances and future, so on and so forth. They’re going to want to protect you, and give you all the stability and love that you so deeply deserve. You’ll react a certain way when they’re visibly angry. Your cheeks will flush up with a visible tinge of red, your lips will be slightly parted and you’ll be closing it again, and again, you’ll bite your lower lip and nibble it to ease up your nervousness and the tingling sensations that you’ll be feeling all over your body. Oh, they’re going to want to take you right then and there, they’ll want to release their anger and make up with you in what I (and probably they) consider to be the most effective way. Assuming that they’re a man, you’ll bring out an even manlier side of them. I’m not sure what you consider to be a true man but I personally think that a true man is a kind, considerate protector and provider. You’ll not bring out the animalistic and lustful side of them right away, they’re going to feel a strong sexual attraction towards you but it’s going to be an undercurrent, it’s going to be hard to be around you due to how strongly attracted they’ll feel towards you but their crush on you, the fluttery butterflies in their belly, the desire to catch a glimpse of you without you noticing, the desire to know how you feel, the desire to sort out their own emotions is going to be their main area of focus. They’ll find it hard to be around you without noticing you, they’ll even have to maintain the pace of their breathing in case they forget to breathe, they’ll feel you through your energy alone, their body will grow physically warmer when you’re around but their main area of focus will be on being who and what you’ll need them to be at that time. They’ll feel protective towards you and will want to look out for your needs. Not only that but you’ll also bring out an almost childlike yet father-like aspect from within them, the romance and warmth shared between you will be like no other. At times, they’re going to find themself acting like their child self in front of you, you’ll draw out the tenderness from within them. They’ll be so smitten, so childlike, almost naive because of your influence, you’ll make them so happy, so childlike, that they’ll often not even realize that they’re smiling. It’ll be difficult for them to contain their smile even at the mere sight of you. You’re going to be their dream person, they’ll not have felt this way for anyone else. Loving you will come so naturally to them, you’ll make them feel something that they didn’t know they were in search of, the kind of love that cannot even be written about.

It will be the kind of love that no matter how much one may try cannot be channeled into any art form, the kind of love that cannot even be described, the kind of love in front of which every word in the dictionary is bound to fall short, the kind of love that only be felt from within the deepest layers of the heart. “I don’t want a palace of mirrors, with you, even dry bread feels good” is the energy that I’m getting here. Your down to earth way of living will give them a new life and their structured, disciplined, respected and respectful ways of living will give you the same. Well, the thing about being down to earth is, earth does not only have peaceful and still lakes, and rivers, it also has volcanos, and you seem to be a volcano. Even though, usually you tend to be more calm, due to your flaming hot chemistry with them and your lack of knowledge on how to deal with it, you’ll erupt quite a lot. However, in bed, you’re going to let them take you in ways that you never would outside of it. You’re going to let them lead you and will not give them a single moment of silence, you’re going to be noisy - you’ll moan, you’ll cry, you’ll hum, you’ll groan, YOU’RE EVEN GOING TO LAUGH and they’re going to love it all. I’m getting that while you’re going to be giving yourself to them completely, you’re still going to act like a brat at times. Despite this, they’re going to be the one in control and they’ll love it. You’re going to change the way you’re acting within minutes but it’s going to make it all the more exciting, it’s just going to piece together, almost as if everything was well planned beforehand. They’re going to love the way one moment you’re running your mouth and the next you’re keeping shut, and taking it. They’re going to edge you to the point you can’t take it anymore and try to take matters into your own hands… or should I say ‘fingers’, just for them to hold you in place, they’ll hand cuff you and tie your hands if the need be there but they’ll usually be strong enough to keep your fingers from giving you the friction you so desperately crave, not having to use any external materials to quote unquote ‘keep you from misbehaving’. They’re going to find it all so sexy, the way you whine and try to protest just to have to end up practicing a virtue namely ‘patience’. Also, you have a really high sex drive. They’re going to love your ability to keep up, in fact, you’ll do more than just keep up, you’ll please them and you’ll both love it. You’re never going to be able to get enough of each other and what’s sexier than that? You seem to have an overstimulation kink and they seem to have it too, they’re going to want you to not be able to walk comfortably after your sexual encounters and they’re going to want to experience pleasure to the point they’re too sensitive to continue. I’m getting that either you’ll have eight to nine rounds of orgasms (as long as you have time for it) or they’ll give you rounds after rounds of pleasure until your head is spinning and you genuinely can’t take it anymore. They’re going to love the way you try to keep your legs shut, not even being able to vocalise that you can’t take it anymore, the way your legs shake when they continue pushing, the way you arch your back and roll your eyes with the most exquisite music coming out from within your diaphragm, the way you grab their hair and scratch their back while riding your high, and the way you let out a playful and vivacious laugh after all is done, and you’ve finally caught your breath. Also, the way you’ll look at them, still disheveled after your love making session and then a small smile will creep up your cheeks until you have a wide smile across your face. The saying that “it hits different when it’s made with love” will stand true in your case. Thank you for reading. Much love and take care.

︎︎⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

They’ll love missionary, you’ll love missionary, the end! Ahaha, just kidding. On a more serious note, they’re going to find you to be very physically attractive, even with clothes on. They’ll have a great deal of appreciation for your values and who you are as a person. They’re going to love everything about you, from the way you walk, to the way you talk, to the way you move. They’re going to feel a pull towards you from the very first time they’ll meet you and this feeling will only continue to grow into more and more passion as they spend more time with you. They’re going to feel a desire to be with you and you’re going to reciprocate their energy for which they’ll be really grateful. It’ll be a natural flowing connection where the both of you will desire each other and will care about each other from the very start. They’ll love that you enjoy risky situations, it’s going to be sexy how you’ll be the one to initiate stuff in such cases, like in family gatherings, if you’re in the kitchen with other people and the both of you are standing behind the counter in a way where your lower bodies are covered, you’ll just rub your hand over their tool from over their jeans, continuing your conversation with the other people present and gosh, it’ll be so sexy, they could get off to the memory of it. You’re going to tease them like that quite a lot - touching them at times when you shouldn’t be, making suggestive comments, just to leave them alone to deal with it while you go ahead with your day. Another thing that they’ll find incredibly sexy is the way you seamlessly combine tenderness and intensity. As you both will lie close, your bodies almost touching, there’s going to be a magnetic pull in the air, a silent promise of intimacy. What they’ll find most captivating is how you can be both passionate and gentle, knowing exactly when to take the lead and when to let the moment unfold naturally. You’ll seem to be perfectly in sync with one another. Even the sizes of your body and the way it looks, it’ll seem as though the both of you were supposed to fit together. No matter if you were a virgin before you met them or have had a long line of sexual encounters lined up from before you met them, you’ll move with a subtle confidence, a quiet power that doesn’t need to be spoken - each gesture will be deliberate yet fluid, as if every action is meant to communicate something deeper. When your hands glide over their skin, there’s going to be a sense of connection, an understanding of what they need without them having to say a word. It’s as if you’re not just touching them physically but reaching into their very soul, creating an encounter that feels both exhilarating and comforting. There will be moments when you’ll let your emotions take the lead, allowing your vulnerability to show. This openness, this willingness to bare your heart, will be intensely sexy to them. Supposing, you’re sharing a quiet moment together, perhaps after an evening of passionate love-making and you start to talk about your deepest feelings, your voice might falter here and there but even so you’ll continue telling them about it as if you could never break their trust and that will be the moment that pulls them in even closer.

In the throes of passion, they’ll be enchanted by your ability to shift the dynamic effortlessly. One minute, you might be tender and slow, savoring each kiss, each touch as if time itself has slowed down just for you. The next, there’s a sudden intensity - a fire that burns brightly, consuming both of you in its heat. Your spontaneity will keep them on their toes, never quite knowing what to expect but loving every moment of it. Yet, it’s not just the passion that will captivate them, it’s the sense of trust you cultivate in those moments. When you’re together, they’ll feel like they can let go of all their worries, all their defenses, because you’ve created a space where it’s safe to be completely themselves. There will be times when you both lie in silence, your bodies intertwined, and they’ll realize that this is what they’ve been searching for - a partner who understands that intimacy is as much about emotional connection as it is about physical pleasure. In those quieter moments, your future spouse will be mesmerized by how you listen, how you pay attention to the smallest details. Maybe it’s the way you instinctively know when they need to be held a little tighter or the way you remember something they mentioned in passing and bring it up at just the right time. These small gestures, these signs of your deep care and understanding, will make them fall even more in love with you. So well, I would say that what they’ll find most sexy about you is the way you make them feel cherished, desired and completely understood. You will have this incredible ability to make every moment feel special, to turn the ordinary into something extraordinary. 69… they’ll love it. They’ll find it extremely sexy when you sit down for them to lick and suck you. They’ll especially love your smell, when you sit down for them to eat you out, they’ll take a long breath in, finding something as simple as normal vaginal smell to be appealing and worth remembering. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they secretly, at least once or twice sniff your panties. It’s not like it’s an actual fetish that they have but they find it funny and thrilling regardless? They’re going to love your giggles, I’m not sure how you giggle but it’ll be one of their favourite parts of your aftercare, while the both of you will be having a conversation, you’ll just giggle and they’ll just stare at you like “___ is so endearing, what have I gotten myself into?” They might get cuteness aggression and crush you in their arms, rupturing your ribcage slightly xD. I’m so sorry but I’m not even being able to describe everything that’s coming through in words because your connection is going to be divine in nature. Even the sex is going to feel surreal. They’re going to be turned on by everything you’ll do so they’ll find everything about you sexy, they’ll find YOU to be sexy. It’s not going to be the way you are or anything that you do, it’s going to be who you are that they’re going to find sexy. All of it. Thank you for reading. Much love and take care.

︎︎⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

Welcome, my make up sex pile! They’ll find it sexy as to how almost all your fights end with the both of you in bed. As a couple, you’ll both indulge in pretty rough play. There will be a lot of biting and scratching involved alongside dirty talking. When it comes to your fights, even when the both of you are making up through activities, the bickering will continue. However, the bickering is going to get dirty and exciting. “You really think you’re always right, don’t you?” Then, they’ll bite and suck on a sensitive spot on your neck while playing with your kitty (assuming that you’re a girl/woman). “How about this? Do you like that?” They’ll probably grab your hair a lot and you’re going to do the same too. They’re going to find it incredibly sexy as to how you grab their hair while they’re eating you out, also your mouth will be slightly agape. They’ll want to see it all, they’ll not want to let their eyes stray away from your face for even a moment. Honestly, I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t want to either because you seem to have really sexy facial expressions while in bed. They’re going to love the way you react when you’re getting close, how you bite your lower lip in order to hold back sounds sometimes, the way your breathing gets quicker, your face gets redder and your eyes become half lidded. There will be something about the way you raise your hips and slightly move them while they’re eating you out that they’ll find incredibly enticing. They’ll find themself smiling and smirking while eating you out and even while kissing you. They’re going to love the feel of you in every sense - the way you feel on their tongue, the way your tongue entwines with theirs, the way you smell like vanilla/roses/whatever fragrance you wear just for you to end up sweaty and smell like it as your sexual encounter continues. They’re going to find the smell of your sweat to be really sexy too. I’m not sure how to explain it to you but it’ll just appeal to them. I feel like they’re going to be someone who naturally sweats a lot as well but regardless of that, they’re going to look very sexy while sweating. Also, they’ll love how you look with your face and body, all red and sweaty after all the fun activities that you’ve done together. They’re a very possessive and passionate person, and so are you. You’re both going to indulge in a lot of jealous and angry sex. I usually don’t feel called to name placements but who here has major cancer, leo, 4th house or 5th house placements? If not you’re probably going to share those synastry placements. Many of you here might be inexperienced and when they’ll meet you, you might even have an innocent image going for you. However, they’ll be able to pick up on the fact that you have something dirty lurking under the surface. Many of you are not willing to sleep with just anyone, you wish to sleep with those who love you deeply and who you love deeply. Naturally, due to your innocent image yet the sense of something dirty and lewd hidden within you, you’re going to seem very corruptible. In fact, you probably are very corruptible, they’re going to love how you get better with time and the power, and control that they’ll have over you. There’s going to be a theme of overindulgence, you’ll both prefer to have multiple rounds and many different ways of reaching, and riding your high. They’re going to love 69 with you, you’ll personally really love it as well. It’s not just 69, you’ll also enjoy mutual masturbation. To be honest, both the parties here seem to be pretty sexual in nature so you’ll love any and every position that you can do 💀. You’re going to love overstimulation and so will they, I’m getting a lot of clitoris stimulation taking place here. They’re going to use a vibrator on you a lot and they’re going to love the way you react.

They’re going to use the toy even when they’re inside you because that way, even they’ll be able to feel some vibrations and they’ll love the way you’re having a lot to handle at the same time. Regardless of whether you’re flat or busty, they’re going to pinch, lick and suck your tits a lot. They are going to enjoy the thrill of controlling. Almost always, they’ll be the one in control, you’ll often find yourself at their mercy. There will be times when they’ll be heavily stimulating you but will not allow you to reach your high. They’ll either command you to not cum until they give you the permission to do so or they’ll stop ride before you reach your peak. They’re going to love how you become putty in their hands, how your usually arrogant self becomes so helpless while they’re handling you. They’re going to find the way you react to them degrading and praising you to be very naughty. They’ll find it sexy when you can’t take it anymore so you try to get them to give you what you so desperately want and in fact, need. You’ll have your ways of trying to get what you want, some of them being - peppering them with pecks all over their face, kissing them deeply before pleading them to give you what you want or looking at them with puppy-ish eyes telling them just how much you need them, how much you wish to feel them, to feel their touch get you to your point of pleasure. You’ll start acting quite youthful as the session continues, simply just wanting them to take care of you and baby you, and give you what you want of course. You might find yourself talking in a baby voice, trying to convince them to give you what you want. You’ll get louder and make more noise as the session progresses as well. You’ll try to persuade them. “Please, I promise to behave. I promise to give you anything, to do anything, to be anything, please just let me do this.” Eye contact and each other’s face seems to be important to you, like they’ll be looking up at you while eating you out and you’ll be looking down at them with your hand grabbing their hair, they’ll want to do missionary with crazy deep eye contact, when you’re giving them head, you’ll want to look at their facial expressions as well, even when you’re doing positions such as doggystyle and reverse cowgirl, you’ll try to get a glance at each other’s faces once in a while. You’re also going to be observant of them, if their face doesn’t show that they’re experiencing the pleasure that you want them to feel, you’ll do something different that will be more pleasurable and they’ll love it, the way you try to be your best for them, give your all to them. Especially initially, because many of you seem to be inexperienced, you might not be as confident and not know all the ways of pleasuring someone but you’ll try your best and it will show. You might even say things like “I know that I might not have been that good but I promise to get better” or “did I do well? Are you proud of me?” at the end of your encounters. They’re going to find the afterglow to be endearing and sexy. You’ll usually be drenched in sweat and so will they but despite all the smell, you’ll want to kiss each other, you’ll make out but very sensually. They’ll love the intimacy that you’ll both share and well, since make up sex is going to be very common. You’re both going to voice out your emotions and communicate in the end. They’re going to love the soft, smooth and loving energy between you after such an explosive encounter that literally happened because the both of you were fighting. It’s going to feel deep and intimate, how the two of you can experience such dualities and fluctuations together. You’re both going to be unsuspectingly adorable and affectionate almost innocent with each other after everything is done as if you didn’t just engage in such erotic activities. Thank you for reading. Much love and take care.

[gothicfied]

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 Headcanons

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff

જ⁀➴ Considering the nature of this environment and the people you're surrounded by, you didn't speak up or made yourself noticeable at all. You kept your thoughts and worries to yourself, pretending like it didn't bother you that the players around you were being killed off left and right. And, it worked: no one seemed to bother you or notice you in the first place. Except for one guy.

જ⁀➴ Your bed was directly under Dae-ho's. After being so rattled up by Red-Light-Green-Light, you just sat there on the thin mattress, staring down at your food. The commotion next to you about Gi-hun, a previous winner of these games, didn't interest you at all. Your attention was drawn to Dae-ho though, when he dropped down from his bed with a loud thud.

"Oh," he looked at you with a concerned look, "hey there. Are you okay?"

જ⁀➴ Kickstarting your 'friendship', if a friendship is even possible in this place, you were kindly accepted into Gi-hun's little group, alongside In-ho, Dae-ho and Jung-bae. From the beginning, it seemed like Dae-ho was more concerned with your wellbeing than his own. He'd often share his meals with you, as a general act of kindness. And, it warmed your heart, considering he kept nagging Jung-bae for his milk or water or whatever it was.

જ⁀➴ He'd always keep you an arms length away from him at most, feeling responsible for your survival during the games. He was a marine after all, he needed to protect you, no matter what was to come. You'd show your appreciation with hugs and endless thank-you's when saved from literal death. Dae-ho would just laugh it off, claiming that you'd do the same for him. And you definitely would.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho's a sweet guy with a good heart, refusing to continue the games in the next voting, even if it meant he couldn't pay off his debt completely. Not only did he hate to see other players die (obviously), but he was genuinely scared to lose one of his friends. Especially you. He developed an undeniable adoration for you and he was determined to get you out of here, so that he actually has a chance of living a normal life with you.

જ⁀➴ Your presence alone made him nervous, in the good way, of course. While the others started to notice, you seemed to be oblivious. You'd accept every little compliment with a smile, say something nice back and then go on with your task, completely missing the fact that Dae-ho's cheeks were turning a bright pink. And, to be honest, he was really glad you didn't seem to notice at first.

જ⁀➴ Before lights out, he'd lean down and whisper a quiet "Good night." and after you wake up, you'd be greeted by a fairly cheery "Good morning!". Dae-ho just needed to reassure himself that you were safe and alive, wanting to be the last thing you see when you go to sleep and the first thing you see in the morning, too.

જ⁀➴ When it was your turn to guard the makeshift safety spot that Gi-hun made you guys set up, Dae-ho would stay up alongside you. He'd tell you to go back to sleep and that he could handle doing a double shift, but you refused, wanting to have some alone time with him. His voice was soothing in a stressful time like this and he, somehow, always found the right words to say to calm you down.

"Look, I know we didn't meet under the right circumstances by any means," he started, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, "but I'm still glad we did. You're really brave, you know?" You just chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm really glad we met, too."

જ⁀➴ Whenever Dae-ho was showing signs of distress or discomfort, you'd try to distract him or comfort him by side-hugging him and speaking reassuring words. You noticed that, while he did his best to protect everyone, he definitely needed that as well from time to time.

જ⁀➴ When not being able to sleep at night, you'd sit up and look if Dae-ho was awake as well. For some reason, as if he had developed a sixth sense for you, he'd wake up, feeling your eyes on him. If you try to apologize he'd wave it off, inviting you up to his bed to talk.

જ⁀➴ Even if these beds were small for two people, you'd manage to lay down comfortably, his one arm wrapped around your waist, to keep you from falling off. Your head rests against his chest while you talked his ears off about something Dae-ho couldn't focus on. His mind was just filled with you and the feeling of your body against his.

જ⁀➴ You guys definitely fell asleep like that.

જ⁀➴ And Jung-bae definitely made everyone look before waking you up.

[ahqkas]

♯ WOMANIZER ( you misunderstand the batboys’ intentions about you ! )

— fem!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), cursing, i believe in the imperfection of dick grayson, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE PARTY AT WAYNE MANOR WAS ALREADY WELL UNDERWAY, with the gotham’s most privileged citizens mingling in perfect suits and ethereal gowns that sparkled like they held all the stars in the universe. you didn’t really belong here. or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood near the edge of the balcony, nursing a glass of champagne and pretending you weren’t keeping an eye on the man who seemed to command attention wherever he went.

bruce wayne. gotham’s billionaire playboy. philanthropist. occasional heartbreaker. you’d known him for a while, though you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. he had a knack for being charming in a way that left people breathless, and you? you’d seen through it. or at least, you thought you had.

when he’d started showing interest in you—lingering glances, invitations to these kinds of events that were hosted by him, casual but warm conversation—you’d dismissed it with a wave of your hand and a gentle no, thank you. bruce wayne didn’t date women like you. he charmed them, maybe took them to dinner once or twice and to warm the cold side of his bed, and then moved on to the next glittering distraction. that’s what you’d always assumed about him, and it didn’t help that you were acquainted with one of his exes, a woman who had once rolled her eyes and described him as a man who “likes the chase more than the catch.”

so when bruce’s eyes found yours from across the room tonight, you bristled. it was hard not to notice the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way his smile seemed smaller, less performative and more genuine, when it was directed your way. but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all part of his game. was this just bruce wayne being bruce wayne, setting his sights on some pretty bird for the thrill of it? or was there more to it?

as the night went on, the man found his moment. you were standing near the balcony doors, half-hidden from the crowd, when his smooth voice broke through your thoughts.

“enjoying the party?”

you turned to find him standing a little closer than you’d expected, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit, the rich fabric complementing his broad shoulders and easy confidence. he looked effortlessly polished, as always, every detail of his appearance considered, from the subtle sheen of his shoes to the faintest trace of cologne that lingered in the space between you. but tonight, there was something different about him, something in his expression that caught you off guard. his stormy blue eyes, always so guarded, seemed uncharacteristically open, revealing an earnestness that made your breath hitch. and there, just beneath the surface, was a vulnerability he didn’t often let slip, like he was holding his heart out to you, unsure if you’d take it or walk away.

“it’s fine,” you replied, the words carrying a certain amount politeness as you swirled the champagne flute in your hand. the golden bubbles rose to the surface, catching the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. you took a measured sip and the crispness of the drink did little to soothe the edge in your tone. “not really my scene, though.”

he chuckled softly. “i had a feeling you might say that.”

“then why invite me?” The question came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t back down. you’d spent too much time wondering what exactly a man like bruce wayne wanted from you, and tonight you were in no mood to dance around it.

bruce blinked, clearly caught off guard. “i thought—” he hesitated, the usual composure faltering ever so slightly. “i wanted you here.”

“for what?” you pressed, your voice dipping lower, but it carried the sharpness of a blade meant to cut through his carefully built walls. “to add to the collection? to say you’ve charmed another woman into falling for you?”

the words hung between you, heavy and biting, and you could see the faint flicker of hurt that flashed in his eyes before he masked it. still, you didn’t back down. you’d seen this thing before—the effortless charm, the disarming smiles, the way he made women feel special, if only for a moment. you weren’t going to be another one of those fleeting moments, another name whispered in hushed gossip about gotham’s most privileged golden boy. the weight of your words wasn’t just meant to confront him; it was a shield for yourself, a barrier you put up to keep your heart out of reach of someone who could crush it without even meaning to.

but bruce wayne didn’t flinch. instead, he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“that’s not what this is,” he said quietly with his voice steady but threaded with softness. there was no defensiveness in his tone, no quick quip to deflect or charm his way out of the accusation. he didn’t puff up his chest or offer a rehearsed explanation to save his pride. there was no trace of the man who usually walked through conversations with the ease of someone who always knew the right thing to say.

instead, it was just bruce.

you crossed your arms at your chest, your guard still firmly in place. “forgive me if i find that hard to believe. i know your reputation, and i know you don’t exactly have a track record of . . . consistency.”

the man let out a long sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and glancing away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts before he let them out for you to hear. when he looked back at you, his expression was different—softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

“i know what people think of me. but that’s not who i am with you. you . . . you’re not just some passing interest to me. i don’t know how else to say it, but i care about you. more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time.”

his words caught you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. you searched his face for any sign of deceit, any trace of the playboy side of him you’d come to associate with him. but all you saw was sincerity. it terrified you as much as it made your heart ache.

“you don’t have to believe me,” he added, his voice quieter now. “but i’ll prove it to you, if you let me.”

the vulnerability in his eyes was so raw, so uncharacteristic of the man you thought you knew, that you couldn’t help but feel a crack form in the wall you’d built around yourself. maybe he really meant it. maybe this wasn’t just a game to him. you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. instead, you let your gaze linger on him for a moment longer, trying to piece together the man in front of you with the one you thought you’d figured out. and for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you’d been wrong about bruce wayne.

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

DICK GRAYSON WASN’T USED TO BEING MISJUDGED. sure, people sometimes underestimated him—wrote him off as just another pretty face, a charmer with a disarming smile and nothing deeper behind it—but he always found a way to prove them wrong. except when it came to you.

you, with your sharp wit and guarded heart. you’d known him long enough to see past his dazzling exterior, but you also had your assumptions about him, shaped by things you’d heard and what you thought you’d observed. you’d seen him with kory, with barbara, with women who seemed to flock to him effortlessly. to you, he seemed like someone who loved the chase more than the catch, someone who couldn’t sit still long enough to really, truly care. and that’s where the problem began.

it started with a rumor. one of your friends—a casual acquaintance of dick’s—had mentioned his “reputation” in passing, how he’d always been the heartbreaker of gotham’s streets. you’d smiled politely and brushed it off, but on the inside, your walls had risen. and then there were the times you’d seen him turn on the charm with women at galas or events, the way they seemed to melt under his intense gaze. it didn’t help that you were certain he could have anyone he wanted.

when dick started paying more attention to you, your first instinct was suspicion. he’d never been anything but kind, but now, his kindness seemed . . . targeted. personal. he asked about your day, remembered small details you’d mentioned weeks ago, found ways to cross your path more often than felt coincidental. he’d even shown up at your workplace once with a bag of takeout, claiming he was “just in the neighborhood,” though you were sure that wasn’t true. it was flattering and sweet, sure, but it also made you wary. he’d been like this with others before, hadn’t he?

“let me guess,” you said one day, crossing your arms as he caught up with you after a late-night outing with mutual friends. “you’re just doing this for fun, right? another notch on the great dick grayson belt?”

the words stung more than you expected. they slipped out before you could stop them, a mixture of your own insecurities and the walls you’d carefully constructed around your bleeding heart to protect yourself. dick froze mid-step, his easygoing smile faltering for the first time.

“what?”

“you don’t have to play dumb,” you continued, keeping your tone casual, though the tightness in your chest betrayed you. “i’m not one of those girls who’s going to fall for the charming guy.” you gestured vaguely towards him, your hands betraying your nerves as much as your words. “i mean, i’ve seen it all before. the sweet smile, the compliments that sound so personal but somehow aren’t. you’ve got a whole thing, dick. it’s practically a brand.” shifting your weight, your eyes darted away from his for a second before locking back in. “i’ve seen it with kory. with barbara. probably with whoever else came before or after. you walk in, sweep them off their feet with your ‘i’m just a nice guy with perfect hair and a killer backflip’ act, and then . . . i don’t know. you move on. it’s just what you do, isn’t it?”

the words spilled out faster than you could stop them, a mix of defensive sarcasm and the tiniest sliver of insecurity you hated admitting was there. the way his expression shifted, the way his easygoing demeanor cracked, told you you’d struck deeper than you intended—but you couldn’t back down now. not when your heart was hammering against the bones of your ribs, reminding you of all the reasons you’d kept him at arm’s length.

dick blinked, as if you’d just slapped him. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say. the hurt in his eyes was almost enough to make you regret your words, but you stood firm, heart pounding.

“i . . . wow,” he finally said, running a hand through his dark locks. the tone of his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, stripped of the usual warmth and charm that seemed to come so effortlessly to him. his hand lingered at the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the tension there, like he was trying to ground himself. “that’s what you think of me?” he repeated. his blue eyes, normally so lively and teasing, searched yours for some kind of explanation, some hint that you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. but there was no teasing now, no easy smile to smooth over the rough edges of your words.

for once, dick grayson—always so confident, so sure of himself—seemed completely thrown, like you’d hit a nerve he didn’t even know existed.

in truth, the man was head over heels for you. he didn’t know when it had started exactly—maybe it was the first time he heard your real laugh, or when you’d gone out of your way to help a stranger on the street, or the way you always managed to keep up with his fast-paced banter. all he knew was that you were constantly on his mind, and he was trying everything he could think of to show you how much he cared. but clearly, he’d been going about it the wrong way.

“look, i know what people say about me. i know i’ve made mistakes, and yeah, i’ve had relationships that didn’t work out. but that doesn’t mean i’m—that i’m what you think i am.”

“then what are you, dick?” you challenged, your voice sharp even as doubt began to creep in. “because all i see is a guy who’s used to getting what he wants.”

he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a guy who’s trying to show you that you’re important to me. that i care about you more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time. but apparently, i’ve done a terrible job of that.”

the raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. for the first time, you saw past the charm and the confidence to the vulnerability beneath. he wasn’t trying to manipulate you or play games—he was laying himself bare, and it terrified you almost as much as it touched you.

“you could have anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softening despite yourself. “why me?”

dick stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, as if he was trying to give you space while still closing the distance between you. “you challenge me. you make me want to be better. and yeah, maybe i’ve had a past, but none of that matters to me anymore.“

in the silence that followed, you felt your walls begin to crack. maybe he wasn’t perfect. maybe he’d made mistakes. but the sincerity in his eyes was impossible to ignore. he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear—he was saying what he needed you to know. you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that he was telling the truth.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON TODD WASN’T A MAN KNOWN FOR BEING SUBTLE, especially when it came to matters of the heart. his past had been a mess, filled with pain, betrayal, and a long string of failed attempts at normalcy. but despite all the scars, despite the weight of the past, there was something about you that made him want to try, that made him want to be someone better, someone worth your time. yet, every time he tried to get closer to you, it felt like you were slipping farther away, as if you saw him as nothing more than just another guy who wanted a quick fling—someone like the men who had come before him, someone who was only interested in getting into your pants.

it frustrated him to no end.

jason knew he wasn’t perfect. hell, he knew he had a lot of baggage, a lot of things that would make most people run in the opposite direction. but you? you didn’t just run. you were cautious, almost skeptical, like you were holding him at arm’s length, convinced he was just another fool who thought he could charm you with a few clever lines and some smooth moves. the way you looked at him sometimes—it wasn’t with the disgust or anger he used to see when people looked at him, but something close. disappointment, maybe. like he was nothing more than a shadow of someone who could be worthy of your time.

the thing that gnawed at him the most was that you didn’t believe him. you didn’t believe that he was different, that he saw something in you beyond the physical. there were days when you’d look at him, laughing at something he said, a playful smile tugging at your lips, and jason would get this flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—you could see him the way he saw you. but then there were the other days. days when you’d pull away, your eyes distant, your words clipped, and it would hit him like a ton of bricks. you were still unconvinced.

it didn’t help that you knew his exes, some of the women from his past who had used him or only wanted him for the same thing you feared he wanted from you. and that only made you more guarded, more unwilling to take the chance on him. to you, it was as if he were just another man who came with a history of bad decisions. and to some extent, maybe you were right, but he wasn’t about to let that be the end of the story.

one night, after patrol, jason found himself sitting at your kitchen table. you were cooking ( his favorite ) , focused on your task, and he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a quiet intensity. he couldn’t help but study you—how you moved, how your eyes flickered over the ingredients, how you chewed on your bottom lip when you concentrated. he adored it all. and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just tell you how he felt without the weight of his past overshadowing it all.

“hey,” he finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had been hanging between you. you didn’t look at him right away, too absorbed in what you were doing, but when you did, it was with a look that said you knew exactly what was coming.

“jason,” you sighed, setting the knife down carefully and wiping your hands on the towel. “we’ve been through this.”

his brows furrowed, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “been through what?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice but failing. “what’s the deal with you?”

you paused, your face softening with an almost sad smile. “what do you mean, what’s the deal with me?” you asked with your voice a mix of amusement and something else—something more guarded. you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“you act like i’m just another guy you’re trying to keep at arm’s length,” jason said, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. “i get it, alright? i do. i’ve messed up a lot. but i’m not trying to be just some guy who’s after your body. i’m not. i don’t know what else i have to say to make you believe that.”

your eyes softened upon hearing his rant, but there was still hesitation there, that skepticism that had become so familiar in his interactions with you. “jay, you’re a good guy, but . . .” you trailed off, searching for the words. “i’ve seen how things end with people like you. how they use others, and then leave them behind. and i’m not stupid. i can see how you look at me sometimes. it’s the same way you look at everyone else, isn’t it? like they’re just a means to an end.”

jason pushed himself up from his seat, crossing the small space between you in a few long strides. “that’s not how i look at you,” he stood firmly. “i don’t look at you like that at all. yeah, i’ve made mistakes. but i’m not the same guy who was a dickhead in the past, and i’m not the same guy who thought he could just charm his way into getting what he wanted. i care about you.”

you let out a breath, dropping your gaze for a moment, and his heart skipped a beat. there it was—the doubt, the hesitation that had been there for weeks, lingering just beneath the surface. he wasn’t going to let you slip away without trying, not when he knew what he felt. not when it was so clear to him that you were the one person who had somehow gotten through the walls he’d built.

“i’m not asking for anything from you,” he continued, his tone softening as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek with one hand, lifting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “i’m just asking for the chance to show you. i know you don’t trust me yet. i get that. but please, give me a shot. i’m not just gonna walk away. not this time.”

there was a beat of silence between you two, the air thick with everything unsaid. and for a moment, you just stood there, your eyes locked on his, reading him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. he was giving you everything in that moment, his heart, his truth, all laid bare in front of you. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if you would walk away.

but then, something in your eyes shifted. a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you sighed, reaching up to gently take his hand from your cheek.

“okay,” you said softly, voice almost a whisper. “okay, jason. i’ll give you a chance.”

jason’s heart fluttered in his chest, and a grin tugged at his lips as he leaned forward to kiss you. he was a man who had always been wary of letting anyone get close, but when it came to you, he would do anything to prove he wasn’t the same man he once was.

and with that, for the first time in a long while, jason allowed himself to hope.