#he's kind of like sangwoo

[lyxchen]

Ha maybe I'm weird for saying this but isn't Sangihun and 457 literally the 'childhood best friend' vs 'hot and mysterious new guy with questionable morals' type of love "triangle" that exists in like 50% of straight romance movies...?

[sigmasoyboy]

Have you ever read the manwah Killing Stalking? I really think you’d like it! (Unless you have) It’s one of my faves ~

Oh yeah of course I did, it was all over tumblr back in the days !

I liked it, I think it does a great job both on the thriller/horror side as well as the degenerate horny side, I was also quite surprised that the author managed to make me feel pity/sympathy for Sangwoo by the end of it. We love characters who psychologically destroy each other with no possible happy ending or return to normalcy possible yippee

If you enjoyed Killing Stalking I think you might enjoy Serious Weakness by Porpentine, that's my recommendation in exchange for yours (=´∀｀)人(´∀｀=)

[heartmatic]

i love vox sm but i'm sorry my attention is everywhere rn. he wouldn't mind tho i bet he doesn't even remmeber LOLL. squid game...... thinking abt si

[carnalcrows]

LOLLIPOP - CHO SANGWOO

pairing: dad's best friend!cho sang-woo x trans male reader

synopsis: When your dad’s hot best friend crashes at your place for a week, things heat up faster than the broken AC—throw in drunken confessions, lollipops, and a whole lot of unresolved tension, and you’ve got a summer break you’ll never forget.

content warnings: 18+, reader definitely has an oral fixation, too much plot, mentions of a transphobic mother, (GI HUN IS READER'S DAD), age gap (reader is 19 and sang-woo is in his 40's), unprotected sex, P in V, back-scratching? fingering, lots of unspoken tension.

word count: - 4.3k

A/N: ty to @art-gang-money , their request was what made me go on a spiral w this fic 🙏🏼🫡

Summer in your dad’s apartment always smelled like kimchi stew and stale cigarettes, a combination you’d grown weirdly fond of since moving back in after you started uni. The ceiling fan wobbled as it turned, and the couch sagged just enough to remind you how old it was. You were sprawled out on it lazily sucking on a cranberry lollipop and scrolling through your phone, when your dad cleared his throat dramatically.

“You’ll never guess who’s coming over,” he said, leaning against the doorframe like he was delivering some kind of life-altering news.

“Let me guess,” you deadpanned. “The landlord? Because I think the AC’s about to give out.”

He waved you off, grinning. “No, you brat. Cho Sangwoo. You’ve heard me talk about him, right?”

Heard? More like endured. Sangwoo was the mythical figure your dad brought up at every family gathering, a symbol of everything Seong Gi-hun wanted you to be: successful, hardworking, and an SNU graduate. You’d rolled your eyes through countless retellings of his achievements, imagining some stiff, balding guy in glasses who probably spoke in lectures.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, not looking up.

“He’s staying here for a week,” your dad added, oblivious to your lack of enthusiasm. “He’s got a client nearby, and I told him he could crash here. You’ll like him. He’s... cool.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Coming from you, that doesn’t mean much.”

Your dad ignored the jab, already walking toward the door. “He should be here any minute!”

When the door opened a few minutes later, you barely glanced up—until you heard the deep, smooth voice that followed.

“Gi-hun,” the man said warmly, stepping inside. “It’s been too long.”

You looked up and your sucker almost fell out of your mouth.

This wasn’t the stiff, balding guy you’d imagined. Sangwoo was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than your dad’s entire wardrobe. His hair was styled just enough to look effortless, and the way he carried himself screamed confidence.

“Finally, you’re here!” your dad said, pulling him into a back-slapping hug. “Sangwoo, this is my son.”

“Nice to meet you kid,” Sangwoo said, extending a hand toward you.

You shook it, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. His grip was firm, and his eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

“So you’re the famous Sangwoo,” you grinned, “Didn’t expect you to be so... old.”

Sangwoo raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Old?”

“Yeah,” you teased, leaning back against the couch. “Forty’s ancient.”

Your dad barked out a laugh. “Don’t mind him. He thinks anyone over twenty-five is ancient.”

Sangwoo didn’t reply, but the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach twist.

After dinner, the hum of the evening settled over the apartment. Gi-hun had retreated to the couch, already half-asleep with the TV droning in the background. You had volunteered—reluctantly—to wash the dishes, partly out of guilt for eating so much and partly to avoid sitting awkwardly in the living room while Sangwoo and your dad chatted about old times.

The warm water ran over your hands as you scrubbed a plate, the faint scent of dish soap filling the air. You had just started to lose yourself in the monotony when you felt it—the faint shift of the air behind you.

“Need help?” Sangwoo’s voice came, low and smooth, almost too close.

You froze for a split second, your grip tightening on the plate. “Uh... I’ve got it,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out tighter than you’d hoped.

He didn’t seem to care—or maybe he didn’t believe you. Instead of leaving, he moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the sponge in your hand.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of amusement.

Before you could protest, he had already slid the sponge from your fingers, his other hand gently nudging you to the side—not enough to move you completely, but just enough so he could stand behind you, his chest brushing your back.

The countertop pressed against your hips, trapping you between the solid wood and Sangwoo. You swallowed hard, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a gust of wind.

His scent hit you first—clean and sharp, a mix of soap and something faintly musky, like fresh cedarwood. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower; his hair was still damp, and the faint warmth of his skin radiated against you.

“Just rinse them,” he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded dumbly, reaching for the faucet, but your hands felt clumsy, your fingers fumbling with the knobs. The sound of the water splashing into the sink seemed impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Sangwoo leaned forward slightly, his arm stretching past you to grab another plate. The movement brought him even closer, his chest pressing more firmly against your back. You could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, steady and unhurried, as if he weren’t fully aware of what he was doing—or maybe he was too aware.

“You’re tense,” he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be body-blocked while washing dishes.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You’re overthinking it. Just relax.”

Easier said than done, especially with him standing this close. Every time his arm brushed yours or his hand grazed yours as he passed a plate, it sent tiny jolts of electricity through you.

“You always make dishwashing this awkward?” you asked, your tone half-joking, half-desperate to diffuse the tension.

“Only when I’m working with someone as clumsy as you,” he shot back, his smirk practically audible.

You turned your head slightly to glare at him, but the motion brought your face dangerously close to his. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back to you, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

The air between you was heavy, charged with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. He was so close you could see the faint droplets of water still clinging to his hair, the curve of his mouth as he smiled faintly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Well,” you managed to say, your voice quieter now, “if you’re going to take over, at least let me get out of your way.”

“Who said I wanted you to move?” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But then he turned back to the sink, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he continued washing the dishes as if nothing had happened.

You stayed frozen in place, your mind racing and your pulse hammering in your ears. If this was some kind of game, Sangwoo was winning effortlessly.

On the third day of Sangwoo’s stay, your dad insisted on taking you both out for drinks, and Sangwoo agreed with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gi-hun, unsurprisingly, got wasted. You and Sangwoo ended up practically dragging him back to The humid summer night hung heavy as you and Sangwoo maneuvered your dad through the narrow streets, Gi-hun stumbling slightly with every step. He reeked of soju and cheap beer, his arm slung around Sangwoo’s shoulder while you tried to steady him from the other side.

“He’s heavy for someone who barely eats,” you grumbled, adjusting your grip.

“He’s always been like this,” Sangwoo said, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”

“Y’know,” Gi-hun suddenly slurred, his voice unusually loud in the stillness of the night, “I never thought I’d be one of those dads.”

“Which kind?” you asked, bracing yourself for whatever drunken confession was about to follow.

“The good ones!” he proclaimed, nearly tripping over his own feet. Sangwoo caught him effortlessly, his expression unreadable as Gi-hun continued. “Your mom�� she didn’t think so. Thought I was crazy for defending you.”

“Dad,” you muttered, feeling the familiar prick of discomfort settle in your chest. “Maybe now’s not the time—”

“Why not?” Gi-hun cut you off, his eyes glassy but filled with a strange intensity. “Sangwoo doesn’t care. Do you, Sangwoo?”

Sangwoo hesitated, glancing at you before replying softly, “Not at all.”

Gi-hun nodded triumphantly, as if Sangwoo’s approval was all the validation he needed. “See? Told you. No shame in it. Not a damn bit.”

You didn’t reply, focusing instead on guiding him toward the apartment. But Gi-hun wasn’t done.

“Your mom…” His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. “She couldn’t handle it. Said it wasn’t natural. Like you weren’t her kid anymore, just because you stopped wearing dresses and started wearing ties.” He barked out a humorless laugh. “As if a piece of fabric could change the fact that you’re you.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up, but it still hit like a sucker punch every time.

“She wanted you to be her perfect little daughter,” Gi-hun continued, his words starting to blur together. “And when you wouldn’t… she packed up your sister and left. Going all the way to America like that would fix everything.”

He stumbled again, and this time Sangwoo steadied him with a firm grip. “America’s got more people like you anyway,” Gi-hun added, his tone lightening into something almost comedic. “She probably hates it there. Serves her right.”

You let out a soft, startled laugh despite yourself. The absurdity of it all—the drunken way he said it, the thought of your mother fuming in a country full of people who were allowed to be themselves (kinda)—was too ridiculous not to.

Gi-hun turned to look at you, his expression suddenly serious. “But you know… I’m glad you stayed with me. I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not for a wife, not for money, not for anything.”

Your throat tightened, and you could only nod, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Gi-hun leaned heavily against Sangwoo, his weight almost toppling both of them. “My kid’s a damn good man,” he declared, his voice wobbling with emotion. “Better than I’ll ever be.”

Sangwoo’s gaze flickered toward you, his dark eyes softening in understanding. He didn’t say anything, but the slight dip of his head felt like a silent acknowledgment—a recognition of everything unsaid.

When you finally got Gi-hun back to the apartment, he collapsed onto the couch, snoring almost instantly. You stood there for a moment, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to sort through.

Sangwoo broke the silence, his voice low. “He’s a good father.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his tone. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice softer than usual. “He is.”

When you finally got your dad into bed from the couch, you turned to Sangwoo, expecting some kind of witty remark.

Instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I don’t,” you replied, your tone defiant.

“Don’t play dumb.” He was close now, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You’ve been pushing me all week. Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “Maybe I do.”

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, heated, filled with all the tension that had been building between you.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands clutching at his shirt as he pressed you against the wall. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet gasp that only spurred him on.

The kiss had left you breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears as Sangwoo’s grip on the back of your neck softened just slightly. The wall at your back was cool, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His forehead rested against yours, and for a brief moment, neither of you spoke.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered again, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense.

“You’re the one kissing me,” you shot back, the words shaky but bold.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his fingers slid from your neck to trace the line of your jaw. The touch was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asked, his tone tinged with something between amusement and exasperation.

“Do you?” you countered, meeting his gaze.

His eyes darkened, and his hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I’m not scared of getting burned.”

That was all it took for him to lose the last thread of restraint. His lips were on yours again, fiercer this time, his hands gripping your waist as if anchoring himself. You clung to him just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

When he pulled back again, his lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yeah?” you whispered, a teasing edge creeping into your tone despite the way your heart was racing. “And here I thought you were just ignoring me.”

His laugh was soft, almost bitter. “Ignoring you? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

Your face heated at his words, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. “Sounds like a you problem, old man.”

His grip tightened on your waist, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of frustration and desire. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t give you the chance. His lips were on yours again, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you gasped softly against his mouth.

“Sangwoo—” you started, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulled away just slightly.

“Say my name again,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a thrill down your spine.

Your lips parted, but the sound of a door creaking down the hall snapped you both back to reality.

“Shit,” you whispered, your head jerking toward the noise.

He let out a soft curse, his hands slipping from your waist as he stepped back, putting just enough space between you to make it look like nothing had happened.

“Dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Probably,” Sangwoo replied, his tone clipped. He straightened his shirt, his expression already hardening back into the composed mask he’d worn all week.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed as you watched him pull himself together, but the heat in his gaze when he glanced back at you told you this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“Go to bed,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Promise?” you asked, your voice light but your heart still pounding.

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave you said enough.

Saturday had never felt so bittersweet. Usually, it was your favorite day of the week—a time to sleep in, lounge around, and revel in doing absolutely nothing. But this Saturday was different. Sangwoo’s stay was coming to an end, and the thought of him leaving left a knot in your stomach.

You hadn’t had the chance to talk about what had happened that night after the pub—or maybe you’d both avoided it. Every brush of his hand, every lingering look, had felt heavier in the days that followed. But neither of you had acknowledged it. Not once.

The tension in the apartment was unbearable, made worse by your dad’s cheery obliviousness. That morning, he announced he had to run out for work and wouldn’t be back until evening. He didn’t even glance up as he slipped on his shoes, leaving you alone with Sangwoo.

You sat at the kitchen table, absently swirling the stick of a grape lollipop between your lips as you scrolled through your phone. The candy clicked softly against your teeth, your thoughts miles away.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor snapped you back to reality. You glanced up to see Sangwoo sitting across from you, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Is it good?” he asked, nodding toward the lollipop.

You pulled it out of your mouth with a soft pop, tilting your head. “What, this?” You swirled the candy dramatically. “Amazing. Want a taste, old man?”

His lips quirked into that maddening smirk, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, moving toward you with deliberate slowness.

“Sangwoo,” you started, a warning in your tone.

He stopped right beside you, one hand braced on the table as he leaned down. His voice was low, a soft rumble that made your pulse quicken. “You’ve been driving me insane all week.”

You tried for a laugh, but it came out shaky. “Is this about the coffee thing again? (you had put salt in his coffee instead of sugar because you were so fixated on his face-) Because I already apologized—”

His hand reached out, his fingers gently gripping your chin, tilting your face toward him. The sudden proximity stole the words from your throat.

“Stop,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your heart was hammering now, the lollipop stick trembling slightly in your fingers. “Maybe I don’t,” you replied, though the smirk tugging at your lips said otherwise.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself. Then he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It was rough, messy, and desperate, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t stand it anymore. The lollipop tumbled from your hand, forgotten as you gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned softly against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you out of the chair and into him. Your back hit the wall a second later, and you gasped, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands tangled in his hair, still faintly damp from his morning shower. He kissed you like he was starving, his lips hot and insistent against yours. One of his hands slid up, tangling in your hair, while the other gripped your hip, keeping you firmly in place.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You managed a breathless laugh, tilting your head to nip at his jaw. “Blame the lollipop.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heated. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“On the table,” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

With a low chuckle, he grabbed the discarded lollipop, holding it up as if examining it. Then, to your shock, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s mine,” you protested weakly, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not anymore,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, the faint sweetness of the candy mixing with the heat of his mouth. The combination was intoxicating, making your head spin.

His hands roamed, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to brush against your bare skin. Every touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your lips.

“Sangwoo,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Sangwoo,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. “You’ve been driving me crazy all week,” he said, his voice low and raw.

“Good,” you shot back, your smirk returning. “Serves you right, old man.”

His laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving, before his lips found yours again, pulling you into another dizzying kiss.

His hand was going lower and lower, first to your collarbone, then to your waist. It slowly inched the topband of your shorts, pulling it back and letting it slap onto your skip, making you yelp.

His other hand held you steady at the waist, while his dominant one went under your boxers.

You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your cunt, teasing one finger against your wet folds. It had been a solid minute since you even touched yourself down there. You were always too anxious that Sangwoo would be able to hear you (Dad was tone deaf) or he might come home earlier than expected from his business meetings.

And his fingers— God, his hands. So strong and thick. They linger over the soft pudge of your cunt, pressing into the warm skin and pulling apart each sticky fold to ghost over the quiver and throb of your acawaiting, needy clit. How overwhelming they were, using his thumb to rub smooth circles into it, eliciting a wet squelch as his fingers sunk into your hot, gummy walls.

You latched your hands on his shoulders, back arching into the wall with the sudden intrusion. You muffled any noise you made by hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

He propped you up higher on the wall, letting your head fall back, while his eyes never left yours.

“Sangwo–,” you were cut off by him suddenly sliding your shorts down. You remembered with embarrassment that you had worn–

“Huh. Hello Kitty.” the man stated while looking at your bright pink boxers. Your face flushed, turning to look away, while Sanwoo slid your boxers down and continued to have his way with your sopping cunt. 

You had no idea how long you had been in that position. He had taken your leg and placed it on your shoulder, making you somewhat balance on one leg, back resting on the wall and your hands on his shoulder.

Sangwoo on the other hand was obsessed with how his fingers were practically being devoured by your needy cunt, the slick making it easier to slide in every time.

He determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his belt, along with his pants and boxers, which were now pooling at his knees.

He used his toned arms to steadily lift both your legs up, making you squeak. Your knees were now at the same level of your shoulders. Before you could let out a remark, he had slid the tip of his length into your gummy walls, eyes going wide with how tight you were.

“Fuck…so tight f’me, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement, and before you could respond, he had slid all the way in, making you gasp.

Using the opportunity, he captured your lips with his once more, muffling the sweet moans that came from you. He wanted to hear you, but your neighbours seemed to be quite…nosy.

When he had buried his cock all the way to the hilt, he stopped.

“Please…fuck, Sangwoo–,” you whined, feeling full but it just. wasn’t. enough.

“Please what doll? Use your words,” he teased, the smugness evident on his face.

“Fuck me till my legs are shaking. Please please plea–,” before you could finish, Sangwoo had slid out and he rammed into you once more, making you let out an almost pornographic moan.

He went at it like an animal, fucking into you with reckless abandon, as though he was in a rut. Your hands went from his shoulders to his back, your nails (whatever was left of them after you bit them off) scratched his back, leaving crescent shaped indents on his skin.

Your cunt clamped tightly around his cock, as you tried to babble something but only moans left your lips. He seemed so heavily into chasing his own orgasm at this point. 

“San..Sangwoo..I– ” You tried to say but could only cry out as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a rapid stream. Your fingers dug ineffectually into his back as a way of forgetting the overstimulation against the older man’s harsh thrusts.

He groaned, feeling the sting of your nails and how your cunt was clenching around his length with every thrust.

He continued going even after you came, his hips retracting at a fast pace. His grip on your waist tightened, pressing down onto your flesh.

“ I’m gonna-- “, he breathes out before (reluctantly) pulling out of your tight hole and climaxing all over your stomach. 

The warmth of the liquid seeped down your stomach, settling in your navel and even going further to your used cunt.

As he was staring at your hole, that was still clenching around nothing, you brought your shaky hand to his face and dived in for another kiss.

The sound of a key turning in the door was unheard. Your dad’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Forgot my wallet! Need to get the groceries– What the… CHO SANGWOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY SON–”

Shit.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[mybrainrotforreal]

Inho is Sangwoo if he won

And Sangwoo is Inho if he let his humanity win. Both are smart, I bet in 2015 Inho could figure the games out just like Sangwoo did. Just be real, he climbed corporate ladder, he IS manipulative (need to work on his jokes though) I can see he pulled the trick Sangwoo did to Ali. Looking at how he subdued Thanos (well, hello avengers), he can fight well too. The only thing that didn't make him has the same faith as Sangwoo is he didn't have someone like Gihun in the game.

Sangwoo knows how kind Gihun is, and he trusts him that he will help his mother after winning the game. He knows Gihun won't kill him and no matter how Gihun tried to stop the game, they might kill Gihun or both of them. He does what he should do and it's the best win-win solution. Even if he won, he was morally corrupted from the start anyway (siphoning money off from his clients to invest in the stock market and futures), it's easy to see him go back to the game as frontman.

We don't know much about 2015 Squid Game but all we know Inho was a family man with one kidney and needed the money for his wife and unborn child. But this is one of the reason why he is the villain.

A hero will sacrifice you to save the world, but a villain will sacrifice the world to save the person they love.

[crimsonnsstuff]

Can I have a smut request dad's friend sangwoo x reader. Reader is being a brat and not doing her homework, sangwoo "punish" reader while making her answer the questions for her homework 🫣. If she gets it wrong he will slap and pinch her ass until she gets it right. Overstimulation and daddykink plsss

You were sitting at your desk in your room, textbooks sprawled out in front of you, trying to focus on your homework. The house was quiet except for the occasional rustle of papers and the faint sound of a TV from downstairs where your dad and his friend, Sangwoo, were watching some sports game.

Sangwoo had always been around; he was your dad's best friend from college, and he had this aura about him, a mix of authority and allure. His visits were something you looked forward to, not just because he brought interesting stories, but because of how he looked at you, with a knowing, mischievous smile.

Tonight, however, was different. Your dad had been called away for an urgent work matter, leaving you alone with Sangwoo. He decided to stay, offering to help you with your homework.

"Need some motivation?" Sangwoo's voice was deep, almost a whisper as he leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded. “Yes, please..”

"How about this," he suggested, his tone playful yet with an edge of seriousness, "for every question you get wrong, you get a little... punishment."

You looked up at him, your heart racing. "What kind of punishment?"

He smirked, his eyes darkening with an unspoken promise. "Let's say... a spank for each mistake."

The air in the room seemed to thicken as you agreed, turning back to your homework with new tension in your body. The first few questions went well, but then you hit a snag. You looked up at Sangwoo, who had been watching you intently.

"Wrong," he said, his voice steady. He lifts your skirt up to reveal the side of your ass.

His hand came down, not too hard but with enough force to make you gasp. The heat from the contact spread across your skin, igniting a fire within you that you knew was wrong but felt so right.

Another wrong answer, another spank. Each one was like a spark to kindling, each touch more intense, his hand lingering longer each time. You found yourself making mistakes on purpose, craving his touch, the sting, the acknowledgment.

By the time you were halfway through your homework, you were flushed, your breath coming in short gasps. Sangwoo was behind you now, his hand resting on your lower back, his touch more of a caress than a punishment.

"Seems like you're learning," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. His voice was thick with something unspoken, a desire that mirrored your own.

“What if I want to get them all wrong?”

His eyes met yours, blazing with an intensity that made your knees weak. "Then we'll have to find a new way to motivate you," he said, his hand trailing down your side, promising more than just homework help.

“Next question.” He growls. You read the textbook.

"Explain the complex factors that led to the French Revolution and how it impacted European politics,"

Your heart drops, you always get stuck on this one. “I-I don’t know..” you mutter. You expect him too spank you again but he doesn’t.

His hand moves to your inner thigh, resting there. “It’s fine. Next question.”

The next few questions go pass easily. “How about this?” His hand moves into your panties, stroking your folds. You gasp softly.

“For every question you get wrong, I stop.” He says, slipping 2 fingers into your sopping cunt. You look at him with wide eyes and he motions his head towards the textbook. You gulp and go back to answering questions.

He starts to slowly pump his fingers in and out of you, making it hard for you to get the questions right. You get a question wrong and he pulls his fingers out.

“If you want me to keep going, beg daddy.”

“Please, daddy..please..?” You whine.

That set him off. He slams your textbook closed and shoves his fingers back into you, pumping roughly. He stands behind the chair, smirking as you throw your head back to look up at him.

You gasp and grab his wrist, your hips lifting off the chair. “Aw, are you gonna cum for daddy?”

“I-I’m gonna cum for daddy!”

He speeds his fingers up, causing your juices to splatter everywhere. You gasp as you cum on his fingers. You expect him to stop but he doesn’t, he keeps fingering you.

“D-daddy!” You shout. “What? Can your cunnie not take it?” He teases.

You close your legs around his hand, making him growl. He spins the chair to face him and forces your legs back open. He continues to roughly finger you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Oh my fucking god!” You whine. He pulls his fingers out before slapping your clit. “Language.” He mutters before fingering you again.

“Daddy! I can’t take it!” You squeal. He lets out a deep chuckle that send shivers down your spine. “Yes, you can. Just be grateful I’m fucking your cunt with my fingers and not my dick.”

He rips another orgasm from you, making you squeal. He smirks, pulling his fingers out and rubbing your slick on your inner thigh. He slaps your tit and you yelp.

You sit there, panting as he walks out of the room

[makeitworse]

illicit affairs

˖ ࣪✦ sangwoo × f reader | nsfw, mdni!

sangwoo’s weaved in and out of your life, blurring the line between a carer and a lover. old feelings of spite and shame resurface on your last night together.

c/w: age gap (sangwoo late 40s, reader ~20s), daddy issues/kink, freudian as HELL, angst, brat tamer sangwoo, mutually toxic, smoking, cheating, grooming if you squint?, praise, plot heavy w eventual porn a/n: idk if this needs to be tagged as dc lmk. also sorry for being on a writing hiatus i got super fucking sick

sangwoo had a way of burrowing under your skin. like an itch you could never reach, unless you clawed into yourself and ripped the flesh apart just to get to him.

he always showed up just when seeing him was the absolute last thing you needed. and that was especially true for now, more than ever.

but when your phone lit up on the bedside table with an unknown number, you knew he was back for you— and you just caved. it’s all you knew how to do with him.

you flicked the bedroom lights on, darting around to gather your belongings.

“what’re you doing?” a sleepy voice drawls.

you don’t look up at him, focused on putting whatever it is you’re holding into your bag. you weren’t paying attention to that. your mind was scrambling for an excuse. a lie.

“i’m going out.” you say flatly.

“at this time?” his voice perks up now, checking his phone.

he’s so worried. so caring. and you’re going to have to crush that beneath the heel of your foot.

you don’t even know what to tell him. you just say the first thing that feels natural: “my father’s in the city.”

he sits up from the bed in a shock. rightfully so.

“your father?? since when are you in touch with him?”

it was actually a well-known fact that the presence of a father was a gaping wound in your life. you’d never known the man. but, even a lie like this was easier to explain than the truth of who you were actually seeing.

“i’ll explain later, alright? i really need to leave—”

your voice was laced with annoyance. you couldn’t think of an elaborate enough fable right now for any questions, and sangwoo was waiting.

but he crawls across the bed to catch your hand in his before you can shoot out of the door.

you meet his eyes and swallow thickly. those sweet eyes. so caring and kind. you’re going to ruin him.

you cup his cheek in your hand, tenderly swiping your thumb across the skin. he needily leans into your touch.

“i’ll be back in the morning, and we can talk all about it. okay?”

he nods. your heart pangs when you notice his glossy eyes. a better girl would’ve crawled into the bed with him and thrown your phone out of the window. but that’s not the girl sangwoo called tonight.

the air’s bitter as you walk the streets. barely anyone’s out late at this time of year, with how harsh the cold is. no one to see you two together. just how he liked.

sangwoo hated getting stares. you used to take it personally, the fact he didn’t want to be seen with you in such a way. what’s so wrong with people suspecting the worst? it was the truth after all.

that was a while ago though, back when you were spiteful about why he wouldn’t just settle down with you. how he was always disappearing but then couldn’t leave you be.

you didn’t blink at those things now— it’d been nearing a year since you last actually heard from him. you were just starting to come to terms with the fact he was gone for good this time.

you finally dabbled in other men (ones closer to your age). you’d been shown shades in comparison to the colours you already saw with sangwoo. you were chasing the fervour of your memories with him— and one boy had finally promised you something sangwoo never would’ve dared. eternal commitment. a ring on your finger.

..and you told him you’d think about it.

well, you were just laying in his bed without any plans of leaving. you were on the cusp of a new life without the overarching shadow of your estranged lover.

but then, of course, he called.

speak of the devil: you spot sangwoo standing at a corner store under dingy, neon lights. he’s tidied up like always, wearing a loose grey suit over a white collared shirt— no tie.

sangwoo calls your name softly when he sees you approach, his voice almost a sigh. like in relief.

“you look well.”

“you don’t.”

he just nods, eyes scanning over your body. you could never really phase him. if anything, he’s more surprised you’re this composed after all this time of no contact.

you cock an eyebrow when he meets your gaze again, as if he wasn’t just checking you out.

”what? forget what’s underneath?”

another sigh. this one’s in annoyance. “let’s go.”

he shifts to begin walking, but you don’t budge. you watch him click his teeth then glance around— coast clear— before he leads you by the hand.

you almost forgot how much you hated being treated like some dirty secret.

you snatch your arm back, but you keep walking with him. he almost pauses in his tracks to make sure you’re still following.

“how have you been?”

his politeness offended you. how he can act like he cares after dropping off the face of the earth.

you roll your eyes. where to start?

you toss over the idea of dropping the bombshell that was the boy whose bed you just came from, but you scrap it. probably shouldn’t piss him off this early into your long-awaited night together.

“i think you owe me your answer to that first.”

you watch as he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. it dawned on you just how much you missed looking at him. that sexy, punchable face.

you’re going to need a cigarette.

“it will bore you,” he starts. he’s chosen his words carefully. “all work.”

“and what, no play?” you sneer. half of you wants to know if he’d been getting busy with anyone else.

you rummage through your bag and stick a cigarette between your lips. this catches his eye. as you reach back in and pull out your lighter, you both stop on the pavement as he grabs your forearm.

“you smoke now?”

he’s shocked. as if he has a right to be concerned for your health. it boils your blood.

you just scoff. “i can do that. i’m old enough, in case you’ve forgotten.”

sangwoo’s jaw hardens. it always ticked him off when you brought attention to your age.

his eyes soften as he composes himself again. “you should be taking care of yourself.”

you swat his hand away from you, bringing the lighter to the tip of the cigarette. he exhales gruffly in disapproval, but you roll your eyes.

“what do you care?” you flick the lighter on. “not like you’re around to see.”

“i shouldn’t have to be.” he asserts.

ugh. was he trying to fuck you, or raise you?

sangwoo’s still watching you as you take a slow drag. you humour him and hold his stare. in the pools of his irises, you spot a tinge of regret.

does he feel responsible for you? so he should.

you make a show of pinching the cigarette, puckering your lips around it. his eyes are trained on your mouth.

in return, you blow the smoke into his face.

sangwoo snatches your wrist with a hard grip, and you verbally wince in pain. he sternly states your name— as if you’re a kid in trouble.

“i’m serious. are you hearing me?”

“oh my goddd. okay, dad.”

his whole boy tensed. that was a low blow.

sangwoo knew all about your situation. in fact, he was the closest semblance to a father in your youth.

it’s what made the whole bloody affair all the more wrong. you never gave what you had with him a name— if neither of you said it out loud, then maybe the gross reality of it didn’t exist. so that was the last thing you should be calling him.

you were addicted to acting on bad ideas concerning sangwoo, though.

”don’t call me that.” he grits.

“you may as well be.”

his eyes widen at that, and you feel your blood buzzing. the levies had broke— your confusion and resentment from the past year was finally flooding back to you.

you remember how angry you’d been that he was actually gone this time. how he wasn’t around to take care of you; to lecture you or to guide you like he always did. you’ve been so lost. and so fucking angry.

you tch, “you leave enough to be him—”

you gasp as his free hand snatches your jaw, fingers caving into your cheeks. the cigarette falls onto the concrete, and sangwoo swiftly crushes it under his shoe sole. your heart was drumming against your chest.

“is this how you’re going to be?”

sangwoo’s nails dig in a little. you whine under his harsh grip, and you catch an almost imperceptible twitch of his lip.

“huh? will you start to behave?”

you scowl. but he won’t let up. you’d struck a nerve he’d intentionally hidden away.

you gulp with a nod. he lets go, and the crescent moons he’d left on your skin were stinging.

sangwoo straightens his blazer with a deep exhale. he watches your fingers graze over his nails’ indents, and he scowls to himself.

“i’m sorry.” he utters. “i should have kept my composure.”

tears prickled the corner of your vision. he’s sorry? only now he’s sorry? what about the last year? what about when he fucking left you in the dust?

“where were you, sangwoo?”

against your will, your voice is trembling. he notices, and he huffs, frustrated with himself. he doesn’t want to make you cry.

“don’t you know how long it’s been?”

“i know.”

“then why?” you exclaim. you’d been waiting to scream that word at him after it’d been playing on loop in your head for a year. “why would you come back now??”

you can tell there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes he’s not saying. something he could tell you to explain it all. but for whatever reason, he isn’t. it pisses you the fuck off.

but you just keel over with a sob. sangwoo rushes to close the gap between your bodies as he envelopes you in his arms. he has a gentle hand cradling your head, and you bury your face into his blazer— staining it with tears.

you shudder as you cry, and he just holds you. like he hasn’t been able to in his absence. like you’ve wanted him to.

you really did miss him.

“you always do this,” you choke out. sangwoo responds by placing a tender kiss to your temple. “i’m tired.”

tired of missing you. tired of waiting on you. tired of trying to move on. tired of failing to.

“i know.”

there’s a silence as he leaves a patch of kisses on your hair. his thumb softly caressed the skin of your cheek.

you tilted your head to meet his gaze. you saw his adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed, taking in the tears spilling over your cheeks.

in the bitter cold, your shared breaths mixed into fog. you became aware of how the warmth of his body pressed into yours.

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you crash your lips onto sangwoo’s. he jolts at the sudden movement, sending his glasses careening down his nose.

he doesn’t kiss you back. after a beat, you pull away and frown. you open your mouth to berate him— but he silences you with his lips on yours.

you still fit together perfectly. your hands landed on his neck, his on the small of your back. you were both as eager as each other, and he wasted no time sliding his tongue into your mouth.

suddenly you were burning up. you grabbed hold of his jacket lapel, pulling him in even further, and he responded by kissing you with such force your head craned back. that elicited a mewl from you. sangwoo sighed, and you swore you felt the slightest buck of his hips before he restrained himself.

it was all so natural. and so very wrong.

you pull your mouth from his with a pant. there was a line of saliva connecting your lips from just how sloppy the kisses were.

you wipe your mouth. “i have to tell you something.”

he’s eyeing you curiously as you continue, a tinge of worry on his face.

“i’ve been seeing this boy,”

you pause. sangwoo’s expression is unflinching. he doesn’t seem surprised— like he’s already come to this conclusion on his own and you’ve just confirmed it.

full disclosure, you hadn’t exactly committed to the other guy. he was madly in love, obsessed like how you wished sangwoo was. but sangwoo had marked you early: now you couldn’t settle for any love that wasn’t his.

but you were alone for a year. and this guy was here, and he wanted you and he would stay.

you swallow thickly. you don’t want to say it. but you do.

“he proposed to me yesterday.”

his gaze flicks to the ground as he forces out a nod. he pushes his glasses up his nose in thought.

he raises his head as he asks bluntly, “what did you say?”

your mind imagines how he’s back home in his bed, waiting on you to walk through the door. your stomach lurched.

“that i had to think about it.”

he exhales gruffly. you feel your face twist in annoyance. was he.. disappointed?

“what should i have said, huh? if i said yes, i wouldn’t be here.”

“that would have been for your own good.”

in a second of shocked silence, a fire cracks alive inside of you.

you fist his shirt collar, snatching his face towards your level.

“then what the fuck am i doing? what have we been doing,” you frown, your voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. “—all these years?”

he says your name as a warning.

“no. if you want me gone, then why the fuck did you call me?”

“i didn’t say i want that—”

“then why won’t you just stay—?”

“you’re young!”

you jump at the raise of his voice. he steadies himself with an exhale.

he brings a reassuring hand to your one on his lapel, intertwining his fingers with yours. you could cry on the spot.

he repeats your name softly. “you haven’t lived enough. you need to see the world, explore the possibilities— not settle for the first man you know.”

if you’d sat in a barrel a little longer, then maybe you’d be aged enough for him. but you were ripe. far too sour. it repulsed him to crave your taste when it hadn’t even fully matured.

“do you not want me anymore?”

your voice is so hushed, the words barely exist. you’d been wondering why he fully disappeared this time, if maybe he found someone else in america.

“i do want you.” his hand comes to cup your chin. he chuckles, “but i’m old, and i shouldn’t.”

you had been so full of youth, and he selfishly siphoned it. sangwoo started distancing himself in the first place so you’d let go of him— but you never did.

it’d been years of back and forth, push and pull. with you and with the dilemma in himself.

truthfully, he didn’t want to see you with another man. sangwoo loved you more than anything— the only exception being his shame.

“then why..”

he smothers you in a kiss because he knows what you’re going to say.

if it’s so wrong, then why did he take you in that night this all began?

you’d known sangwoo since you were little: your mothers worked late nights together at the store, so he was often looking after you when he had the time to spare between his already busy work schedule.

you didn’t have a man of the house after all, and sangwoo was a smart, caring substitute. he was your first crush before you even knew what the word meant.

last you heard he was off to the united states for business. until you ran into him in some shitty family mart.

sangwoo found you as a mess. your face was puffed, your eyes were bloodshot, mascara streaks down to your chin. it took him a moment to recognise you, and he was very taken aback once he did— obviously since you had grown alot, but because of the state you were in.

there’d been some conflict in your friend group, a boy played with your feelings, something or rather. those details have long since been forgotten to you now. you were heartbroken and alone and his heart just panged at the sight of you so distraught.

he couldn’t let you walk home alone like this.

he’s taken care of you since you were young. he tells himself it means nothing, that it’s not wrong.

but then back at his place, you’re cracking open bottle after bottle. you’re swaying in your seat and handsy with him and he’s intoxicated enough not to resist.

shit’s been so intense with acquisitions and stocks and all, and looking at your pretty face right now makes him forget all about it. he had a fondness for you as a girl, and that still holds now you’re a woman.

he’s not doing anything, but he’s not telling you to stop either. he must be drunker than you. no harm done then, right?

but then the floodgates opened. you’re sobbing, asking him what’s wrong with you. you practically beg for a sign that you’re worthy of someone wanting you. so he shows you, with a chaste kiss to the lips.

that’s all it was meant to be. you’re of age, so it’s not wrong— technically. you’re beautiful and he tells you that. of course men would want you.

but then you kiss him again. and again. and one thing leads to another.

that morning hangover slammed him twice as hard with the burden of what he’d done to you. you trusted him. your mother trusted him. and like some slimy old pervert, he took you back to his house and—

the thought had him retching.

he didn’t think himself a man who’d do such a thing. it was meant to be a moment of weakness, and there was a silent agreement that neither of you would speak it into existence.

but he never expected it to come this far.

this— being how sangwoo’s lips were parting yours with a bruising force. his tongue delved into your mouth with fervour: a hot contrast to the chill air nipping at your face.

you jumped when he squeezed at your ass, simultaneously pressing your body further into his. all restraint was gone. under that neat get-up of his, there was a starved man. and his hands were grabbing at every bump of your body.

he finally settled with both hands cupping your tits through your clothing. he broke the kiss to flick his gaze to your chest, muttering a curse before he latched his open mouth on your neck.

you jolted at the sudden heat, shivering in sangwoo’s grasp as he suckled at your skin—sensitive from the goosebumps caused by the cold.

your head was spinning. sangwoo was fucking starving, almost panting as he left a trail of wet kisses along your clavicle. your own shaky breaths fogged in the air. you steadied yourself with a hand buried into his hair.

he pressed his thumb down on the fabric and swiped over your nipple. you whine, and his groan in response is like a spotlight on the bulge digging into you.

as horny as you are— you chuckle. sangwoo looks dismayed.

“oh, nothing. i’m just surprised you can still get it up,”

he snatches your hand and wedges it down between your bodies, squeezing your palm over his erection through his pants. you gasp.

“are you done?” his tone is almost mocking. he’s out of patience now that he’s this hard.

in defiance, you rub your hand over him. he hisses before stopping you by the wrist. even through the slacks, you had felt his dick pulse at your touch.

“enough.”

he’s serious now, so you surrender.

but not before you gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes, batting your lashes as you softly take the skin of your lip between your teeth. sangwoo watched with bated breath.

he practically growls as he shoves your mouths back together.

the flickering of the streetlight overhead was a reminder of your whereabouts. as sangwoo pulls away, he darts his head around to check for an audience. none, fortunately for him.

you cross your arms. he adjusts his glasses and fixes up his blazer, yet leaves his hair a ruffled mop. it makes you snort.

you catch his lip curl into a smile, before he sighs.

“let’s keep walking. it’s not far from here.”

ah yes, his hotel room.

he always booked top dollar. over the years as he’d return home to visit, you’d stay the week at his suite imagining yourself as a spoiled stay-at-home wife.

you told him about these daydreams, and much to his amusement. sangwoo found it endearing— he even adorned you with jewellery to humour the idea.

sangwoo gently takes you by the hand. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, letting the featherlight touch of his fingers linger on your cheek.

you can’t help yourself to press a quick peck to his lips. and as you pull away, there’s a small smile on his face.

there’s a certain energy hanging in the air as you both walked the pavement, all the way to door of his suite. neither of you fill the silence.

tonight might be the end of your life tangled with sangwoo— or the beginning of a new one. you didn’t know which. maybe he didn’t either.

he’s gentle as he leads you by the hand to sit at the edge of the bed. he shrugs off his blazer. impatient, you hook a finger around his belt loop and pull him to stand between your legs.

your hands glide over the expanse of his thighs, and he cups your face in kind.

“you’re so gorgeous,” he mutters. “i don’t tell you that nearly enough.”

you weren’t bitter anymore. you just wanted him to stay this time. but in the back of your mind, you know he’s only laid himself bare tonight because he isn’t coming back.

you can’t linger on that though. not when he’s here, in front of you now, holding you like you’re the most precious girl in the world.

”can you show me?”

without further question, his hands are on both sides of your neck as his lips come crashing down to yours. it’s almost feral, the way he pushes you down against the sheets, hiking a knee to part your legs. he fills that gap with his own pelvis on yours.

clothes weren’t even off yet— still you were both panting from the rush of the kisses. his tongue explored your mouth like he was tasting every last bit of you. his eagerness had you buzzing.

it didn’t take much longer for him to practically rip off your bottoms, wasting no time slipping a hand under your panties. he cursed against your lips when he felt how slick you were already.

you crumpled his button-up in a fist, trembling as he glided his fingers over your cunt.

you weren’t the type to beg, but you were too impatient. sangwoo always takes his time to savour it or whatever. but you’ve had a years worth without being fucked like how he does it.

“sangwoo,” you drawl in a breathy moan. his lips part with a pant at that. “please, just—”

you yelp when he spreads you open with two of his thick fingers. sangwoo latches his mouth to your nape. you hear his heavy breathing at your ear as he repeats curling his fingers inside of you, whimpers spilling shamelessly from your mouth.

“i want you, please,”

your dignity was gone. you could feel how bad he wants it too, with how his boner was rutting into your thigh, how he was sucking hickeys onto your neck to conceal his own grunts.

you take matters into your own hands, quite literally reaching down to fumble for his dick. his hand pulls out at that. you whine.

“patience, sweetheart.” his lips curl into a smirk. cocky ass.

“just fuck me already, you old man.”

he hisses as he pins both your wrists down in one hand. the other slides three of his fingers back into you. you cry out as he sets a ruthless pace, angled to hit your sweet spot each time.

you felt a wet spot on your bare thigh— and realise it’s his tip leaking through his pants. between your moans, you huff a laugh. he gazes at you unimpressed, still pissed from the age comment.

he only hates it so much because it gets him hot.

you felt your stomach tightening, but you force yourself to teeter on the edge of bliss. you didn’t want him to unravel you now, not before he’s in you.

“fuck— fuck me,” you stammer out, lashes fluttering as you pulsed on the fringes of orgasm.

he hums as if he needs to think about it.

“sangwoo, i’m gonna—”

“go ahead, pretty girl.”

he lifts his thumb to rub circles around your clit while his fingers keep pistoning in and out of you. your whole body jolts as you cry out, a mix of moans and cusses as you cum. he draws you out as long as he can, and you writhe against his grip on your wrists.

“i fucking hate you.” you spit.

the sound of his zipper makes your eyes widen, and he snickers.

“thought you wanted this old man?”

he lets go of your wrists, but catches you again as you raise a hand to slap him.

you hated that you wanted him all the time. and he hated himself the same. you just wish you knew how you were supposed to live without that.

his dick slaps your belly as he pulls down his boxers and pants. you gulp at just how hard he was, how his tip had a string of pre-cum connected to your stomach.

“so beautiful.” he hooked his arms under your knees to pull you closer, and you gasped as his tip prodded at you.

you whined his name again when he dragged himself over your entrance. he chuckled, swinging your legs over his shoulders.

“you’ve earned it.”

your moans overlapped each other’s as sangwoo buried himself to the hilt. he paused for a beat, dick twitching inside of you.

“haven’t you—?”

“god, no— fuck..” he snapped his hips for a quick thrust. you both shudder. “you’re the only..”

his eyes squeeze shut with a groan as you shift your own hips to slide up on him.

he wraps a hand around your neck, biting his lip as he starts really fucking you. his grip is enough to make you hazy.

your head lolled back into the mattress as he pounded you like a crazed man. like it’d be the last time he ever could.

“how can you expect— fffuck, expect me to be with anyone else?”

the pad of his thumb slides onto your tongue.

“don’t say that,” he pants.

you close your lips around him to suck, and he mutters a curse as his hips pick up the pace.

sangwoo huffs out your name needily, removing his thumb to kiss you. you moan against each other’s lips as you tremble through a second orgasm. he pulls out shortly after, shooting ropes of cum onto the bedsheets.

he was out of risks to take.

he’s careful as he lifts you into his arms and takes you both to the bath.

you missed being coddled. you missed him, being so.. fatherly.

he scrubbed your skin, he brushed your hair. he kissed your forehead as he tucked you in. he held you close as he fell asleep, and you kept your eyes peeled for as long as you could manage. you knew when you opened them in the morning, he’d be gone.

it was only a few days later that you heard about sangwoo after waking to a cold bed in the hotel.

your mother told you that he was in hot water. he was off the map while there was a warrant out for his arrest— lots of debt and fraud shit. she didn’t believe it. you couldn’t either.

that night, you laid beside your now fiancee in bed. he heard the news, but he thinks it’s just old lady gossip. he’d never guess how deep under your skin you were screaming. sangwoo wasn’t just some guy who babysat you, he was your first everything. and your fiancee could never know that.

your turned your face into the pillow to muffle your sobs as he slept.

[lyxchen]

Something about Sang-woo that's really fucking me up is that his face and his whole look is really soft. Like you'd think it's sharper because of his character and personality but it really isn't. Like whenever I draw him I catch myself drawing him with a lot of sharp features and then I'm like "No, make it rounder, make it softer". Even his hair is very soft and has round shapes, Even his glasses, while being square in shape Have Round Edges!!! I don't know if that was intentional and if yes what exactly it's supposed to show. Maybe it's literally just because Park Hae-soo was the best actor for the role and that's just what his face looks like. But either way I love the contrast. How a character that appears (!!!) so sharp and not that caring has such soft features. Which tbh that fits again because deep down I think Sang-woo is a soft caring person, he's just not showing it because he probably feels like it will make him appear weak or some dumb shit like that. Beloved <3

Also compare it to In-ho who has very sharp and angular facial features. Even his hair is a lot less soft when he's the frontman, he only makes is softer when he pretends to be Young-il!!! That's what a villain usually looks like. So in conclusion, Sang-woo can't be a villain in Squid Game cause his face is too soft for that <3 /hj

[mullermilkshake]

My list of all the darkness in my brain. Yandere/Dark one shots and some longer parts.

Any crossed out are ones to come ❤️

Satoru Gojo

You break up with him. (Part 1,2,3)

He's the Phantom.

He uses your cursed energy against you.

Satoru is a one of a kind android.

You can't be shared, Satoru wants you all to himself.

One hard demon. (Part 1,2,3)

Photographer Satoru.

If he can't have you, he'll simply burst. (Canon divergence)

Satoru has a stalker.

He's gaga over you, he'll burn the world down if you let him.

SatoKenSugu

Satoru killed you, but you came back.

He's lust, the others are just as deadly.

Satoru is taking annoyance to the extreme.

Jinwoo Sung

He volunteers for the good of the association. (Multiple parts)

Suguru Geto

He's a Doctor.

The average day of an android.

Is it really Suguru?

Suguru has to fight his friend over you.

He's one third of a three way Yandere!group keeping you.

Suguru makes a bad decision.

Nanami Kento

You try to get away form him. (Part 1,2,3)

He stole you away.

Next door neighbour.

He's a curator of a museum (Part 1,2,-)

Kento looks for his soulmate.

He's the sensible one in this dark fourway tie.

Kento gets to know you while Gojo hangs about. You want to kill the white haired asshole.

Toji Fushiguro

A seance gone wrong.

He hunts you in the forest.

Choso Kamo

Prince!Choso. (Part 1,2)

He's a mafia man. (Part 1,2,-)

Oh Sangwoo

He takes your contraception away.

You could have left.

Sangwoo turns your dreams into nightmares.

You trap him.

He makes Yoon Bum join in.

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam)

You sweet little housekeeper.

He gifts you a rose, just take it.

Yoon Bum

Yoon Bum has been stalking you.

He touches you.

He's forced to join.

L (Death note)

He likes to experiment

Hiromi Higuruma

Hiromi only wants to protect you.

He loves his pregnant girlfriend. (Part 1,2,-)

Is he your Hiromi?

Pariston Hill

You'll never be free with that matrimonial chain on your ankle.

You do your best to evade him.

Levi Ackerman

His vampire life takes its toll.

He'll do everything to find you.

Levi's name is imprinted in your mind, he'll never leave.

A married man's secrets.

The emergency room is dangerous.

Hisoka

A closet without a skeleton.

He and Illumi are looking for you (Part 1,2,-)

Soichiro Yagami

He's adamant that he'll find Kira.

Your stepdad is crazy.

Kiyotaka Ijichi

Fake love

There must be two of him.

Masamichi Yaga

You're just a living doll.

Furuta Nimura

Sebastian Michaelis

Reiner Braun.

Ging Freecs

Illumi Zoldyck

Kurapika

Mahito

Can't find the specific font, it's called 'messy handwritten' if anyone finds it can you pleas let me know so I can link it? 😭 here is the link the the site.

[damnedbeans]

if Sangwoo actually won the 33rd game instead of Gihun, I don't think that it would be in his character to go against the game creators, because unlike Gihun, he lost hope in humanity and existence long before he even decided to participate. he would have kept on living his normal life, pretending that nothing ever happened, or at least trying to, considering that he WOULD have had to kill Gihun in terms of winning.

still, if he somehow rejoined the games, and if somehow Inho yet again decided to play his role of Youngil, I can't even begin to imagine what kind of mind games they would've had going on. Since in canon Inho tried to act like Sangwoo for Gihun on purpose to manipulate him, it would make sense for him to be the opposite for Sangwoo, maybe trying to guilt trip him so he would slowly begin to lose it.

I also think that Sangwoo would see through it, through the mask of Youngil, at least a little. he's way less confiding than Gihun, more intelligent and harder to manipulate, but again, there's that trauma and a personification of the reminder of him having to kill Gihun, so that would sure throw him off. Sangwoo and Inho's dynamic had so much potential.

[writersblockiskillingme]

I NEED GI HUN X F! READER PLEASEEEEEE

There’s barely anything for him:((

It can be literally anything but rn I’m craving comfort so maybe Gi Hun comforts his girl when she starts crying and she can’t really explain what’s wrong

Comfort | Seong Gi-hun x reader

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader

Summary: You knew that hunting down the salesman was going to be difficult, but after everything that you've been through in the games alongside Gi-hun, sometimes everything feels like it's going to suffocate you. Luckily, he's always there for you.

Warning/s: angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff, short fic, just two traumatized people trying to heal each other, PTSP (talking about the games), death, tears, sadness, depressed atmosphere, cigarette addiction, cursing (?), mourning, guns, hunting down the salesman, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: So I finally got out of the writer's block, and I found some spare time, so I finally sat down to write. I gave it my best shot. I hope you like it! More to come.

Being his friend was easy. Being in love with him was even easier.

Once the games came around, everything became more complicated. I simply never thought that something like this was going to happen. Working in a job position that I did never brought me much money. Sure, it was enough to bring some food on my table and to cover the bills, but it wasn't anything big. However, once I found myself drowning in debt, I found myself in a horrific situation with no way out.

The money that I earned was not enough for respectable food, I couldn't pay my landlord for a few months, and I was a few weeks away from being kicked out on the streets. Not to mention the debt for which it seemed like I never paid enough to get out of. I thought moving back to Korea would somehow help me at least to escape the loan sharks and pay for necessary things, but I couldn't imagine how wrong I would be.

That's when I met him. The Salesman. Playing the ddakji with him for some money earned me some food for that night, but it also gave me an opportunity of a lifetime. It was an opportunity that I now know I would have never taken if I had known what was waiting for me out there once I called the number at the back of the card that he gave me.

Before the first game, I saw him. My old childhood friend Seong Gi-hun. Up until I saw him, I came to a realization about just how much I missed him.

Truth to be told, I have always felt something more than friendship for him ever since I was I kid. At first, I brushed it off, but when I entered my teenage years, I realized that I really loved him.

I had to move away when I was twenty years old. I haven't seen him ever since. I only heard a few snippets about his life during the years I spent away from Korea. I heard that he had a, now ex, wife, and a daughter.

It was his mother who called me. She used to watch over me sometimes when we were kids, and since I was her son's best friend back then, we kept in touch over the years. It was nice, to be honest. Up until the day that she called me for a regular check-up. I had just gotten off of work after a really bad day. I had just sat down by the kitchen counter when I heard my phone ringing. The entire time I was on a call with her, she sounded strange. Kind of nervous, maybe even a bit disappointed. After a while I couldn't take it anymore and when I asked her what was wrong she told me the joyful news.

"Gi-hun is getting married."

I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was suffocating. I somehow forced myself to finish the phone call, trying to sound as happy as I could, considering that the love of my life was marrying another. A few years later, he got a daughter, and I soon heard about the divorce. I tried calling him multiple times to check on him. He never answered.

We reconnected during the games. During the bloodshed. During the pain. During the tears. During the final game, where it was down to Sangwoo, him and I. After Sangwoo died, I knew I couldn't kill him. He couldn't either. After the stunt that we pulled, we survived. We were about to kill ourselves, we truly were, but then at the last second, just as the knife had scraped the surface of my neck, they announced two winners.

After that, I realized that I couldn't live without him. I didn't have a family, didn't have any friends. His mother died, and his daughter moved with her mother and stepfather to America he lost his family, too. We were everything to each other. We still are.

As the months, years, passed, we set ourselves on a mission of finding the salesman.

At first, we didn't touch the money covered with the invisible blood. We couldn't bring ourselves to do so, but when we realized that we may have a shot at taking down the games, we used the money only for that sole purpose.

The first thing we did was to pay off our debts. Then together we bought the love hotel called "Pink Motel" in Seoul. The sign outside was always tured off. We decided to buy it so we could live there and now we also use it as headquarters while tracking down the salesman. Which was always.

That was currently our only purpose in life right now.

After we figured out our plan, we started to work with the loan sharks that were chasing us because of our debts. We paid them to find the salesman, and they were searching relentlessly.

Our mental health hasn't been all that great either.

Both Gi-hun and I have developed a cigarette addiction. Sometimes all we did was breath in the intoxicating smoke instead of air. In a strange way it helped me breath. I wasn't so nervous anymore. My hands shook less.

Gi-hun has nightmares. Every single night. I have them, too, but not that frequently. He had a gun next to his nightstand. I had mine under the pillow. It brought a sense of comfort that was always short-lived.

The nightmares kept us up all night, and because of them, we couldn't find any rest even during the daytime. It was always the people we lost on that cured island. Sangwoo... Sae-byeok... Ali... The images of our friends dead never left my brain. And neither did Gi-hun's. Other times, we dreamt that we're still playing the games. Us dying. Each other dying. The Frotman. The salesman.

It was too much.

I was just monitoring the room where our most trusted men were practicing. I didn't realize when it had happened, but I fell asleep. I guess all those sleeping pills that Boss Kim gave to Gi-hun and me finally caught up to me.

I felt trapped. Gi-hun... he was dying in front of me during the squid game. I couldn't do anything about it. I held him, covered in his blood, crying, screaming, curing at the sky for the misfortune we had to live. Cursing the makers of the game. Cursing the Frontman. Cursing the pink guards that just stood there and did nothing. Cursing the world.

Hands.

They were shaking my shoulders.

My name.

It was uttered from the lips of the man that I would die for.

My eyes snapped open, meeting Gi-hun's worried ones. Once he realized that I was awake, his face visibly relaxed, relief washing over him as I heard him let out a sigh, his head and shoulders hung downwards.

"A nightmare again?" He asked me as he brought his hand up to my cheeks, whipping away the tears that I didn't know fell, but also wasn't surprised that they did.

"I-I can't-" I sobbed, unable to form a sentence as he quickly brought me in his arms, drowning me in his chest.

"Shhh..." He whispered as he ran his hand down my hair as I cried against his neck, drowning his black shirt with my tears, "I'm here. You're okay."

"Yo-You w-were-" I stuttered, tears streaming down my cheeks, "You were dying, and I-I couldn't s-save y-you."

For a moment, there was just quiet in the room. Neither spoke. The only thing breaking the silence of our bedroom were my cries.

"Do you know why I never answered your phone calls after you found out about the divorce?" He asked me, his voice low, but soft with comfort. His sudden question about that topic surprising me a bit, "Do you know why my mother told you about it instead of me? The wedding, the divorce?"

"No."

"It was because I didn't want to face the fact that I was the cause of your misery." He whispered, still softly running his hand through my hair, my cries slowly dying down as I listened to him speak.

"I have always loved you and I knew that I hurt you with my decision even though I never wanted that to happen. I just tried to forget about you, I never knew that I could actually be with you." He sighed, "I thought that it would be the best for you. I didn't deserve you, I'm not even sure I still do." He chuckled softly.

"But even though I may not deserve you, I will never stop fighting for you and your happiness. You are my everything, and I would be damned if I ever let you feel any sort of pain." He lifted my chin with his hand as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, our lips almost meeting each other's, "We will find him and end this, but for now, how about I make you some tea and we get you to bed huh, my love? What do you say?"

-

-

-

@shadow-tumbler

[the-hopeful-squid]

Positive impacts Gi-hun has had in other people's lives which will still matter even if the games get back on track, Gi-hun dies, and the games end with the expected sole surviving player taking home the entire ₩ 45.6 billion once again in S3:

Cheol is being raised by a financially stable parental figure who loves him.

Sangwoo's mother gets to focus on being a good parent to Cheol instead of drowning alone in her confusion, grief, and lack of closure around Sangwoo's disappearance.

Cheol's mother still has a decent chance of being brought across the border and reunited with her son, who is being raised in a kind and stable home environment in the meantime.

Saebyeok's broker is making a genuine effort to be a kinder/better person to all of his clients.

Junho and Wooseok know about the games and still have access to whatever remains of Gihun's winnings from the first games. Either or both of them could easily decide to continue carrying on Gihun's mission of destroying the games, even if Gihun dies.

The recruiter is still dead. (Less obvious, perhaps, on the 'positive impact' front, but it seems likely that he was one of the better recruiters the games had, which means replacing him will probably require at least some stressful/annoying work on the part of the game runners. They'll have to hope they can find someone else as well suited to the conman's job. If they can't, it might also become more difficult to fill all 456 spots with willing victims every year in future games.)

Gihun can't undo the selfish choices he made in the past or the losses he's suffered in the games, but neither can the games unwrite every act of kindness he's committed since.

Sometimes things feel hopeless because we get too focused on too narrow a view of our personal impact on the world. A win is still a win, though - an act of selfless kindness that helped someone else still matters - even when the bigger battles are lost, our greatest goals are not realized, and despair feels so easy to lose ourselves in.

There may always be cruel and selfish people in the world, but there will always be kind and caring people, too. The games can strip away hope and compassion from the people they grind down and destroy, but they can't strip all the kindness, all the people who choose caring for each other over selfish greed, or all the acts of selfless compassion that change someone else's life for the better from every person in the world.

Gihun can't stop cruelty from existing in the world, but the games can't stop kindness from existing in the world, too.

[carnalcrows]

WHISKEY

pairing: gihun x male reader x sangwoo

synopsis: The two of them struggle with the concept of sharing till this day.

content warnings: 18+, straddling, dry humping + grinding, making out, implied sex at the end, gihun and sangwoo decide to 'take' reader at the same time, drunk sex

word count: 2.4k

A/N: requested by @belovedengie (🌹anon)

The bar smelled like cheap beer and smoke, and it was exactly the kind of place where old friends met after too many years apart. It had been ages since the three of you sat down like this—just drinking, laughing, pushing at old wounds with playful jabs.

And, of course, Gi-hun was already drunk.

"You know," he slurred, dramatically slumping against the bar, "I think I missed you two the most."

"You think?" you scoffed, swirling your drink.

Sang-woo, the only one who still had a working liver, sighed. "You’re both so embarrassing."

Gi-hun squinted at him, wagging a wobbly finger. "And you, my friend, are too uptight. You never let loose."

"And getting blackout drunk on a Tuesday is your definition of ‘letting loose’?" Sang-woo shot back, unimpressed.

"Yes," you and Gi-hun said at the same time.

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like he was reconsidering all his life choices, but you caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched, just a little. It was easy to fall back into this rhythm—the three of you like puzzle pieces that still fit, even if time had worn down the edges.

But something felt… different.

Maybe it was the alcohol, the way it made you bolder. Maybe it was the way Gi-hun’s hand kept brushing against yours, lingering longer than it needed to. Maybe it was the way Sang-woo kept watching the two of you—not annoyed, not really, but something else. Something unreadable.

Either way, you felt warm. And it wasn’t just the whiskey.

By the time Sang-woo dragged the two of you into a cheap motel, Gi-hun had completely lost control of his limbs. He stumbled against you, laughing, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shit," you mumbled, swaying slightly. "I think I drank too much."

"You think?" Sang-woo huffed, kicking the door shut. "You two are impossible."

Gi-hun flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "C’mon, Sang-woo, you love taking care of us."

Sang-woo shot him a flat look. "I really don’t."

You smirked, stepping forward. "Then why’d you bring us here, huh?"

Sang-woo hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. His eyes flickered between you and Gi-hun, lingering on the way you were leaning against the bed, the way Gi-hun was looking up at you, something slow and hazy in his gaze.

A muscle in Sang-woo’s jaw twitched.

"You need to sober up," he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Gi-hun stretched, fingers brushing against your wrist. "Nah, I think I like this," he murmured, his voice just a little too low, just a little too warm.

You barely had time to process it before his lips were on yours.

It was messy. He was drunk, and you were drunk, and his hands were all over you, gripping your shirt, tugging you closer. It was all heat and warmth and breathless laughter, his lips clumsy against yours but still so good.

"God," Sang-woo muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You two are unbelievable."

You pulled back just enough to grin at him, breath still shaky. "Jealous?"

Something dark flickered in Sang-woo’s eyes. He took a step closer. Then another.

The air shifted.

Gi-hun’s breath was unsteady against your neck, and you were suddenly very aware of how small the room was. Of how big Sang-woo looked standing over you. Of how his fingers curled at his sides, like he was holding something back.

"You two," he murmured, voice dropping to something deep and dangerous, "need to be put in your place."

Your breath caught. Gi-hun shuddered.

Sang-woo smirked.

"Good," he murmured, rolling up his sleeves. "Then let me handle you both properly."

And from the way your pulse jumped, you already knew—

You were in so much trouble.

Gi-hun, still breathless beside you, let out a drunken laugh, rubbing at his flushed face. "Ohhh, he’s mad."

Mad wasn’t the right word. Focused, maybe. Intent. Like a cat watching two mice who’d made the mistake of thinking they were in control.

Your heartbeat kicked up when he reached for you, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up. His touch was careful—almost gentle—but his eyes? His eyes were anything but.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was quiet, but it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer.

Sang-woo exhaled, slow and measured, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. Then, without warning, he kissed you.

It was nothing like Gi-hun. Gi-hun had been warm and reckless, all sloppy, drunken eagerness. But Sang-woo?

Sang-woo was calculated.

He kissed you like he already knew how you’d react—like he’d thought about it before. His lips moved against yours, slow at first, dragging out the moment just to watch you tremble under him.

And when you gasped—when your hands instinctively gripped his shirt—he smirked against your mouth and took control.

The next kiss wasn’t slow at all. It was deep, consuming, his hand threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, swallowing the sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Your knees almost gave out, and that seemed to amuse him.

"Already?" he murmured, barely pulling away. His breath was warm against your lips. "I thought you had more fight in you."

Your pride flared up, but before you could snap back, he kissed you again—harder, rougher, like he was proving a point.

And damn it, he was.

A hand pressed firmly against your back, holding you up as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head just the way he wanted. Every little movement was controlled, deliberate. He was handling you, testing your limits, seeing how much he could pull from you.

Gi-hun whistled from the bed. "Damn."

You barely registered it. You were too busy melting under Sang-woo’s touch, too busy clinging to him because your head was spinning, and you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or him.

Probably both.

Sang-woo finally pulled back, just enough to look at you. His gaze flickered over your face—your parted lips, your uneven breaths, the slight dazed look in your eyes.

And he grinned.

"Better?" he asked, voice maddeningly smug.

You swallowed hard. "Fuck you."

He laughed. "Oh, we’ll get to that."

Your pulse was still racing when Sang-woo’s grip tightened, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, steadying you, like he knew your knees were about to give out.

Bastard was smug about it, too.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was tilting your chin up again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes flickered over your face—your swollen lips, your hazy expression—and he smirked like he had already won.

"That’s more like it," he murmured.

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

His mouth was on yours again—hotter, firmer, all slow-burning control. He wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t desperate like Gi-hun had been. No, Sang-woo was patient, dragging it out like he was enjoying every second of watching you fall apart under his hands.

And God, were you falling apart.

Your breath hitched when he pulled you even closer, chest to chest, his grip on your waist so strong it sent heat curling down your spine. His hands weren’t just holding you; they were grounding you, controlling every little shift, every tiny movement.

When you tried to push back—tried to meet him halfway—he just laughed. A low, quiet chuckle against your lips, like he found it cute that you thought you had any say in this.

"You don’t get to decide," he murmured.

That—combined with the way he pressed in just that much closer—sent a full-body shiver through you.

Gi-hun let out an exaggerated groan from the bed. "God, get a room—wait. This is a room. I hate both of you."

Sang-woo ignored him entirely.

His lips trailed down, brushing against your jaw, slow, teasing, until his mouth hovered just below your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, making it even harder to think.

"You can stop me if you want," he murmured, voice so damn calm. So damn confident. "Do you want me to stop?"

You swallowed hard. Shook your head.

Sang-woo smirked.

"Good."

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist like he was staking his claim, like he was letting you know exactly who was in control here.

Gi-hun groaned again, flopping dramatically onto the bed. "You guys," he complained, voice slurred from the alcohol, "I’m right here."

Sang-woo didn’t even acknowledge him.

He was still focused on you, fingers pressing firm against your waist, keeping you in place like he dared you to move. His lips were hovering over yours again, not quite touching, just teasing—waiting, watching, dragging out the moment until you were barely breathing.

It was infuriating.

And, apparently, Gi-hun agreed.

"Okay, okay, this is actually painful to watch," he whined. Then, before you could react, he grabbed the front of your shirt and yanked you into him.

Your mind barely had time to catch up before Gi-hun’s mouth was on yours again.

Unlike Sang-woo, Gi-hun wasn’t patient.

He kissed you sloppy, messy, like he had been waiting for an excuse. His fingers dug into your collar, pulling you so close that you felt the lazy grin against your lips—because of course he was smiling, like he just got away with something.

And maybe he did.

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, a quiet tch of amusement. "You really have no self-control, do you?"

Gi-hun hummed against your mouth. "Nope."

Then, as if to prove his point, his hand slid up to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, tilting your head to get exactly what he wanted. His lips moved against yours with all the urgency Sang-woo refused to have—hot, desperate, leaving you just as breathless as before.

And, just when your knees almost gave out—

Sang-woo pulled you back.

The sudden shift made you gasp, but Sang-woo only smirked, steadying you like you were something fragile.

"Now, now," he murmured, thumb brushing over your lips. "Let’s not forget who’s in charge here."

You swallowed hard.

Gi-hun scoffed, falling back against the pillows. "Ugh, you always have to be in control."

Sang-woo smirked, but he didn’t argue. He knew he was right.

His fingers didn’t just hold you in place—they commanded you, gripping your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze flickered over your lips, your breathless expression, and you swore you saw something dangerous flash behind them.

"You're not thinking of getting ahead of yourself, are you?" His voice was maddeningly calm, but his grip said otherwise—like he dared you to push back.

You didn’t.

Not when he leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was barely there, teasing, withholding, just to see you squirm.

You almost whined—almost. But the moment the sound threatened to escape, he kissed you properly, swallowing it before you even had the chance.

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

The way he handled you—slow, precise, like he knew exactly what he was doing—had your head spinning, and when his hand slid down, resting just above your waist, heat curled deep in your stomach.

And then there was Gi-hun.

Still sprawled across the bed, watching the two of you with the laziest grin, looking far too entertained. "Damn," he murmured, stretching his arms behind his head. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

Sang-woo ignored him.

You, however, glared. "You have no right to talk."

Gi-hun chuckled, reaching out to lazily tug at your wrist, pulling you toward him. "Relax, sweetheart. No need to be so tense."

Sweetheart.

Your stomach flipped, and Sang-woo clicked his tongue.

"Don’t get greedy," he warned. But even as he said it, he didn’t stop you when you let Gi-hun pull you back into another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Gi-hun kissed recklessly, all teeth and warmth, a stark contrast to Sang-woo’s maddening control. And you might’ve gotten lost in it—

If not for the sharp tug at your waist, pulling you right back into Sang-woo’s hold.

Gi-hun pouted. "Hey—"

"You had your turn," Sang-woo said, voice edged with patience, but the grip on your waist was anything but.

Gi-hun snorted. "Yeah? And who made you the boss?"

Sang-woo turned his head, fixing him with a flat stare. "Me."

Gi-hun scoffed, sitting up on his elbows. "Oh, right, I forgot—Sang-woo always has to be in control. You never let loose, do you?"

"Because someone has to," Sang-woo deadpanned.

You barely had the strength to roll your eyes. "Are you two seriously arguing right now?"

They ignored you.

"Come on, man, it’s not that deep," Gi-hun groaned, stretching his arms out. "You act like it’d kill you to let someone else take the lead for once."

"Someone else?" Sang-woo echoed, eyebrows raised like he’d just been insulted. "You?"

Gi-hun shot him a lazy grin. "Yeah, me."

Sang-woo exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was actually considering throwing hands. "You can barely walk in a straight line right now."

"And yet, I still managed to make him weak in the knees first," Gi-hun shot back, nodding in your direction.

Your stomach flipped.

Sang-woo went still.

Then he turned, ever so slowly, to look at you.

You gulped. "Uh—"

"Is that true?" His voice was too calm, his expression too unreadable.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then sighed, accepting the fact that no matter what you said, you were done for.

Gi-hun grinned like he already won. "See? That’s why I should go first."

"Like hell you will." Sang-woo was already pulling you back against him, fingers pressing into your waist in a way that sent heat curling up your spine. "You had your turn. It’s my turn now."

"Ugh, you’re so possessive," Gi-hun groaned. "Sharing is a thing, you know."

"And yet, you always want to take more than your fair share," Sang-woo countered.

"It’s called living a little—you should try it sometime."

"You would say that."

"Okay, okay, Jesus Christ," you cut in, exasperated. "If you’re gonna fight over me, can you at least do it faster?"

Sang-woo narrowed his eyes. Gi-hun raised a brow.

Then, in unison—

"Fine."

Before you could even process what was happening, you were tugged forward—one second into Sang-woo’s grip, the next into Gi-hun’s arms—until you were completely surrounded.

And that’s when it hit you.

They weren’t arguing over who got you.

They were arguing over who got you first.

Oh.

Oh, you were screwed.

Gi-hun hummed, tilting his head. "Guess there’s only one way to settle this."

Sang-woo exhaled, like he was deeply inconvenienced. "At the same time, then."

You blinked.

Then sighed.

"I accept my demise."

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[nonphoto-blue]

Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]

Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.

Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.

A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.

Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 

If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.

Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.

“It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 

Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”

“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”

“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 

“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”

You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.

“What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.

Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 

Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let’s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.

“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ

Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 

The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.

You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.

It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.

You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 

You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.

“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”

Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”

“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ

Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.

Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”

“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”

You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.

“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”

You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

[crimsonnsstuff]

Sex and secrets - Sangwoo x reader

The night was dark, the kind of dark where every shadow seemed to whisper secrets and every streetlight cast ominous figures on the asphalt. You found yourself standing outside Sangwoo's apartment, the place where every emotion was amplified, where love felt like a vice around your heart.

Sangwoo opened the door, his eyes glinting with that mix of charm and danger that always drew you in. His smile was a weapon, disarming and dangerous all at once. "You came," he said, his voice smooth like silk over steel.

You stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something darker, something you couldn't quite name. "I always do," you replied, your voice betraying the storm inside you.

The moment the door clicked shut, the air thickened with an unspoken tension. Sangwoo's hands were on you, pulling you close, his touch both a promise and a threat. His lips crashed against yours, a kiss that was all about claiming, about marking territory. You responded, your body betraying your mind's reservations, craving the intensity only he could provide.

He pushed you against the wall, his body pinning yours, his breath hot against your ear. "You know you can't escape this," he whispered, his voice a velvet threat. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, down your neck, sending shivers through you, mingling fear with desire.

"You make it sound like I want to escape," you murmured back, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer even as part of you screamed to push him away. “Needy little slut, ain’t ya?”

The dance between you was always this: push and pull, love and hate. Sangwoo's hands roamed with possession, each touch igniting a fire that seemed to burn away your will. Clothes were shed with urgency, a testament to the hunger that neither of you could satiate.

His kisses were bruising, his touch rough, leaving marks on your skin like badges of his claim. You both fell onto the couch, the world outside forgotten, existing solely in this twisted bubble of passion and pain.

In no time, he was pounding into you, both of your legs hooked over his arms as he spreads you open. He spits down on your face. He grabs your hand as you go to wipe it off. “Ah, ah..don’t wipe it..you look pretty..” he growls.

He reaches down, twisting your nipple and making your back arch off the bed. “Down.” He groans and you quickly obey, flattening your back onto the bed.

Sangwoo's eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as he moved above you, each thrust a declaration of ownership. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a mix of pleasure and control. The words should have chilled you, but instead, they fueled the fire within, your own voice escaping in moans that mingled with his.

He was so deep you were almost choking, You were lost in him, in this toxic dance that you both seemed doomed to repeat. Every touch, every kiss was laced with danger, the thrill of it all intoxicating.

You desperately try to push him off because you were too sensitive, even tho you haven’t came yet. Your eyes tear up and you pout at him, but it only makes him pound into you harder, making you whine.

“Shhhhh, you can do it..” he whispers, running a hand through your hair. He reaches a hand down, toying with your clit as you squirm. In no time, he felt you come on his cock. “Atta girl..” he coos.

After, as the storm of your passion settled, you lay entangled, his breath evening out beside yours. The silence was heavy, laden with unspoken words and the weight of what you'd just shared.

"Why do we do this?" you asked, your voice small in the quiet aftermath.

"Because we can't help it," Sangwoo answered, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. His touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to moments before. "Because this," he gestured between you, "is all we know how to be."

You turned to look at him, seeing the man who could both break you and put you back together, the man you couldn't seem to leave, no matter how much you knew you should. His eyes held a challenge, a question - would you stay, or would you try to walk away?

In that moment, you knew the answer, even if you didn't want to admit it. You were bound to Sangwoo by chains stronger than any physical ones - chains of passion, of need, of a dark, consuming love.

[pixiefelixie]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CIAO: chapter 1

do read the series masterlist warnings before proceeding!!

pairing: idol!hyunjin x actress!reader warnings: 17k words (geez..), ex-flings to lovers, EXTREMELY slice of life, fake dating au, angst, fluff, swearing, slow (fast?) burn, predatory behavior (sangwoo), terminal illness (suho), mentions of drug-dealing, references to past sexual intercourse important notes: The content of this work is purely fictional and is not intended to endorse or encourage any behavior that may be deemed inappropriate or unsafe. This story is created solely for entertainment purposes and should be understood as fiction. Reader discretion is advised.

first chapter’s finally here 🥹💗 thank you SO much for being excited when i announced this series, it genuinely means the world to me. this chapter is definitely more of a slow build (relationships and everything that leads to the fake dating) but just hold my hand and hang in there 🫶

death doesn’t always come all at once. sometimes, it creeps in slowly—so slowly you don’t even notice it at first. like a dimming lightbulb flickering in intervals, a dying battery that still clings to life. you pretend you don’t see the way it fades. because acknowledging it means admitting that soon, there will be nothing left.

hyunjin swallowed down that thought as he stepped through the entrance of the building, the automatic doors gliding shut behind him. the security guard at the front barely spared him a glance—he’s been here enough times for them to recognize him now. three visits in a week. not enough for a pattern, but enough to make him feel like a ghost haunting the same place over and over again.

he adjusted his mask, pulling his cap lower as he made his way to the elevators. the hallway was quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of the city outside. he pressed the button. the doors slid open.

hyunjin stepped inside, watching the numbers climb as he ascended. the mirrored walls reflected the exhaustion on his face, the tension in his shoulders. he ignored it. instead, he exhaled a quiet breath and closed his eyes, counting the seconds until the doors opened again.

when they did, he was greeted by a familiar sight—the luxury apartment that still didn’t feel as grand as it should. the space was vast, sleek, polished. but it was empty in the ways that matter.

and in the center of it all, sprawled on the couch with a lazy smirk, was suho.

“you look like shit,” suho said, blunt as ever.

“wow, thanks,” hyunjin muttered.

“i mean it. you need sleep. and probably therapy.”

hyunjin sighed and leaned back against the couch. “yeah, well. my schedule is full.”

“make room,” suho said, then smirked. “or i’ll haunt you when i die.”

hyunjin pretended to kick him, stopping just short of his shin. “shut up.”

suho just laughed, like none of this was real. like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a countdown neither of them could stop.

hyunjin wished he could pretend as easily. 

suho had been his friend long before he ever knew what an idol trainee was, before his life turned into an endless cycle of rehearsals, cameras, and exhaustion. elementary school, back when suho was just a cocky little brat who thought he was better than hyunjin because he was three months older. and boy, did he milk that fact for all it was worth.

“i was born first, which means i’m smarter, stronger, and infinitely cooler than you,” suho had declared at age eight, shoving a lollipop into his mouth like some kind of smug kingpin.

suho smoked too early, drank too much, partied too hard. and yet, somehow, hyunjin always found himself trailing after him, grumbling about suho’s bad habits but never leaving his side. because for all their differences, they were the same where it mattered. they would wrestle like ten-year-olds one second and then fall asleep tangled up on the couch the next, no questions asked.

hyunjin had always thought of suho as a shooting star—reckless, brilliant, burning too fast but impossible to look away from. suho always knew how to slip out of trouble, even in the most desperate situations—whether it meant sweet-talking his way out or, when all else failed, making a mad dash and vaulting over a fence like his life depended on it. 

and hyunjin was just the kid running after him, watching in awe, trying to keep up but never quite catching hold. because suho was untouchable like that.

unruly, magnetic, bigger than life.

but now, sitting here in this too-clean apartment, hyunjin wasn’t watching a shooting star anymore. he was watching a candle flicker, its light softer, weaker—still warm, still bright, but undeniably fading.

and hyunjin didn’t know what scared him more: the fact that suho was dying, or the fact that, for the first time ever, he couldn’t outrun it.

suho reached for the iv stand beside him, nudging it toward the corner where the couches met to make space for hyunjin. the faint rattle of the wheels echoed through the quiet apartment. hyunjin lowered himself onto the cushions beside him, exhaling as he pulled down his mask and tossed his head back against the couch.

almost instantly, a tiny ball of energy launched itself at his feet. suho’s chihuahua. the dog’s paws scrabbled at hyunjin’s legs, tail wagging furiously.

a small chuckle escaped hyunjin, his eyes creasing at the corners as he reached down, ruffling the soft fur. he let the dog’s excited licks soak into his skin, a warm distraction from the cold pit in his stomach.

“your parents are doing me a huge favor by taking him in,” suho murmured, voice quieter now. “make sure you thank them for me.”

hyunjin’s fingers stilled against the dog’s fur. he swallowed, the weight of those words pressing against his ribs. “…of course.”

suho shifted beside him, reaching over to scratch between his dog’s ears. their hands bumped together lightly. the touch was brief, but it was enough for hyunjin’s gaze to flicker down—to the bruised skin stretched over suho’s knuckles, to the thin tube buried deep in his hand.

“you know, he likes you more than me,” suho chuckled once the chihuahua disregarded him.

hyunjin smirked. “everyone likes me more than you.”

suho rolled his eyes, but hyunjin barely noticed—his gaze had drifted to the little dog in his arms, memories creeping in.

they had decided to get long-haired chihuahuas in high school—one of the rare times hyunjin had given suho an idea instead of the other way around. hyunjin had already had kkomi, his tiny black shadow, his comfort through everything. and when she was gone, he had never cried so hard.

a few months later, when suho had wanted a dog, bokki came along—named after suho’s favorite street food, with a funny meaning in japanese that suho was always proud of. at the same adoption center, hyunjin got kkami. their dogs had been just like them: always fighting, always in each other’s space.

soon, suho’s dog would live with kkami.

and hyunjin wasn’t ready for what that meant.

“i wonder what the little guy will think when i’m gone,” suho whispered.

the air thinned. hyunjin’s throat tightened as a lump he hadn’t even noticed lodged itself deeper. and just like that, the pain returned.

not the kind that came from overworking in the practice room, from sore muscles and exhaustion that could be stretched out and shaken off. this was different. this was the ache that settled in his stomach every day, the nausea that made food taste like cardboard, the weight on his chest that kept him staring at the ceiling long after the world had fallen asleep.

the kind of pain that never left.

suho leaned back against the couch, exhaling sharply as if the weight of his own words had stolen his breath. then, as if flipping a switch, he smirked.

“maybe i should leave him something in my will,” he mused, scratching behind the chihuahua’s ear. “like my rolex collection. or my stock shares. what do you think, hwang?”

hyunjin’s jaw tensed. he knew suho did this on purpose—used humor like a shield, like a wall neither of them was allowed to climb over. but tonight, it wasn’t working. not when his breathing sounded just a little more labored than the last time hyunjin visited.

hyunjin felt it creeping up again—that familiar sting, the slow, suffocating tightness in his throat. it always came before or after he visited suho, never during. he had learned to time it, to swallow it down in the elevator or let it drown him in the silence of his own apartment. but today, it was here. right in front of him.

his vision blurred at the edges, chest tightening like someone had wrapped a fist around his ribs and squeezed.

suho must have noticed because his smirk dropped instantly. “hey, hey—hyunjin,” he said, voice sharp despite its rasp. “none of that.”

hyunjin blinked rapidly, willing the tears back, but it was useless. his body had already betrayed him, his shoulders trembling under the weight of something he didn’t know how to hold.

suho groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “god, you’re so embarrassing. crying before i even flatline? have some dignity, man.”

hyunjin let out a choked, watery laugh, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. “you’re—” his voice broke. he inhaled shakily. “you’re such a dick.”

suho grinned. “i know. that’s why you love me.”

hyunjin didn’t respond. couldn’t. because yeah, he did. and it fucking hurt.

suho leaned his head back against the couch, exhaling slowly. his fingers drummed absentmindedly against his thigh, and for a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the machine.

his voice cracked as he finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “how are you… okay with this?”

there was a long silence, the kind that settled in a room when words felt too heavy, too real. hyunjin’s chest felt hollow, the questions stuck in his throat, unanswered. he wanted to scream, to shake suho, to force him to feel what he was feeling.

“i do what i can to make it hurt less.” suho murmured, his voice quieter than usual, but steady. “i tell myself this was all well expected, well deserved.”

suho tilted his head slightly, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling. 

“i mean, think about it. i made money off people destroying themselves. gave them poison, didn’t care as long as the cash kept coming.” suho chuckled darkly. “now my own body’s turning on me. call it karma, a punishment, whatever you want. makes sense, doesn’t it?”

hyunjin’s chest tightened all over again, but this time, it wasn’t from grief—it was anger.

“that’s so stupid,” he snapped. “you really believe that?”

suho’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “it makes me feel better. i’d rather think i earned this than accepting life’s just that cruel.”

hyunjin shook his head, eyes fierce. “you didn’t earn this. i don’t care what you did. it’s not fair.”

suho exhaled slowly, studying him. “i get why you see it that way. you’re a good person, hyunjin. you want things to make sense in a way that doesn’t hurt more than it already does.”

“and you think you’re not a good person?”

suho shrugged, shifting slightly. “good people don’t deal drugs for a living.”

hyunjin couldn’t believe what was coming out of suho’s mouth. hyunjin had always believed suho was the best person he knew. good people took care of others, took care of dogs, made sure no one was left alone. that was suho.

he swallowed hard, but the words kept coming, like a dam breaking open. “you’ve been there for me. you’ve always been there, suho. you’re not some... some monster because of the mistakes you made.” his voice cracked, but he kept going. “i’ve known you long enough to know that for sure.”

suho stared at him, something unreadable passing through his eyes. then, a small smirk. “that’s sweet,” he said. “almost makes me want to believe it.”

“then believe it.”

suho went quiet for a beat before laughing softly. “damn, you’re getting good at these motivational speeches.”

hyunjin rubbed his eyes. “shut up.”

suho grinned. “seriously. ever thought about ditching the idol thing and giving ted talks on how to gaslight your dying friends?”

hyunjin shoved his shoulder. “oh my god.”

suho snickered, then softened. “thanks, hyunjin,” he murmured.

hyunjin blinked, confused. “for what?”

“for arguing with me.”

and in that moment, hyunjin realized just how much that simple thank you meant. fighting, even if it was just over the dumbest things—was how they both kept showing up for each other. it was how they made sure they cared. they didn’t need the grand speeches or perfect gestures. they never had. maybe that was what love really was, in its rawest form. 

hyunjin loved suho. he just didn’t know how to deal with it, not when it felt like time was running out, and not when everything was so damn unfair.

hyunjin exhaled. “anytime.”

admiration doesn’t always feel safe. sometimes, it’s the most terrifying thing in the world.

it starts subtly—so subtly that you convince yourself it isn’t real. a hand lingering just a second too long. a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. the way he says your name like it belongs to him.

everyone loves him. they call him charming, a legend, someone you should be grateful to work with. they praise his experience, his talent, his ability to make every scene feel real.

maybe that’s why no one notices when he blurs the lines.

the bright lights glared down, hot against your skin, but the chill running down your spine has nothing to do with temperature.

you sat at the sleek office desk, hands folded neatly in front of you, the perfect image of the polished, ambitious character you play. across from you, he leaned back in his chair, oozing effortless confidence, the same one he’s used for years to charm everyone in his path.

“you’re avoiding me,” he said, voice smooth.

“i’ve been busy, il-seong.”

“i didn’t realize you were so busy that you couldn’t spare a minute for me,” he continued, lacing his voice with an undertone of clear disappointment. 

“cut!” the director’s voice rang out, sharp and impatient. you barely had time to exhale before he was waving a hand in frustration. “sangwoo, great work. you’re making it feel so natural.”

sangwoo shot you a smile, like he knew what was coming next.

the director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “y/n, loosen up. you’re too stiff.”

your throat tightened. you nodded. 

"y/n, shake it off. we’ll run it again when you’re not acting like a mannequin." the director finally said, waving a hand dismissively.

you nodded again, throat dry.

as soon as you stepped off set, you made a beeline for the bathroom. the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard. the cool porcelain felt solid beneath your fingers, grounding you, but it did nothing to stop the nausea creeping up your throat.

you looked up.

the mirror reflected someone who wasn’t you. your costume—sleek, professional, pristine—felt like a second skin you couldn’t shed. your lipstick was still perfect, your hair in place, but you felt grimy, like something sticky clung to your skin no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

you turned on the faucet and let cold water run over your wrists, hoping it would wash the feeling away. it didn’t.

a sharp creak from the door made your stomach drop.

you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

sangwoo.

he leaned against the doorway like he belonged there, like this was his space too. his lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one that made everyone melt on camera—but off-screen, it made your pulse hammer in your throat.

“you okay?” he asked, voice laced with something that wasn’t quite concern.

you swallowed hard. “i’m fine.”

he hummed, stepping closer. not enough to touch, but enough that the space between you shrank, enough that his cologne curled around you, thick and suffocating.

“i know it’s hard, playing this kind of role,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “all that tension, all those emotions. it can feel… real.”

your nails dug into your palm.

sangwoo’s gaze flickered to your lips, lingering just a second too long before meeting your eyes again. “you should let me help you loosen up.” his lips curved into an innocent smile.

the words slithered down your spine, cold.

you forced a breath, forced yourself to stand tall even as every instinct screamed at you to run.

his fingers tapped against the sink beside you—just a small sound, barely there, but it made your pulse jump. “we should run lines later. in private,” he mused. “after all, chemistry isn’t something you can just fake.”

the words slithered into your ears, slick and unwelcome.

you wanted to throw up.

sangwoo let the silence stretch, watching you, waiting, drinking in the way your breath came a little sharper, the way your shoulders tensed. he liked this—pushing, pressing, testing just how much he could get away with.

he exhaled through his nose, amused. “i bet if you just relaxed a little, you’d—”

“don’t,” you said, voice quiet but firm.

sangwoo’s smile didn’t falter. if anything, it stretched wider, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. like he was enjoying this.

his tongue flicked out, wetting his lower lip as he let out a soft chuckle. “don’t?” he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. as if it amused him. 

he knew he’d gotten to you. and he liked it.

just then, the door creaked open.

sangwoo moved fast—so fast it made your head spin. his smirk vanished, replaced by something softer, something concerned. in an instant, his entire posture shifted, all casual arrogance melting into the perfect image of a supportive co-star.

"hey," he murmured, voice gentle now, warm and understanding. his hand landed on your arm. “i know it can be overwhelming."

you barely had time to react before the crew member stepped inside.

"everything okay?"

sangwoo turned to them, his expression all worry. "yeah, y/n just needed a second." he shot you a reassuring smile, like he was the one steadying you. like he wasn’t the reason your stomach was twisted in knots.

the crew member nodded, glancing at you. "need more time?"

your mouth was dry. you wanted to scream, to tell them to look closer, to see past the performance. but too bad sangwoo was an actor. and a darn good one at that.

so you forced a smile, even as your pulse pounded in your ears. your response was one that you gave way too many times. 

"no, i’m fine."

when hyunjin woke up, his body felt like lead, heavy and unmoving, as if the mattress had swallowed him whole overnight. his mouth was dry, his tongue rough against the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. he swallowed, but it didn’t help. his throat ached, tight and parched, like he’d been breathing in dust for hours.

the blinds were cracked just enough for a sliver of morning light to creep through, but even that felt dull. muted grey. cold. it stretched across the floor, reached toward his desk, but failed to bring any real warmth.

he knew what he needed when the world felt washed out. 

with a groan, he forced himself to move, peeling away from the bed like his limbs were made of stone. his feet hit the floor, cold against his skin, but he barely felt it. his hoodie from last night lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, and he grabbed it, pulling it over his head as he trudged toward his desk.

he sniffed, rubbing his nose as he sat down. the chair creaked, the sound almost too loud in the stillness.

he needed color.

his fingers hovered over his sketchbook before flipping to a blank page. he reached for his pencils—he didn’t feel like dealing with paint, not today. 

he started with blue, pressing the tip against the paper in rough, uneven strokes. then red. then yellow. the colors bled into each other, but instead of vibrancy, they just looked… dull. off. like someone had sucked the life out of them before they even reached the page.

he frowned. his grip on the pencil tightened as he tried again, layering color over color, but nothing looked right. the shading felt flat. the lines looked wrong. it was stiff, lifeless.

his chest squeezed, frustration curling hot in his throat.

hyunjin exhaled sharply and dropped the pencil, running a hand across his head before gripping the back of his neck. he stared at the half-colored page in front of him, a mess of shapes and lines that failed to form anything meaningful. his fingers twitched, the urge to crumple the paper into his palm almost unbearable, but he let out another slow breath instead.

with another sigh, he let the pencil clatter against the desk and wiped his fingers on his sweatpants. when he leaned over to grab his phone from the nightstand, the screen lit up instantly, illuminating his face in the dim room.

and then—a flood.

[12 missed calls]

[50+ unread messages]

a sharp pull in his stomach.

his thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he clicked on felix’s name. out of everyone, felix felt the safest. the least likely to send him into a full-blown paragraph before he was even awake enough to process it.

the chat opened instantly.

[8 am] felix 🐥:

i don’t know if you’ve seen it yet, but i figured you should.

i’m here, okay? whatever happens.

below his messages was a link to a social media app. hyunjin’s throat went even drier than before.

he hesitated, fingers tightening around his phone before finally tapping it.

the app loaded sluggishly, his wi-fi dragging just enough to prolong the dread curling in his chest. and then, the post filled his screen.

three pictures.

all of him.

different nights, but the same place—right outside suho’s building.

hyunjin’s stomach turned to stone. he recognized each one instantly. the first was from last week. the second, three days ago. the most recent, just last night—his cap tilted low, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

the pictures alone were bad enough. but beneath them, a long blog-style post stretched down the screen.

his eyes darted over it, catching pieces in a haze.

“i walk along this path every night on my way home from work. it’s usually quiet, just office workers or the occasional resident.”

“the first time i saw him, i wasn’t sure. hwang hyunjin? from stray kids? leaving that luxury apartment building? but then it happened again. and again.”

“i wasn’t going to say anything at first. i needed more proof, more pattern. no one goes to the same high-end building this often without a reason.”

“private clubs exist in places like that. so do exclusive parties. you know what i mean.”

“thoughts?”

the last word made his skin prickle.

his lips parted, but no sound came out. his fingers were ice cold, gripping the phone so hard his knuckles ached.

it wasn’t just speculation anymore. this was the kind of post that spiraled. the kind people latched onto, twisting into something bigger, uglier.

and it was working.

his breath came shallow, heart hammering against his ribs as he scrolled back to his notifications.

chan’s messages. the company chat.

he swallowed hard and opened chan’s first.

[6:50 am] chan hyung 🐺: 

call me asap

it’s already everywhere

people are eating this shit up

we’ll fix this, don’t panic ok??

his stomach churned, a slow, sickly twist, like the moment right before a rollercoaster drop—except this wasn’t thrilling. it was just nausea.

they didn’t know about suho. they didn’t know about the sterile hospital-grade scent clinging to his apartment, the way he laughed a little softer these days—like he was already halfway gone. they didn’t know how hyunjin had to pretend everything was fine because suho hated pity. they didn’t know that every visit felt heavier than the last.

they didn’t know anything.

and yet, here they were. guessing. assuming. branding him guilty of something he hadn’t even done.

then—something snapped.

he shot up from his chair, heart slamming against his ribs. his hands moved before he could think, grabbing the glass jar he used to rinse his paintbrushes. his breath came sharp through his teeth, and then—

crash.

the jar shattered against the wall, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. water seeped into the cracks of the floor, staining the base of the wall in slow, creeping lines.

his chest heaved. his hands clenched into his hair. he barely felt the sting in his palm from a stray shard. he’d have to clean it later. he’d have to deal with the mess. but right now—

a knock.

“hyunjin? what the hell was that?”

changbin.

the voice was steady, but hyunjin could hear the concern behind it. a beat passed, then the sound of careful footsteps just outside the door.

“you good?”

hyunjin dragged a shaky hand across his hair, blinking at the mess. his chest heaved, his pulse still erratic. fuck. he let his head fall back, swallowing hard before forcing something—anything—out of his throat.

“…yeah.”

his voice was hoarse, unconvincing. he knew changbin wouldn’t buy it.

another pause.

“…i’m coming in.”

the door creaked open, and changbin stepped inside.

his eyes flicked around the room—first to hyunjin, then to the shattered glass by the wall, the water bleeding into the floorboards, the mess of art supplies strewn across the desk.

changbin’s jaw tightened. “holy shit.”

hyunjin’s mind was just as much of a wreck as his room. shattered thoughts, seeping panic, a mess he couldn’t shove back into place no matter how hard he tried. his head felt like it had been cracked open, thoughts spilling out in incoherent colors, smearing together into something ugly.

changbin’s voice came out quieter this time, but sharp. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

hyunjin’s fingers twitched. he could feel the tension rolling off changbin in waves, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. he stared instead at the paint-stained floor, at the streaks of color on his ruined sketchbook. 

“you gonna answer me, or should i just assume you’ve lost your mind?” changbin pressed, his patience wearing thin.

a slow inhale. hyunjin dragged a hand down his face before finally speaking, voice low, scratchy. “just leave it.”

changbin scoffed. “leave it? you trashed your room, you’re breaking shit, and you want me to just—” he cut himself off with a harsh exhale, gripping the bridge of his nose.

but then, instead of continuing, he sighed and walked past him, stepping carefully over the broken glass. changbin crouched down, grabbing a rag from hyunjin’s desk, and started wiping up the water without a word.

hyunjin swallowed, his throat dry again. 

changbin wrung out the rag, water dripping into the trash can with quiet splashes. his movements were slow, deliberate, like he was choosing his words as carefully as he was cleaning up hyunjin’s mess.

“you’ve been all over the place these past few days,” he said finally, voice steady but laced with something firm.

hyunjin inhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. he knew. he knew, but hearing it out loud made something sharp press against his ribs.

“i know,” he muttered.

changbin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “no, i don’t think you do.” he glanced up then, meeting hyunjin’s eyes with a look that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t soft either. “you’ve been like this for a while. before the scandal. before this whole mess. you think no one noticed?”

hyunjin stayed silent. the words pressed against his ribs, heavy and unrelenting, but he didn’t push them out. didn’t defend himself. didn’t argue. what was there to say?

changbin sighed, shifting slightly against the desk. “we’ve noticed everything.”

hyunjin’s breath hitched. just for a second. just enough for changbin to catch it. he finally looked up, and changbin met his gaze head-on. 

“you know you can talk to us, right? about suho.” changbin’s voice was quieter now. “you can talk to me.”

hyunjin swallowed. his throat still felt raw, his chest too tight, but something in changbin’s words settled in the space between them. but thankfully, he didn’t push.

instead, changbin stood up, brushing his hands against his sweats before jerking his chin toward the door. “come on. we’ll go to the company together.”

hyunjin hesitated.

“hyunjin.”

something about the way changbin said his name, like he wasn’t giving him a choice, made him sigh.

“yeah.” hyunjin pushed himself up, shaking out his hoodie. “let me change first.”

changbin nodded once, waiting outside the door. not leaving. not giving him space to back out. hyunjin exhaled, turning toward his closet. it didn’t matter what he wore. it wouldn’t change the fact that he was about to walk into hell.

you tipped the last capsule into your palm, the plastic bottle cool against your fingers.

the water on your kitchen counter had gone room temperature, but you took a sip anyway, swallowing the pills one after the other. collagen. iron. some herbal mix that promised better sleep. things for your skin, for your body, for your health.

the dim glow from the streetlights barely cut through your curtains, painting the walls in streaks of cold orange. the apartment was silent, too silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the other room. you should have left the tv on. should have played some music.

the doorbell rang, its chime cutting through the thick silence like a blade.

you froze.

for a second, you wondered if you’d imagined it, if your mind was playing tricks on you in the quiet. but then it rang again, longer this time, pressing, insistent.

a strange pulse ran through your body. no one ever visited this late.

pushing yourself up, you padded toward the door, fingers stiff as you reached for the security monitor. the screen flickered to life, grainy in the dim hallway lighting, and your stomach dropped.

a man stood there, head tilted slightly, his face obscured by a black mask. he held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, stark against the dark hoodie he was wearing.

you swallowed. hard.

you knew who it was.

even with the mask, even with the hood—there was no mistaking him.

your heart thumped against your ribs as your fingers hovered over the lock. your pulse screamed at you to leave it alone, to pretend you weren’t home, to wait until he gave up and left. but you knew he wouldn’t.

with a slow inhale, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. sangwoo’s eyes met yours over the mask, then he pulled it down, revealing a familiar smile.

your voice came out quieter than you intended. “how do you know where i live?”

he let out a small chuckle, casual, like you’d just asked something silly. “some of the crew members told me. they were thrilled to hear we were connecting off set.”

that didn’t make you feel any better. if anything, it made the discomfort sink deeper into your bones.

you didn’t move.

his smile faltered just slightly, his fingers tightening around the bouquet.

you stepped aside, the movement stiff, unnatural. “uh…come in.”

he handed you the flowers as he stepped in, eyes flickering around your apartment. “beautiful home you’ve got here, y/n.”

“thanks,” you murmured, fingers tightening around the bouquet.

you turned away, heading toward the kitchen. the flowers smelled sweet, too sweet, almost suffocating as you pulled a vase from the cabinet. the water ran cold over your fingers as you filled it, the sound echoing in the too-quiet space.

sangwoo moved leisurely, his presence filling the room like he belonged there. “you live alone?”

you hesitated, then nodded. “yeah.”

you focused on trimming the stems, placing each flower into the vase carefully, precisely. your hands were steady, but your chest felt tight.

“must get lonely.”

the scissors in your hand stilled.

“you know,” he murmured, “i never really thought about it before, but… someone like you, living alone—it’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”

you blinked, your fingers tightening around the scissors. “like me?”

sangwoo smiled, slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. “yeah.” he leaned against the counter, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. “i mean, you’re…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he was searching for the right words. “you’re soft, y/n.”

your stomach turned. “soft.”

he hummed in confirmation. “you know. gentle. fragile, even.” his gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of your wrist as you held the scissors. “delicate hands. pretty face.” a small pause, then a light chuckle. “the kind of person people just… gravitate toward. the kind of person who should be careful.”

you carefully snipped another stem, the sharp sound of the blades cutting through the silence. 

sangwoo exhaled a soft chuckle. “you trust people too much, y/n. you never know who might be thinking about walking right through that door when you least expect it.”

your fingers twitched. the scissors pressed into your palm.

you swallowed. “is that supposed to be a joke?”

he tilted his head, watching you. “do you think it is?”

sangwoo took a step forward. the soft sound of his shoes against the floor felt deafening in the silence. closer. slow, deliberate steps. he wasn’t in a hurry—like he already knew how this would end.

you held your ground, barely.

“sangwoo,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. 

he reached out, fingertips barely grazing your wrist, featherlight. your heartbeat thumped in your ears, drowning out every rational thought. sangwoo’s fingers lingered, just barely touching your wrist. a ghost of a touch, like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could push.

“you always this tense.” he asked, head tilting slightly. “maybe you’re just nervous because we’re alone.”

you exhaled, forcing yourself to focus on anything but his fingers on your skin. the scissors in your other hand. the steady drip of the faucet behind you. the cold air seeping in from the slightly open window.

“i’m not nervous,” you muttered.

he chuckled, low and knowing. “then why do you look like you’re waiting to stab me with those scissors?”

your jaw clenched.

he was enjoying this. pushing, pressing, inching closer and closer just to watch you react.

you could feel his breath now, warm against your cheek, his presence sinking into your space like oil spreading over water.

“why?” he mused. 

you swallowed. “sangwoo—”

“you’re acting like i’m some kind of threat.”

“sangwoo,” you said, voice steady now. you needed to think of something to get yourself out of this suffocating situation. urgently. “i’m seeing someone.”

silence.

his expression didn’t change drastically. but you saw it—the slightest twitch of his eye. the smallest shift in his posture.

“really?” he leaned back slightly. “since when?”

your grip on the scissors didn’t ease, even as you forced your expression to stay neutral. “a few weeks,” you said, voice even.

sangwoo let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head like you’d just told him something funny. “a few weeks?” he dragged out the words, eyes glinting with amusement. “that’s funny. you never mentioned seeing anyone before.”

you didn’t respond.

he let out another short laugh, shaking his head. “y/n, the flowers were just a friendly gesture. that’s all. no need to get so defensive and worked up.”

worked up. like you were being ridiculous. like he hadn’t spent the past ten minutes making your skin crawl. you said nothing. just placed the scissors down, carefully, deliberately, like you weren’t afraid. like your heart wasn’t still pounding in your chest.

sangwoo smiled, taking a step back toward the door. “i’ll see you on monday, yeah?” he gave you one last look. “maybe have your boyfriend stop by some time on set.”

the words sent ice down your spine.

a test. a warning. 

he held your gaze for a beat longer, then turned on his heel, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled out of your apartment.

you didn’t catch the way his face dropped the second he turned away.

the scent of expensive cleaning products lingered in the air, faint but noticeable. suho’s cleaners had been here earlier—probably scrubbing every surface until it gleamed.

they were in his bedroom now. hyunjin sat beside him, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor, restless. suho was lying there, thinner than before, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.

hyunjin sighed, dragging a hand down his face as his phone buzzed again. he barely needed to check—he already knew what it would say.

“the company’s pissed at me for coming here.” 

suho huffed a laugh, but it came out more like a breath. “yeah? what else is new?”

“no, like really pissed. they already are, ever since this morning,” hyunjin muttered. “because i told them i wanted to release a statement telling the truth.”

suho finally turned his head fully to look at him, brow lifting slightly. “the truth?”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “that i was coming here to see you. but they refused”

suho stared at him for a long second before scoffing. “just leave out the drug dealer part.”

hyunjin let out a bitter chuckle. “you think i didn’t try that?” he leaned back, pressing his fingers into his temple. “i could’ve said ‘i’ve been visiting my sick friend.’ that’s it. just that. and they still shot it down immediately.”

suho didn’t look surprised. “why?”

hyunjin inhaled sharply through his nose. “you know how the public is. either they don’t believe it or they dig and find all your personal stuff.” hyunjin muttered. “an exec said there was no way to spin it in my favor.

suho let out a slow breath, leaning his head back against the couch. “so what’s your plan?”

hyunjin didn’t answer right away. because that was the problem—he didn’t have one. the company would handle it, sure, but what the hell could they even do? he’d been seen too many times. the evidence was too clear. it wasn’t just some baseless rumor that would die in a week.

he dropped his hands, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know.”

suho exhaled, tilting his head toward hyunjin with a lazy smirk. “then you need a story.”

hyunjin rolled his eyes. “no shit.”

“i mean a real one.” suho stretched out his legs, looking entirely unbothered despite the mess hyunjin’s life had just become. “something that makes sense.”

hyunjin sighed. “like what?”

suho hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he said, “tell them you were visiting someone else.”

hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “who?”

suho shrugged. “i don’t know. you got options. a girlfriend, maybe?” he grinned. “turn it into a scandal people actually like.”

hyunjin scoffed, sitting up. “that’s a horrible idea.”

suho laughed, shaking his head. “come on, think about it. this building’s got a lot of good people. doctors, actors, idols, trust fund kids—hell, there’s probably an old chaebol heir rotting away in here somewhere. pick one. say you’ve been sneaking around because you’re dating someone.”

hyunjin gave him a flat look. “that’s literally the worst thing i could do.”

suho held up his hands, still smirking. “alright, alright. just a suggestion.”

hyunjin slumped back into the chair in deep thought. 

suho tilted his head, then snapped his fingers. “what about charity work?”

hyunjin blinked. “what?”

“yeah. say you’ve been working with some outreach program,” suho said. “something private. helping underprivileged kids or some shit. people eat that up. they’ll think you were hiding it out of humility.”

hyunjin hesitated. it wasn’t the worst idea. but it also wasn’t something he could pull off overnight.

suho grinned at the look on his face. “what? better than saying you’re dating some woman, isn’t it?”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t know… it still sounds fake.”

suho shrugged. “everything in your industry is fake. just make it believable.” he coughed into his sleeve, his smirk dimming slightly. “besides, your company’s probably already spinning something. if you don’t pick someone, they will.”

hyunjin dragged a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted. “i’ll figure something out.”

suho studied him for a moment, then sighed, shifting to lean against the headboard. “well, whatever you do, make sure you do it fast. you know how these things go—one day it’s just rumors, the next your face is on every damn news site.”

hyunjin knew. too well.

his phone buzzed again, another message from the company. he ignored it, staring at the screen like it had personally wronged him.

fake dating was stupid.

charity work was unrealistic.

and yet, somehow, those were his best options.

the restaurant was the kind that smelled like overpriced coffee and imported truffle oil, with white marble tables and floor-to-ceiling windows that let the morning sun spill in just right. you stepped inside the private room, adjusting your sunglasses, scanning the room until your eyes landed on her. you slid into the cushioned seat across from mina, who was already stirring her iced americano, gold bracelets clinking.

“finally,” she sighed dramatically. “i was starting to think you stood me up.”

the waitress took your orders—something light, fancy, and overpriced—before disappearing with a polite smile.

she sighed dramatically. “i’ve been dying to catch up. you’ve been, like, impossible to reach lately.”

you grinned, resting your chin in your hand. “you say that like i’m not literally one call away.”

she snorted, flipping the page. “oh, please. you’ve been busier than the president. it’s, ‘let’s do brunch!’ and then radio silence for a week.”

you laughed, bumping your knee against hers under the table. “i missed you too.”

the conversation flowed effortlessly, slipping into the usual rhythm of playful teasing and casual updates. she told you about the disaster of a date she went on last weekend—some guy who spent the entire dinner talking about his "investment portfolio". you winced, shaking your head.

“brutal,” you muttered.

“right? i should’ve left halfway through, but then i thought, ‘no, let me be mature about this.’” she sighed dramatically. “never again.”

but eventually, the small talk lost its charm. 

mina leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity, stirring her drink lazily. “okay, enough of this. i’m bored.”

you raised a brow, amused. “what?”

“did you hear about hwang hyunjin?”

you blinked, the name slamming into you like a brick to the back of the head. your brain lagged for a second, trying to process it. hwang hyunjin.

then the name hit you like a slap.

you hadn't heard it in ages—hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t let yourself think about it. not since milan fashion week. not since that night in the dimly lit hotel room, the balcony doors cracked open just enough to let the cool italian air slip in. 

the second the memory hit, you inhaled sharply—too sharply—almost choking on your water. you grabbed your napkin, dabbing at your mouth as mina burst into laughter, smacking the table.

“oh my god,” she cackled. “i love you.”

you swallowed, composing yourself as best as you could. “i forgot about him,” you said, waving a dismissive hand.

mina raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh.” she tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “so, does that mean you haven’t seen the news?”

that made you pause. you set your glass down. “what news?”

mina lowered her voice, making it sound like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “well, people are saying he’s been—how do i put this—spending time with some, uh, questionable company. like, prostitutes, you know? it’s all over the internet.” she practically grinned, waiting for your reaction.

you felt your stomach drop. “goodness,” was all you could manage to say. the thought of anyone—especially someone you’d been around—being connected to something like that was just… disturbing.

mina continued, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “and you may ask why this is all so important to you. but get this—it’s all happening in the building you live in.”

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “you’re joking.”

mina just raised a brow.

“no, really.” you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “prostitutes? underground clubs? in my building?” you huffed a dry laugh. “damn, and here i was thinking the wildest thing happening there was my neighbor blasting trot music at 2 am.”

mina stayed serious. “i just wanna check—have you, you know, seen anything weird?”

you rolled your eyes, still half-smiling. “what, like a stripper pole in the lobby? no. nothing like that.”

mina shrugged, sipping her drink. “well, you never know.”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “mina, i really don’t think it’s true. these kinds of rumors get blown way out of proportion. he’s an idol. people love making up the most insane stuff about them.”

mina tilted her head, her smirk widening like she’d just caught you slipping. “okay, okay. but just because he’s your ex-fling doesn’t mean you have to be defensive about it.”

you nearly choked on air this time. “i’m not—mina, please.”

she laughed, waving a hand. “i’m just saying! you sound kinda invested.”

you gave her a look. “i’m invested because you’re telling me my building is apparently hosting a mob-run escort service, not because i once made out with the guy.”

mina leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “well… more than just that.”

you groaned. “ugh, please don’t remind me.”

she gasped, clutching her chest like you’d personally offended her. “you don’t just hook up with hwang hyunjin and pretend it didn’t happen.” mina wiggled her eyebrows. “which reminds me—your fucking co-star is kang sangwoo. y/n, do you realize how disgustingly lucky you are right now?”

mina didn’t notice the way your shoulders tensed once you heard his name. how you suddenly felt like your throat was closing up.

you forced a laugh, picking at the napkin in your lap.

“i mean, come on. first hyunjin, now kang sangwoo? the man beloved by this entire nation?” she let out a dramatic sigh. “some girls just have it all.”

you shook your head immediately. “it’s not like that with sangwoo.”

mina scoffed, propping her chin in her hand. “oh, please. you’re basically with him five days a week. come on, y/n.”

you exhaled, trying not to let your frustration show. “yeah, for work. it’s not like we’re hanging out in our free time.”

she smirked, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her glass. “still. that’s a lot of time for things to, you know… develop.”

you just nodded, biting your lip, not trusting yourself to answer properly.

she sighed dramatically, flopping back into her chair. 

“god, if i had your problems…”

the conference room was suffocatingly silent now, the last echoes of shuffling papers and closing doors fading into nothing. hyunjin sat slouched in his chair, fingers digging into his temples, exhaustion pressing against his skull. the meeting had been hell—hour-long discussions, half-baked solutions, and a constant reminder that his name was currently the worst thing on the internet.

chan hadn’t left.

hyunjin could feel his stare, heavy and unwavering, but he didn’t look up. he didn’t want to. not when he already knew what was coming.

“hyunjin.”

his shoulders stiffened. he exhaled sharply, finally glancing up. “what?”

chan frowned. “i know this is a lot, but—”

“don’t.” hyunjin rubbed at his jaw, eyes on the table. 

a pause. chan laced his fingers together, resting them on the table. “i just want you to talk to me.”

silence.

chan ran a hand through his hair, biting down on whatever response he wanted to throw back. instead, he just exhaled. “you’ve been shutting us out.” chan’s voice softened, barely above a murmur. “we’re losing you, hyunjin.”

hyunjin stared at the table. his jaw clenched.

“...you know that, right?” 

hyunjin didn’t move. he didn’t speak.

“i just…” chan hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “i want you back, hyunjin, we want you back.” his voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something much heavier. 

hyunjin still didn’t speak, but something flickered in his eyes.

chan watched him, pressing his lips together before continuing. “i know it’s because of suho,” he admitted. “i know why you’re like this right now.” he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t prying. just stating a fact.

hyunjin’s jaw tensed.

chan sighed. “i get it. i do. if it were me…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “i don’t even know what i’d do. but, hyunjin, killing yourself over this?”

hyunjin’s fingers twitched. but he still didn’t look up.

chan exhaled again, softer this time. “ this isn’t sustainable. and i’m scared that one day, you’re gonna wake up and realize you have nothing left to give.”

hyunjin shut his eyes for a long moment. then, finally, he muttered, “i don’t know what to do.”

chan’s heart ached at how small his voice sounded.

“then let us help you,” he said gently. “you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

hyunjin didn’t say anything. but this time, he didn’t push chan away.

after a while of silence, a memory came to hyunjin, making him let out a short, dry chuckle, finally leaning back in his chair. “suho actually had an idea for me.” hyunjin exhaled, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “he said i should just tell people i was sneaking around because i’m dating someone. can you imagine? me, suddenly in a whole-ass relationship out of nowhere?”

chan didn’t laugh.

“like that wouldn’t explode in my face instantly.”

still, chan was silent.

the amusement in hyunjin’s face wavered. “what?”

chan was staring at him, lips pressed together. his fingers tapped lightly against the table, and there was something calculating in his eyes, something hyunjin didn’t like.

hyunjin sat up straighter. “oh, hell no.”

chan hummed, tilting his head. 

“no.”

“it’s not the worst idea.”

hyunjin gaped at him. “you have got to be kidding me.”

chan shrugged, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “you said it yourself. people already believe you’re sneaking around. what better reason than love?”

“don’t say it like that,” hyunjin muttered, disgusted.

chan ignored him, sitting up fully. “it would explain why you were seen there so often. and more importantly, it would push the scandal out of the narrative.”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “i hate that you’re actually thinking about this.”

chan grinned. “that’s because it’s a solid plan.”

hyunjin groaned, head dropping back against the chair. “you’re insane.”

“no, no—think about it.” chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “if we came to an agreement with someone, you two could just hang tight for a while. keep up appearances, and then, when everything dies down, you break it off.”

hyunjin let out a slow breath through his nose. “you mean when suho dies and i no longer need a reason to visit him?”

silence.

chan stiffened. his expression went blank, but not in a way that suggested neutrality—it was the kind of blankness that came when someone didn’t know how to respond. his fingers, which had been lightly tapping the table moments ago, stilled completely.

hyunjin felt the shift immediately.

he shut his eyes, shaking his head once before exhaling. “that was—” he paused, then muttered, “that was a shitty thing to say. i’m sorry.”

chan swallowed and looked down. for a while, neither of them spoke. he exhaled slowly, rubbing his palm over his face. 

hyunjin didn’t respond. he just kept staring at his hands, fingers twitching slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“look,” chan said carefully. “i know you hate this. i know you don’t wanna fake some stupid relationship, but if it keeps you out of trouble, buys you time—” he hesitated. “wouldn’t that be worth it?”

hyunjin shook his head, leaning back. “this is insane.”

“what’s insane is letting this whole thing get worse when we have an out.”

hyunjin sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “even if i agreed—which, by the way, i haven’t—who the hell would even do it?”

chan hesitated. “do you have anyone in mind?”

hyunjin scoffed. “oh, yeah, loads. my phone’s just bursting with women waiting for me to ask them to fake date me.”

chan stared.

hyunjin sighed. “no, chan. i don’t have anyone in mind.”

chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “look, if you really wanna go in that direction, i actually think it’d be a good idea.”

hyunjin shot him a dry look. “a good idea?”

chan nodded, completely serious. “you need a solution. this is one. if we do it right, it actually helps you.”

hyunjin exhaled, rubbing his temples. “we’re lying to the whole world. it’s fake dating, hyung.”

“and?” chan shrugged. “it’s not like you actually have to like the person. we just need to put a name and face to the label”

hyunjin muttered something under his breath and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

chan tapped his fingers against the wood. “once you’ve made your decision, we bring it up in the next meeting. boom—there’s your solution. we can figure out the who part later.”

hyunjin looked at him, unamused. “boom?”

chan ignored him. “this isn’t a bad move, hyun.”

hyunjin sighed. he knew that. that was the worst part.

chan leaned forward. “so?”

hyunjin stared at the table, fingers drumming against it. 

“...i’ll think about it.”

the city at night was a dream—silver lights blinking against the dark sky, buildings glowing like constellations, streets humming with life but not too loud, just the perfect kind of alive.

as you neared your building, the familiar skyline framed itself perfectly against the deep indigo night. you flicked your blinker, turning smoothly onto the quieter street behind the building. the entrance to the underground garage came into view, between polished concrete walls. swiping your access card, you waited as the heavy gate hummed, slowly rolling upward.

the moment you slipped inside, the noise of the city softened, replaced by the low hum of overhead lights and the occasional drip of water somewhere in the distance. you drove through the near-empty space, your tires making a soft sound against the smooth pavement, before pulling into your reserved spot.

shutting off the engine, you sat there for a second, the warmth of the drive still clinging to you. the gym had let your body feel loose, the post-workout high still buzzing faintly in your limbs. you reached for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before stepping out, the sound of your car door closing echoing faintly through the empty garage.

you made your way toward the elevators, the soft click of your sneakers against the smooth garage floor the only sound in the stillness. the overhead lights cast long, sharp-edged shadows, stretching and bending as you walked.

reaching out, you grabbed the cool metal handle of the elevator lobby door and pulled it open. the hinges gave a quiet creak as you stepped inside. the space was softly lit, washed in a muted golden glow that made everything feel just a little more intimate, a little more hushed.

and then you noticed you weren’t alone.

a man stood near the elevators, his hands tucked into the pockets of a sleek black coat. his cap was on backward, dark fabric disappearing into the studs of his blond hair. a mask rested just beneath his chin, exposing the sharp cut of his jawline.

tall. unmistakably so. his frame, his posture—something about him was too familiar.

the stranger shifted, finally looking up.

and the moment your eyes met, your breath caught.

because he wasn’t a stranger.

not at all.

“hyunjin?”

“y/n?”

hearing your name in his voice—slightly raspy, laced with surprise—was like flipping a switch.

the world around you blurred, folding into itself, swallowed by the rush of memory.

suddenly, the elevator lobby was gone. the scent of clean concrete replaced by something warmer—cologne, faint wine, the crisp linen of a hotel bed.

you weren’t standing in a garage late at night. you were in milan.

in a hotel room washed in golden lamplight, the air thick with heat, his hands gripping your skin like he couldn’t get enough. his lips dragging over your throat, breath ragged, voice desperate as he whispered your name against your skin. his body pressing into yours, fitting against you so perfectly it felt unreal.

you could still taste the liquor on your tongue, feel the dizzy warmth in your veins. everything had been hazy, edges softened by alcohol and adrenaline, by the way milan pulsed beneath you like a dream you never wanted to wake from.

a breath hitched in your throat.

and then it was gone.

the present snapped back into place, harsh and real. the elevator doors chimed softly behind you, but you couldn’t move.

hyunjin was looking at you now, eyes warm despite the obvious exhaustion shadowing his face. he looked different, but there was still something about him that was undeniably the same.

then, to your absolute horror, he smiled.

“wow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “didn’t think i’d run into you here.”

his voice was the same. beautiful, with that smooth cadence that always made everything he said feel effortless. he shifted his weight slightly, hands still tucked in his pockets, eyes scanning your face.

the hyunjin you met in milan had been wild and reckless, grinning against your skin like he had nothing to lose. this hyunjin was something else entirely. he was so tired—you could see it in the way his eyes drooped just a little, in the way his breath left him in something like a sigh. but he was still cute. still unfairly pretty.

and still standing in front of you, in your building, like the universe was playing some kind of joke.

the elevator doors slid open, but neither of you stepped in immediately.

you blinked at him, still trying to process the fact that he was even here, in your building, standing in front of you like a half-forgotten memory brought back to life.

“didn’t think i’d run into you either,” you finally said, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder.

hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. you huffed a small laugh as well, stepping into the elevator. he followed, moving with that same effortless grace he always had, but now, it was weighed down by something heavier. something quieter.

the doors shut behind you, sealing you both in.

“so…” hyunjin turned slightly toward you, hands still in his pockets as he pressed for suho’s floor, then silently gestured to you. “you live here?”

you glanced at him. “yeah. 30.”

he nodded once, pressing the button, only a few floors under suho’s. “nice place.”

you let out a breathy laugh. “i like it.”

another silence. the kind that felt full, not empty.

the elevator lurched into motion, the hum of it filling the silence between you.

you were still too stunned by the fact that he was here—by the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he carried himself now—until your brain caught up with reality.

and then it hit you.

hyunjin. in your building.

hyunjin. the center of a scandal about sneaking around this exact place.

you blinked, your stomach dropping. oh, my god. you had literally just caught him red-handed.

“so,” he said casually, like he read your mind. “have you heard?”

you turned toward him fully, expression unreadable. “about you?”

he nodded once, tilting his head like he was gauging your reaction.

you hesitated, inhaling slowly before admitting, “i don’t wanna believe it. i mean, first of all, this building is the least likely for those sorts of things to happen.” you lowered your voice. “and second of all, i don’t think you’re that type of person, hyunjin.”

that made him smile a little—just a small, knowing curve of his lips. “don’t worry, the whole thing is bullshit.” he said. “i’ve been coming here to visit somebody, that’s why.”

your first thought was that he was here to visit a girlfriend.

you shifted your weight slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back against the cool elevator wall. “yeah, well… your type of fans get pretty worked up over dating,” you said, watching his reaction. “you're in a hard situation right now, then.”

hyunjin let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “oh, no, no,” he said quickly, lifting a hand. “i’m not dating.” he hesitated, glancing at you before scratching the back of his neck. “i’m visiting my friend. he’s, um… he’s very sick.”

your brows furrowed slightly, and you shifted your stance, watching him carefully. “oh,” you said softly. “i’m sorry.”

hyunjin shook his head, offering a small, tired smile. “it’s okay.”

“it must be a lot,” you said gently. “worrying about him while also dealing with… all of this.” you gestured vaguely, meaning the scandal.

hyunjin let out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but not quite. “yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “tell me about it.”

the elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open to your floor. you hesitated, glancing at hyunjin once more.

“for what it’s worth,” you said, voice soft, “i hope it gets better.”

hyunjin’s gaze lifted to yours.

“all of it.” you offered him a small smile, something reassuring. then, without thinking much about it, you reached out, fingers grazing his forearm in a light squeeze. “take care, okay?”

hyunjin didn’t move. he just watched as you stepped out.

the doors started to slide shut, and you expected that to be it. a strange, unexpected meeting with someone from your past. a memory to shake off by the time you reached your apartment.

but then, just before the doors could close completely, hyunjin moved.

his arm shot out, palm pressing against the door sensors. the panels jolted, beeping before sliding open again.

you turned back, surprised. the doors closed behind him, leaving him standing on your floor.

hyunjin exhaled before meeting your eyes.

“y/n,” he said, almost like it was something he hadn’t meant to say aloud. he hesitated, shifting his weight before finally sighing. “i don’t know when i’ll ever see you again.”

you blinked, caught completely off guard. “what?”

hyunjin let out a breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself either. then he laughed—just a little, under his breath, barely there. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “everything’s been... chaotic lately. it’s like i’m trying to hold everything together, but it just keeps slipping.”

you stared at him, your heart suddenly feeling too heavy in your chest. he was unraveling. right in front of you.

his voice dropped lower, raw with something you couldn’t place. “and now i’m here, standing in front of you, and i don’t even know why i stopped the elevator.”

you didn’t know either.

your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. hyunjin just looked at you, like he was waiting for something—like even he wasn’t sure what. then, hesitantly, he spoke again.

“i need help.”

your brows pulled together. his voice was quiet, careful, like he already expected you to say no.

“you don’t have to.” he added quickly, shaking his head. “i—i just need to ask.”

you swallowed. “what is it?”

hyunjin exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight like he was bracing himself. “i thought the idea was stupid at first,” he admitted, gaze flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. “but my friend—the one who’s sick—he brought it up.” 

a short, humorless laugh left his lips. 

“and then my bandmate actually thought it was a good idea…” he trailed off for a second, like he was trying to find the right words. “and then when you assumed i was dating someone. and it made me realize… maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing for people to believe”

you blinked.

your heart was beating too fast now, thoughts racing in a direction you weren’t sure you understood. “what do you need from me?”

hyunjin hesitated, glancing away for a brief moment before exhaling through his nose. “something to get people off my back. a distraction.” his voice was quieter now, almost careful. “something that makes all of this… easier.”

your heart skipped.

hyunjin was talking about fake dating.

“hyunjin… me?” your voice came out softer than you expected, laced with hesitation.

“i know,” he said quickly, nodding like he was already expecting you to refuse. “it’s crazy. i completely understand if this doesn’t work for you.” he let out a breath, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “i just—i need something to steer this in another direction. and if that’s not you, that’s okay.”

the idea was crazy.

it had been years since you last saw hyunjin. years since milan, since that night, since the two of you were anything more than strangers passing through each other’s lives. fake dating him now—while he was knee-deep in a scandal, while you had your own career to protect—was out of the question.

you swallowed, shaking your head slightly. “i’m sorry,” you said, voice gentle. “i just… i don’t think i can.”

hyunjin nodded immediately, offering a small, easy smile—like he was making sure you knew he wasn’t upset. “it’s okay,” he assured you, waving a hand. 

“but…” you started, and his eyes flicked back to yours instantly. you hesitated, the words sitting strange on your tongue. “maybe i could find someone else. in this building.”

his brows rose, not in shock exactly, but something close—like hope trying to disguise itself as confusion. “what?”

you shrugged, arms crossing over your chest, more out of self-preservation than defensiveness. “i mean… it’s a big place. lots of people. actors, influencers, whatever trust fund kid lives above me who walks like he’s stomping grapes.” you glanced at him. “if all you need is a name and a face to make this go away…”

he blinked. “you’d… do that?”

“i said i’d help,” you said simply. “just not by throwing myself into the middle of a press storm. but maybe i could talk to someone. convince them to play along. someone who doesn’t have as much riding on their image as i do.”

hyunjin went quiet for a moment, jaw flexing like he was trying to figure out how to respond without sounding ungrateful.

“that’d mean a lot,” he said finally, voice softer now. “i know this is already too much to ask.”

you shook your head before speaking. “give me your phone.”

hyunjin blinked, reaching into his pocket and handing it over unlocked. 

you quickly typed in your number, saving it under just your name, before handing it back. “i’ll do what i can,” you said simply, meeting his eyes.

hyunjin stared at the screen for a second, lips parting slightly before he looked back at you. something flickered behind his gaze—something unreadable, something deep. then, just barely, he smiled.

and in that moment, you realized how much this meant to him.

“thank you, y/n,”

hyunjin had been on your mind ever since that night.

at first, you told yourself it was just because of the shock—running into him after all these years, hearing his voice again, watching him stand in front of you, so vulnerable. but it wasn’t just that. it was what he’d said. it was what he needed. and it was what you needed, too.

because sangwoo was still a problem.

you remembered that night in your apartment, when he had dropped you off uninvited, standing too close, speaking too softly, looking at you like he already had what he wanted. you had panicked. and in that moment, out of pure fear and self-defense, you had told him you had a boyfriend.

you hadn’t.

but if you had hyunjin… maybe it wouldn’t have been a total lie.

so you thought about it. really thought about it.

would it be that bad?

you weren’t hated by the public. you had never been caught in a controversy, never had to deal with antis tearing you apart online. hyunjin’s fans were passionate, yes, but maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. maybe they’d even be nice.

and maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as crazy as it first seemed.

and that was why your fingers were hovering over your phone screen, your thumb grazing the call button for hyunjin.

you were sitting in the makeup chair between filming, the soft hum of conversation around you barely registering in your ears. your reflection in the mirror stared back at you—calm, composed—but inside, your mind was racing.

was this really the right move? would hyunjin even say yes?

you exhaled, lips pressing together as your hand tensed slightly around your phone. you just needed to do it. just press call. just—

“y/n.”

your heart stilled. you immediately locked your phone and lowered it onto your lap just as sangwoo stepped into view.

you noticed it immediately—the way he didn’t lean in too close, didn’t lower his voice to that sickly sweet tone that always made your skin crawl. he was keeping his distance, standing a respectful length away, his hands tucked casually in his pockets.

it was strange. 

you swallowed. “hi, sangwoo.”

for a second, you could only blink at him, waiting for the usual discomfort to creep in. but instead of anything suggestive, he just cleared his throat and gestured with his hand.

“about the next scene,” he started, his voice even, professional. “i was thinking—when you turn toward the window, maybe hold that beat a little longer before delivering your line? just for effect. it gives the moment more weight.”

sangwoo was a good actor with good feedback—you could never deny that—but he had never been this straightforward before. no unnecessary comments, no lingering stares, just an actual note on the scene.

you nodded, still a little cautious. “yeah, i can do that.”

and then, just like that, he walked off. you stared after him, your brain struggling to process whatever the hell that just was.

as soon as sangwoo disappeared past the set doors, it clicked.

your lips parted slightly in realization, a quiet breath leaving you as the pieces fell into place. it was because of what you told him that night in your apartment.

that you were taken.

that you were seeing someone.

your fingers curled around your phone, mind replaying the way he had backed off that night, the way he had barely even looked at you just now. the way he had spoken to you like a coworker—like a normal human being, without any of the usual tension or veiled insinuations.

it had to be that.

something about the idea of you being with someone had gotten to him, had actually made him keep his distance.

and god, you loved it.

you weren’t naïve enough to believe he had given up completely, but for now, this was enough. it was proof that the idea of a boyfriend had worked.

your fingers tapped against the back of your phone, mind racing.

if sangwoo was buying this whole boyfriend thing, then maybe… maybe you could take it further.

and just like that, an idea hit you.

your agency’s private event was nearing. a semi-exclusive event—actors, directors, executives, all gathering under one roof for an evening of networking and performances. 

and sangwoo would be there.

you knew it, because he never missed a chance to be seen, to shake hands, to remind everyone in the industry that he was the kang sangwoo.

what better place to show him?

your grip on your phone tightened, your thumb barely brushing over hyunjin’s name. this wasn’t about just scaring sangwoo off for the night—this was about cementing the idea in his head. if you showed up with someone—if it looked convincing—then maybe, just maybe, he’d finally stop pushing the boundaries with you.

your thumb hovered over hyunjin’s contact again.

he needed someone. you needed someone.

and for the first time, the idea of fake dating didn’t seem like such a bad one after all.

that night, you curled up on your couch, legs tucked under you, fingers resting lightly against your phone screen. the city lights outside cast a dim glow through your windows, flickering softly against the walls.

you were gonna do it.

after an entire day of thinking—of weighing every single risk, every possible consequence—you’d made up your mind.

your thumb hovered over hyunjin’s contact for only a second before you pressed down, bringing the phone to your ear.

it rang once. twice.

you bit your lip, heart pounding.

then—

“hello?”

his voice was smooth, low, like honey warmed over. a little breathless, like he hadn’t expected your call but was already settling into it. you could hear the faint rustling of fabric, the soft click of something being set down.

you inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sound normal. “hi, hyunjin. are you in the building?”

there was a pause. then the quiet rustling of movement, like he was getting comfortable. “not tonight, sorry,” he murmured. “what’s up? you wanna talk?”

you exhaled slowly. “i’ve been thinking about it. what you asked me the other night.”

another pause. 

“mhm.”

your lips parted slightly, nervousness creeping up your throat. “i couldn’t find you someone to help you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

silence.

hyunjin didn’t respond, but you could feel him listening. waiting.

so you swallowed, pushed past the last bit of doubt, and finally said it.

“but i could.”

hyunjin was quiet for a moment, and for a second, you almost thought you’d imagined the whole conversation. 

“yeah? you could?”

his voice was soft, tired, but there was something else underneath it. hope. a quiet, careful kind of hope.

you swallowed. “yeah.”

a breath left him, barely audible through the speaker. “y/n,” he said slowly, “you don’t have to. i mean it.” his tone was gentle, careful. “don’t feel pressured. you know that, right?”

you nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see you.

“i mean, you’ve got your own life. your career. i don’t want to—” he exhaled, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, brows furrowed in thought. “i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

you took a breath, steadying yourself. “i know, hyunjin. but i have my reasons too.”

he was quiet, letting you continue.

“if we do this… i might need something as well,” you admitted, gripping the edge of your couch. 

he spoke again almost immediately. “y/n, i would do anything to give back to you.”

your breath caught. your eyes widened slightly, your stomach tightening at his words. the way he said it sent something warm rushing through you.

his voice softened, barely a whisper, as if to coax you. “tell me, y/n.”

you hesitated, nerves fluttering in your chest. you were suddenly aware of how much you were about to share with him—something raw, something you'd never told anyone before. his words, though, made you trust him in a way you hadn’t expected.

“you felt comfortable enough to tell me about... everything," you began, your voice quiet and unsure, "so i think it’s time i tell you something too.”

there was a pause on the other end. he didn’t interrupt, just waited.

you swallowed hard, the weight of what you were about to say pressing against your chest. “but, you need to promise me something first. you have to keep this quiet, hyunjin. i’ve never told anyone before.”

his response was immediate, earnest. “i promise, y/n. whatever it is, i’ll keep it between us.”

your heart beat faster, a lump forming in your throat. you could feel the words struggling to come out, the truth, the vulnerability that would finally be shared with someone else. 

“there’s someone on set,” you started, voice wavering. “a coworker and i...”

the words caught in your throat. you hadn’t even realized how much you needed to say this out loud to someone until now.

“i’ve been dealing with him for a while now," you took a deep breath and tried again. “and the worst part is, no one sees it. everything thinks it’s just normal workplace tension, but it’s not. not for me."

hyunjin stayed silent on the other end, giving you the space to speak, but you could feel him listening intently, like every word mattered.

"he doesn’t do anything... bad enough to report. not in a way that’s obvious to everyone. it’s the little things and that’s what makes it so hard to deal with."

you took a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried to keep your composure.

“and i—” you paused, swallowing hard. “i’m lying to him right now, hyunjin. to keep him away. i told him i’m seeing someone. and for now, it seems to be working, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you could say it aloud. “i don’t know how long it’ll last before he figures out i’m not.”

“so you need me.” it wasn’t a question, but a statement. hyunjin’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

you nodded slowly, trying to keep your thoughts straight. "yeah,”

“listen, i’ve got you, okay?” he said, his voice unwavering. “if you want me to talk to someone, i can. whatever you need, y/n.”

you paused for a moment before speaking again. “well, there's an event coming up, and he'll be there. just me showing up with someone might be enough to get him off my back."

“of course,” hyunjin responded. 

you let out a small breath, looking down. “i know my situation isn’t as serious as yours. my career’s safe, with or without your help. i could still help you, though—without expecting anything in return.”

hyunjin was quiet for a moment. then his voice came through, soft but strong, cutting through the doubt that was building inside you. “no, y/n. this is serious. it’s personal, and it matters. your peace of mind matters. what you’re dealing with is important too.” there was a sharpness to his words, a protective edge. “don’t diminish it, okay? ”

you didn’t know what to say to that, but hearing him say it felt like the weight of everything had been lifted just a little bit. you hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear those words until now.

you closed your eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. “thank you, hyunjin,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his reassurance settle in your chest.

there was a pause before he spoke again, his voice quiet but sincere. “no,” he said softly, “thank you. for helping me, for trusting me with this.”

you took a deep breath, the nerves creeping back in. “so... are we doing this?” you asked, your voice hopeful.

hyunjin let out a light laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “i guess so,” he replied, his voice more relaxed now. “i’ll bring it up when i meet with my company again.”

there was a slight pause before he added, his tone turning more serious, “you should really tell your company about your coworker, y/n. even if you think it won’t help, it might. you deserve to be heard.”

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, silently agreeing with him. the weight of the situation felt a little less heavy.

you let out a quiet breath, rolling your lips together as you mulled over his words. “i’ll think about it,” you murmured. it wasn’t a promise, but it was something.

hyunjin hummed in response, and you could hear the faint smile in his voice. “that’s all i ask.”

for a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of the city outside your window, the warmth of his presence lingering through the phone. then, out of nowhere, he let out a small chuckle—low, amused.

your brows furrowed. “what?”

his laughter deepened slightly, rich and familiar, like he was suddenly remembering something fond. “nothing,” he said, but the teasing lilt in his voice betrayed him.

you narrowed your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. “hyunjin.”

he exhaled through his nose, clearly holding back another laugh. “it’s just…” he trailed off for a second before finally saying it. “donatella’s gonna flip the fuck out.”

heat rushed to your face instantly. “stop, hyunjin.” you groaned. 

he just kept laughing, and despite yourself, despite the absolute chaos of both your lives, a giggle bubbled up in your chest. before you knew it, you were both laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like forever. for just a second, you weren’t two people desperately trying to fix the mess around you—you were just hyunjin and y/n again.

and maybe, just maybe, this whole thing wouldn’t be so bad.

for something that was supposed to be a last resort, a desperate attempt to save his ass, the company sure took the fake dating idea and ran with it like it was their best plan since debuting him in the first place.

the meeting had barely started before someone clapped his hands together and went, “brilliant. let’s do it.” no hesitation. no deliberation.

“you mean… that’s it?” hyunjin had asked, blinking across the table at the team of executives who were already drafting up pr statements like this was just another tuesday.

one of them looked up from his notes. “would you like it to be more difficult?”

well. no.

now everything was out. the plan was in motion. and the most ridiculous part? it was actually working.

for what?

for a scandal that wasn’t even his fault? for a rumor that had spiraled so far out of control that even he was starting to think maybe he had secret business with prostitutes?

but it didn’t matter anymore, when the hashtags switched overnight from #hyunjin to #hyunyn. creative, truly.

and now, instead of dealing with conspiracy theories about his alleged involvement in illegal activities, hyunjin’s biggest problem was that people were debating whether you two had secretly been together for months or weeks. ironically, some said since milan fashion week. others thought you two were secretly cousins (what did that even mean?).

frankly, he didn’t care.

because at the end of the day, the narrative had shifted, and he could finally breathe.

which was why he had just been able to spend the afternoon with suho without sneaking in through some underground garage like he was smuggling state secrets.

it almost felt too easy. and he had you to thank for that. 

hyunjin exhaled as he leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers drop. a few floors down. that was all it took to go from suho’s penthouse to your apartment.

he hadn’t talked to you much since everything blew up. you were on set when it happened, and the one short call you managed was mostly just: wow, that was fast. okay, i have to go, but we’ll talk later.

except “later” never really came, and now he felt kind of bad about it.

so here he was. standing outside your door, clutching a small bag with a necklace he wasn’t even sure you’d like. which, honestly, was his own fault. he had almost bought one from versace—one of those statement pieces with the huge, flashy charms. it felt right at the time. you were an ambassador for the brand, after all. it made sense.

but then, mid-purchase, his brain caught up.

you probably already had this. he could literally picture it—your jewelry drawer stacked with versace pieces you got for free while he was out here about gift you something that would be redundant at best and embarrassing at worst.

so, in a rare moment of good decision-making, he backtracked and went for something else. a van cleef & arpels necklace. dainty, understated. 

it felt more you.

…or at least, he hoped it did.

he didn’t know why he got a necklace. maybe as a thank you. maybe because he thought it’d suit you. maybe because he was a little in over his head with whatever this was, and buying pretty things for you felt… normal.

either way, it was too late to back out now.

hyunjin raised a hand and knocked. and then, because his brain worked after his body, he noticed the doorbell.

oh.

his hand hovered toward it before he realized how weird that was. what kind of psycho knocks and then rings the doorbell immediately after? 

so he just stood there, wondering if you heard him at all. or if you were even home. 

he was just about to start overthinking again when the door swung open, cutting off his spiral entirely.

“hi, hyunjin,” you greeted with a small smile.

and for a second, he just stared. because—god, you were so pretty. the kind of pretty that looked effortless, like you had just stepped out of a movie. which was a stupid thought because, well, you were literally an actress. of course, you looked like that.

still. it didn’t make it any less unfair.

“hi, y/n,” he said, clearing his throat a little, hoping he wasn’t visibly dazed.

you tilted your head slightly. “what are you doing here?” before he could answer, you stepped aside, gesturing him in. “come in.”

he did, stepping into your apartment as you closed the door behind him. the space was cozy, warmer than he expected, even though he didn’t know what exactly he had expected.

“i was just, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words. “visiting my friend again. and i figured i’d stop by.”

your lips curled slightly, amused. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he exhaled a small laugh. “i’ve actually been coming quite often now—thanks to you.”

“i’m glad it’s working out for you,” you said, leaning against the back of your couch as you watched him.

hyunjin studied you for a second before tilting his head. “how about you?”

he already knew the answer before you even spoke. he could see it. you looked lighter—your shoulders weren’t as tense, your smile wasn’t as forced. you were beaming so much more than the last time he saw you, and it was obvious. the change suited you.

and maybe you noticed the same about him, too.

you exhaled, shaking your head slightly as if you couldn’t believe it yourself. “it’s been… great. a lot better.”

hyunjin raised an eyebrow, wordlessly urging you to continue.

you smiled a little. “for a second, i thought i was starting to lose my edge. i almost lost my love for being on set. but now it’s good. i feel like i can actually breathe now.”

hyunjin nodded, his expression softening. he knew that feeling all too well.

“that’s great, y/n.” his voice was genuine, warm, and maybe even a little proud. “really.”

his eyes were softer than usual, and the way he was looking at you made your stomach do a little flip.

“i got you something.” he lifted it slightly before handing it over.

“what is it?” you asked, taking the bag and gently pulling out the box. your fingers brushed against the smooth material as you lifted the lid, and inside was something that made your breath catch.

it was a necklace—elegant and so you. the delicate chain had a small pendant that caught the light, the kind of subtle beauty that you would have picked out for yourself. you looked up at him, surprised. “hyunjin, you really didn’t have to…”

but he was already smiling. “i thought you’d like it.”

your fingers lightly traced the necklace, and your eyes caught his again. “i love it.”

his brain suddenly snapped into action—that’s your cue to put it on for her, you dumb nut. hyunjin cleared his throat, raising his hand in a small gesture. with a small smile, you pulled the necklace from the box and held it out to him.

his fingers brushed against yours as he took it—light, barely there, but enough to send something weird and electric shooting through his chest. he ignored it. he wasn’t about to turn this into some rom-com slow-motion moment.

…except that’s exactly what it felt like when you turned around, exposing the curve of your neck.

hyunjin swallowed, hard.

he carefully brought the necklace over your head, moving so gently you almost didn’t feel it. hyunjin’s fingers barely brushed against your skin as he adjusted the chain, careful, deliberate. he was close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, close enough that if you turned your head even slightly, you’d—nope. not going there.

his voice, low and smooth, broke through the charged silence. “so… when’s this event i’m going to?”

you swallowed, willing yourself to sound normal. “um. next week. friday night.”

he hummed, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck as he fastened the clasp. “dress code?”

your lips parted slightly, mind blank for a second before you forced out, “formal.”

hyunjin chuckled, the sound barely above a whisper but somehow sending a ripple through you. “good to know.”

the necklace was secured, but neither of you moved just yet.

your fingers curled around the edge of the counter, trying to focus on anything other than how close he still was. “you don’t have to stay the whole time. just showing up with me should be enough.”

hyunjin didn’t step back.

not yet.

“i don’t mind staying,” he murmured, his voice softer now, like he wasn’t just talking about the event anymore.

his hand lingered near your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he stayed just a little too close. and then—suddenly, like the thought had just hit him—he exhaled, like he was trying to shake something off.

“sorry, i’m just—” hyunjin stopped himself, his hand now resting on the back of his neck, fingers gripping at the studs of his hair like he was trying to physically ground himself.

your heart stuttered.

he had moved back, but the air between you was still thick, charged with something neither of you wanted to name. you turned your head slightly, eyes flickering up to meet his.

you swallowed. “it’s fine.”

fine? how could you tell yourself this was fine?

you should’ve wanted to step back. you should’ve felt that creeping discomfort, that instinct to put space between you the way you always did when sangwoo leaned in too close.

but with hyunjin, you didn’t move. you didn’t want to move.

your breath was still uneven, but not from fear. just from him. you didn’t know what to make of that. all you knew was that there was something about hyunjin—something that felt different, that felt safe.

hyunjin’s gaze flickered to your lips for a split second—so fast, so fleeting, you might have imagined it. but you knew you didn’t. hyunjin didn’t move, but his eyes were asking something. and you answered. a small nod, barely there, but enough.

hyunjin’s hand was already moving before you could fully process it. it was slow, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t. his palm cupped your cheek, thumb grazing the soft skin beneath your eye. 

you could feel the air thinning between you two. and then, just as he leaned in, as the space between your lips and his vanished—

rrrring.

the shrill sound of his phone shattered everything.

hyunjin froze, lips barely an inch away from yours, his breath hitching before he pulled back, looking utterly frustrated. his hand quickly fell away from your face, and his lips twisted into a tight grimace.

he muttered, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “it’s my dorm mate.”

your chest tightened as you blinked, still in shock. what the hell just happened? you almost kissed the guy you swore you would never see again. the one-night stand that was supposed to be just that—one night. and your fake boyfriend who was meant to be fake.

hyunjin cleared his throat, pressing the phone to his ear. “hey, changbin.”

you tried not to look too relieved, even as your heart pounded.

“yeah, i’m at… y/n’s place,” he continued, avoiding your gaze. “just talking. about stuff.”

silence. you could practically feel changbin narrowing his eyes through the phone.

hyunjin scratched the back of his neck, finally glancing at you. “yeah, i’ll be over in a bit.”

another pause, then a clipped, “alright, take care.”

hyunjin exhaled, rubbing his forehead. he stood there, tense, like he’d been caught in something he wasn’t supposed to be part of. “sorry about that,” he muttered. “i have to go.”

you nodded, pretending the air between you wasn’t still charged.

hyunjin hesitated, then sighed. “i���look, i’m sorry. about this. about almost—” he stopped, shaking his head. “we probably need to set some boundaries. you’re… you know. and i’m… yeah. we’ll talk about it, okay?”

your lips pressed together, but you nodded again. “of course,” you repeated, even though neither of you were really sure what this was, or what those so-called boundaries even meant.

he stood there for a second longer, like he wanted to say something else. like maybe he was about to change his mind about leaving altogether. but then he straightened up, pushing a hand through his hair before muttering, “i’ll come pick you up tomorrow for the meeting.”

you stood up, moving on autopilot as you walked to the door and pulled it open for him. hyunjin hesitated for just a second, but then he gave you a small nod and stepped out.

the door clicked shut behind him.

silence.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, before leaning back against the door, your head lightly thudding against the wood. your fingers drifted up, brushing over the delicate pendant resting against your collarbone. 

what the hell just happened?

the wind tugged at your hair as you stood outside, waiting. you weren’t even sure why you were nervous—it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen hyunjin since the moment. it had been two days, a few texts exchanged here and there, but nothing significant. nothing that acknowledged that charged, almost-mistake hanging between you.

but then, a sleek black car rolled up in front of you, all polished edges and tinted windows, and your stomach did this stupid little flip. the door swung open, and there he was. hyunjin stepped out, in a black sweater that had been handcrafted by versace herself, and a pair of shades. he didn’t say anything at first, just opened the car door for you.

you blinked up at him. “oh, so we’re being all fancy now?”

he barely fought off a smirk, tilting his head toward the car like, get in already.

so you did, sliding into the backseat. before you could even get comfortable, he followed, shutting the door behind him. the car settled into a quiet hum as the driver pulled away.

hyunjin cleared his throat. “how’ve you been?”

“good,” you said, nodding like this wasn’t a little awkward. “busy with filming.”

he nodded back, and then his gaze dropped slightly, his lips curling up into a tiny, knowing smile.

you frowned. “what?”

he pointed lazily at your collarbone. “you’re still wearing it.”

you blinked, looking down—and oh. the four-leaf clover pendant sat against your collarbone, resting against your skin like it had never left.

you smiled, twirling it between your fingers. “i’m not allowed to have it on set, but i always put it on after.”

hyunjin didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his smile softening as he bit his lower lip. his whole expression warmed like the sun had just come out.

you shifted in your seat, trying to push down the nervous energy buzzing in your stomach. “so, should i be nervous about this?” you asked, your gaze flickering to the tinted windows as if the city outside could distract you from the fact that you were headed to a meeting with his company. 

hyunjin chuckled, leaning back a little in his seat. “no, don’t be. you’ll be fine. and i’ll be there the whole time.” 

he gave you a reassuring smile, but there was an extra twinkle in his eyes that made you wonder if he was being just a little bit too relaxed about all of this.

the meeting passed quicker than you expected, and before you knew it, the room was filled with the soft shuffle of papers and the clink of laptops being closed.

hyunjin immediately turned toward you with a grin, clearly pleased with how things had gone. “so, now that that’s over, how about a tour of the building?” he asked, his tone light but genuine. “i can show you where i spent most of my time while i was a teenager.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious. “alright, lead the way.”

hyunjin’s grin widened as he gestured for you to follow him, his steps light as he led you through the building. the halls were lined with sleek, modern design—clean lines, glass walls, and an almost intimidating level of organization. he seemed at ease in the space, walking with purpose as if he had done it a thousand times.

every so often, he would point out something—a particular room or area—and share little anecdotes about his time there.

“you know, back in the day, trainees used to hang around the hallways, hoping to bump into an idol passing by. i definitely did that way too many times.”

“have you seen it happen?” you teased.

he raised an eyebrow, smirking. “maybe once or twice. but i always knew when they were lurking around. i had my own tricks too.” he winked before leading you toward a door at the end of the hall.

“this is the room i spent most of my time in,” he said, swinging open the door to reveal a simple but spacious practice room. the lights flickered on automatically as he entered, casting the room in a soft glow.

you stepped inside, looking around. the mirrors lined the wall, the floor clear for dancing, and there was a large couch shoved in the corner. you moved toward the couch, sitting down with a small sigh. 

hyunjin stood there for a moment, watching you with a smile before he joined you. he sat down beside you, but his leg was just barely touching yours, and for some reason, it made the room feel even smaller.

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small grin on his face. “so, what do you think? not bad, right?”

you looked around again, the walls still covered in reminders of his hard work. "i like it," you said, smiling back at him. "it feels like the kind of space where countless dreams have been shaped."

hyunjin nodded, his eyes lighting up. "and what about you? what was it like trying to be an actress?"

“i’ve always known what i wanted. i started quite young actually,” you leaned back slightly, hands resting on your lap as you considered his question. "and it’s…different cause i mean, i don’t have to perform on stage or anything. but you’re always expected to bring the character to life, make it feel real."

he nodded, clearly interested. "so, you go off-script a lot?"

"all the time," you said, shrugging. "you can’t always stick to the lines. sometimes i have to adapt, improvise when the scene goes in a direction i didn’t expect."

hyunjin smiled. "that sounds pretty hard. i mean, we don’t get much room to improvise in the same way—everything’s planned out down to the smallest detail in a performance."

"yeah, it’s definitely different," you said, smiling softly. "but i like it.”

he nodded again, his gaze still on you, but this time, there was something else there—something like admiration. 

your heart skipped a beat, your chest tight with that familiar, fluttery feeling that seemed to hit you every time he got too close, every time his eyes stayed on you a little too long. you caught yourself thinking how ridiculously pretty he was, his lips too perfect. you hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until you exhaled slowly, like your lungs couldn’t handle this much hyunjin in one go.

he was sitting next to you, his knee just barely touching yours, and every time he smiled, you felt a new pang in your chest. you could feel his gaze on you, the way his eyes were tracing the line of your lips like he was somehow as transfixed as you were.

"what?" you asked, your voice coming out a little more flustered than you meant it to. 

he blinked, a slight shift in his expression before his lips curled into a small, sheepish smile. "nothing," he said, but his voice was too soft, too warm for it to feel like an empty response.

and then, it happened. the moment where it all clicked. hyunjin's eyes flickered down to your lips again, that damn glimmer in his eyes making your pulse spike. it was like a game at this point, a silent back-and-forth where he wasn’t backing down, and neither were you.

he’s asking for it.

the thought echoed in your brain before you even realized it was happening. your body moved before you could think, leaning in just the slightest inch... and there it was.

you kissed him.

his lips were so soft, so warm against yours, and you felt your heart race as he kissed you back instantly, as though he’d been waiting for that moment just as much as you had. hyunjin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. 

everything in you craved more. you shouldn’t want this. you shouldn’t be here, in this moment, with him so close that you could practically feel every inch of his body against yours. but you did. and you couldn’t help it.

your hands moved on their own, sliding up his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. his fingers dug lightly into the small of your back, urging you even closer. it wasn’t okay, not by any standard. it was just him, and you, and the undeniable pull that seemed to have existed between you two since the very first second he stepped into your life.

your breath hitched as you finally pulled away, but he didn’t let go. his lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth, the soft brush of them against your skin as his breath mingled with yours.

“does this feel familiar to you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the words almost a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. 

you could feel the question reverberating in your chest. italy. that night. the one you hadn’t been able to forget, the one that haunted the back of your mind every time you saw him. you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too exposed.

he didn’t kiss you again. instead, his nose gently bumped against yours, his breath warm and soft against your lips. he was hovering there, touching but not pressing, and it was driving you mad. every time his lips ghosted over yours, it felt like an electric jolt, like he was pulling something out of you, some kind of desperation you’d been hiding deep down.

you closed your eyes for a second, trying to control your thoughts, but it was impossible. he was so close. you didn’t know how to pull back when everything inside you was pushing you closer to him.

your chest felt too tight, like you couldn’t get enough air, like you were drowning in him. the warmth of his body, the way his lips barely ghosted over yours—it was too much, he was too much. you wanted him so badly it was dizzying, overwhelming in a way that made your head spin.

but this wasn’t real. it wasn’t supposed to be real.

this was a fake relationship. a cover-up. you weren’t catching feelings. you weren’t.

one kiss couldn’t do that to you. it was just heat, just tension, just a mistake waiting to happen. and if you let yourself sink into it, if you let yourself forget the boundaries, you were going to screw everything up.

you forced yourself to swallow, to push down the lump rising in your throat, but it must have shown on your face because hyunjin suddenly pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning yours.

“what’s wrong, y/n?” his voice was soft. his hands were still resting on you, still holding you close, but his grip had loosened, giving you space to breathe.

and that was the problem. you didn’t want space. but you needed it.

you exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning forward, resting your head against his shoulder. the moment you did, his body relaxed beneath you, and his hand came up, settling gently against your back.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t move. he just held you there, warm and patient, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in the smallest, most grounding motion.

and maybe you needed that more than you realized.