All I Want For Christmas Is Being Creampied By Sunghoon 🙏

all i want for christmas is being creampied by sunghoon 🙏

I TOUCHED A VASE | p.sh

STARRING: potter!Park Sunghoon x florist!fem!reader

RUNTIME: 7.7k

SYNOPSIS: Your relationship with Sunghoon was strictly professional, albeit amicable. He would create beautiful ceramic vases that you'd commission for your display, and you supplied him with a collection of seeds he’d use to grow his own personal garden on his balcony. Sunghoon always felt like the two of you were walking around a glass vase that would break with a single wrong step, but sometimes he feels like he needs to make that first step into finally knocking it over.

GENRE: Romance, some levels of angst, magical realism, soulmates!au

WARNINGS: PG13+ | Slight mentions of familial death

DIRECTOR'S CUT: Another @/dhoya repost because I couldn't let this one go. Made minor changes here and there, and in a way, this was a little bit of a warmup when I initially wrote it like two years ago. I'll be producing shorter works called "short films" which will mostly be my writing warmups to take a break from my longer works. Expect more soon (i.e. Birds of Paradise Sunoo but imo that's gonna be refurbished into a full longfic because there's so much lore). Who knows? This might be refurbished into a longfic someday, but I have my priorities and I'll complete them accordingly before expanding on this one.

The place where Sunghoon feels the most ease is in his studio. The low hums of the pottery wheels reverberated across the vast emptiness of his four white walls as he continued to shape his recent work. A string of sighs escaped his lips as he continued to dirty his fingernails with the smooth batter of clay. He’s shaped a myriad of ceramics, but his fingers can never be satisfied. Did he put too much clay? Was it not enough? Is the shape suitable for the design he thought of painting?

He was always a perfectionist—even more so after meeting you.

Dates were never something he bothered to remember unless they had to do with his job. He was quite terrible with birthdays, but he always had specific exhibitions and showcases etched on the back of his head. Sunghoon has always surrounded himself with the earthy smell of clay to the point where he didn’t bother leaving his studio for trivial matters such as restocking his endless cupboard of instant food. He was a man that breathed his craft to a dangerous degree—and if it meant sacrificing some basic necessities, he didn’t mind.

The same went for romantic partners. He wasn’t too big on love like many artists, and he’d go as far as to say pottery was his first love. Ever since feasting his eyes on the pristine porcelain finish of a Joseon Dynasty vase, he devoted his life to perfecting his skill as a potter that upheld tradition. He was aware of his appearance and charm, considering how many exhibition patrons lined up to say a word or two to him. Some of them caught his eye, but his innate stoicism took over, often dismissing these encounters with a humble smile.

The date was an event that he had tattooed on his upper forearm. 23.12.08. Ironically, it was his own birthday, but that wasn’t the first thing that came into his mind when he looks upon the Korean characters on his arm.

How he hasn’t made a major move since two years of meeting you completely baffled him. After all, he was a smart talker. He was quite confident in his stride, and he carried himself well. It was one of the biggest reasons why he had regulars in his little shop—he won them over with each sales pitch, a cup of warm tea, and an inviting grin. Sure, he often disregarded his patrons as mere customers that would pay his rent, but he knew they thought otherwise.

He wasn’t too sure, but a growing part of him began to convince himself that it was the opposite when it came to you.

His first meeting with you was when his doorbell rang three times. It was a moody afternoon, and the clouds were grayer than his current concoction of loose clay. He was in the middle of creating the last batch of ceramics for another showcase he was invited to, so he considered anything outside of his work on this particular day an interruption. In times like these, he tuned everything in his environment out—focusing his entirety on nothing but his craft. It was an automatic process of fishing out wet clay and shaping it with the wheel until he gets the shape that he wants. Sometimes it would take a few spins, but it would often take him the whole day to stop himself from overworking the clay—even then, he never went too far. Clay dried out quite quickly, and he was more than willing to sacrifice artistic integrity for efficiency.

He was a quiet worker, so it was natural for him to ignore the doorbell. The shop was usually closed for a long period of time when he was working on a set of exhibition pieces, and today was such a day. However, the doorbell continued to ring until its whiny chimes were replaced with light knocks on the door.

“Hello? I know you’re in there, Park-ssi. Please let me in or these flowers will die.”

His head jerked up in annoyance. He didn’t mind sociability, but he didn’t like disruption in any form.

Despite the mildly aggressive tone, he didn’t hear any malicious intent in the voice outside of his door. For the loud motors of his electric pottery wheel, the voice was audibly loud and clear.

“Come in, the door’s unlocked.”

Sunghoon had a bad habit of keeping the doors to both his shop and studio unlocked. It used to be convenient, but ever since making a name for himself, it became a huge problem. He’d often be met with the pushy demeanor of his so-called “fans” that asked him about his private life more than his work.

The click of the door was completely drowned by the hums of the pottery wheel as he continued to spin his craft. He didn’t bother to look behind him since his priorities lay in perfecting the shape of a vase he was planning to showcase at the exhibit. While he was known for reviving traditional Chinese porcelain pottery, he decided to fuse the intricacies of its painted finish with a futuristic, angular shape. After all, even he found it boring to stick to the same thing—no matter how beautiful a classic, old-fashioned design can be.

After what felt like hours, he took the weight of his foot off of the wheel’s pedal. The quick gears of the wheel’s motors stopped in a second, engulfing the entire empty studio in sheer silence. A satisfied hum escaped his lips as he admired his new vase. It wasn’t anything special, but visualizing how he’d paint it gave him a burst of energy that recharged him instantly.

“That looks like it’s gonna be a nice vase! I’m sure it will look good with these flowers!”

This time, he jerked his head towards the voice, almost dropping what he spent the entire day working on. He couldn’t tell the age of the person in front of him, but there was a unique glow that surrounded you as you held a basket full of flowers tight. At the time, he placed the blame on the marmalade hues of the afternoon skies, but now he begs to differ. Maybe you truly had an innate brilliance to you.

He held his clay-ridden palm in the air before jogging towards the large glass window of the studio. In front of it was a bundle of flattened newspapers laid out with an assortment of plain, ceramic vases that bathed under the spring sun. He made some space for the vase in his hand, and then gently placed it next to a spherical clay sculpture. Once he was done, he haphazardly took his apron off, throwing it on top of a nearby chair.

“My hands are a bit of a mess right now, but who are you, and why are you here?”

He did his best not to touch anything. You placed the basket on a table by the glass window, making sure the sun’s rays hit each petal.

“I’m a florist. A woman named Madame Mo stopped by and told me to deliver these to you since it was your birthday. She said she would’ve done it herself, but her duties as a so-called “socialite” eventually won her over.”

There was a hint of disdain in your voice as you continued to describe Madame Mo—which was something he somewhat empathized with. Madame Mo was someone who was aware of her “old money” privileges amongst the Korean elite, and she had an air of haughtiness to her—as if she could buy Sunghoon whole. He felt bad for her status as a widow and understood—to some degree—her overbearing attraction towards him, but customers were dealt with professionally. It’s not like he’d go for her if the circumstances allowed it, but he would’ve allowed her to at least be his friend.

A drawn-out, monotonous hum escaped his lips. He completely forgot about his own birthday. He also forgot that there was a flower shop near his studio. As if you saw right through him, you tried to stifle a laugh.

“Working on your birthday sure seems tough.” You said, admiring the bouquet that you picked out for him. “I usually take a day off on my birthdays, unless funeral-related orders happen to be on the same day as my anniversary on this planet.”

You gave him a warm smile, and he felt his heart race. He couldn’t wrap a finger around it, but there was a strong magnetism in your presence that pulled him towards you. At the time, he attributed it to your face and occupation—you had the features of a person he’d find extremely attractive, and you were in the same field as him to some degree. Aesthetics were an integral part of both of your occupations, and so he was aware of beauty when he saw it.

He cleared his throat, finding ways to make you stay. His eyes scanned through a shelf of vases he’s made for himself.

“It’s my birthday, huh?” He mumbled. He already had a scenario in mind—being the idealist that he is. The only thing that bothered him was the execution. Even if he loathed social gatherings and after-parties, he was thankful that they helped him foster his charisma through sheer trial and error.

Your eyes followed where he stared and admired his craft. A sigh of awe echoed in the studio, bouncing off of all the walls that encased his artistic outlet.

“Do you want me to help you transfer the flowers to one of those vases or something?”

His eyes widened as he snapped his head in your direction. You were now beside him, eyeing each vase with a pensive gaze. There was a telepathic wire that connected your brain to his, and it took some time for him to realize that it has always been there from the start.

Nonetheless, things were going the way he pictured it. In a common occurrence, expectations never match up with reality—what unfolded right before his eyes was too good to be true.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” He replied, swallowing a stutter that was emerging from his throat. “Also, can you help me pick a vase? I only make them, so I don’t know what type of flowers can complement the design and whatnot.”

You beamed with an infectious joy that day, which he inferred to as the “artist’s pursuit of happiness”. It was every artist’s pride to share their expertise, skill, and knowledge with any audience, no matter how big or small. He was well aware of this, being a victim of the phenomenon himself.

The two of you stayed in his studio until night. Before you said goodbye, he offered you a glass or two of Chianti from his vast collection of wine in the kitchen cupboard while you sat on his balcony outside of the large glass windows. You suggested ordering a cake as a celebratory gesture, but he gently declined, saying that he wouldn’t be able to finish it on his own. He liked that you were careful whenever you opened the glass sliding door that led to the balcony, with each step memorizing the positions of the drying ceramics laid out right beside the window. He also liked that you wished him a happy birthday throughout your time together, even when you’ve just met him.

Sunghoon never allowed anyone to touch his unfinished work, but that day he let you assist him in firing up the remaining pots he needed to complete his exhibition pieces. Of course, he didn’t tell you this, but what he did tell you was that you had a good eye for color. There was a humility in you accepting his compliment, but he also admired the layered sense of achievement that slipped out of you as you continued to share how anthology naturally broadened your grasp on color theory.

When you said goodbye at his door, he promised to see you at your flower shop the next day—even if he didn’t have any interest in gardening. He doesn’t regret this though, since he’s learned to appreciate growing his own flowers throughout the two years he’s known her.

Since then, he formed an unbroken routine with her. He’d often visit your flower shop to ask for seeds and fertilizers, while you commissioned vases for him to use as a display for your flowers. When he had the time for it, he’d offer to teach you how to make and paint your own vases, while you would return the favor by showing him the art of flower arrangement. It was an almost daily occurrence for him to walk into your shop, even when he had more than enough tools to expand his newfound hobby.

“Didn’t you buy a kilogram of fertilizer yesterday?” You asked one day with a light chuckle while spraying a bouquet of roses with water. He did his best to regain his composure and told you that he forgot. That was the first time you came to his house for the sole purpose of giving him a crash course on gardening. A part of him felt guilty that you offered more than he did when it came to your respective fields, but another part of him took every chance he had to spend time with her. This, in turn, formed a part of his routine with her—where you would visit him to check on the flowers he began growing at the edge of his studio’s balcony.

Some days, you’d come to the studio with a sketchbook, and the two of you would spend your time together in comfortable silence. Ever since you taught him the language of flowers, the two of you began to switch roles in the still-life sessions that you shared together. He would pick which flower he wanted to draw that day, and you matched it up by picking a vase from his array of fine works that would benefit the vast collections of your shop.

Usually, he’d end up eating dinner with you with a glass of wine, often dropping you off at home. The silent walks under the dim street lamps were the best and worst parts of his days with you. While he was able to stay close to you, he would never get the courage to either hold your hand or tell you how he felt.

He’d religiously invite you to every single showcase he attended, even going as far as to offer you a job to help decorate each venue with your floral prowess. Two years had passed since he first tried to persuade you to come with him to an auction, but you still managed to shy away from these events.

This was another thing he liked about you.

In fact, there were too many things he liked about you. The way your eyes would shine under the fluorescent lights of his studio; the way your nimble fingers cut the stem off of his flowers; the way your footsteps lightly trudged whenever you drank too much wine—the list would be endless.

Perhaps his status as a renowned potter shaped his personality today, but he’s begun to realize that it wasn’t a good thing regarding his qualms with you. For one, he was too careful. He treated you like fine China, nimbly avoiding hazards that would tip what he currently has with you off and break all that he’s built with you up to now. He was too afraid to ruin the delicate details of everything that made his relationship with you so beautiful—so he left it untouched, only walking around the hypothetical vase between the two of you.

Another thing he dreaded was how difficult you were to read. In the same way that he treated his patrons with charismatic benevolence, you greeted every single customer with a bright, inviting smile. You shared your knowledge of flowers with regulars the same way you taught him how to arrange them in his vases. He knows he’s being selfish, but the idealistic thought of keeping those memories exclusively between the so-called enchanting secrecy that he’s built with you chipped him away with each passing second. The line between his self-doubt and reality was blurred like a piece of clay spinning in his wheel, and he couldn’t step on the pedal to stop it altogether.

This time, it was going to be different. He knew he couldn’t keep on working on the same vase for too long—the clay would be too dry, and he’d just keep on adding more wet clay to the amalgamation until it was too large to handle. Like all his failed attempts, he needed to tip it off and allow it to break before it was too late. Only then would he be able to create a newer, much better vase.

He woke up earlier than usual today, even though he didn’t have anything to do. It was probably around half a year ago, but he’s been gripped with fever dreams that leave him with a temporary level of high body heat. It would often die down later in the day, but the severity of these fevers made him routinely check his temperature the moment he woke up.

Today was an all-time record of 38.5 degrees Celsius.

The haze that came with the heat left his reverie blurry, but your face was always unforgettable. Most of his dreams left him breathless with all the sensations in his mind and body activating all at once, and all of them gave him an indescribable feeling in a vast spectrum of positive emotions. Each dream was also different than the last, but he never seemed to remember exact details other than your sheer presence. All he would remember when he woke up was the afterimage of his silhouette and hers seemingly pacing a vase in the middle, as well as a haunting melody that was distorted by an aging record player. He didn’t know what the song was called, but at this point, he could perfectly hum its tune—which he unconsciously did throughout the day.

This time, he remembered every single detail. It was almost too picturesque, and the entire scene made him wish he could just dive back into his covers and relive his reverie—but alas, he couldn’t live like that. Idealistic trances that came with an eerily deep slumber left him in a state of euphoria, but he wouldn’t trade it off for the exhilaration of meeting you face-to-face. After all, he always prided himself in having an affinity for authenticity.

He quickly got out of bed and darted to his shower room, allowing the ice-cold water to ripple on his skin. He was never one to take a bath in the morning, but ever since his episodes of fever-inducing dreams got worse, he felt that it was a necessary step in regulating his body temperature. Once he was finished, he wiped himself with a large towel and wrapped it around his waist, before visiting his balcony to bask in the morning winds. The season didn’t matter to him—in fact, winters work best with his current condition. Despite being somewhat naked in broad daylight, he never seemed to succumb to a cold. No matter how harsh the winds were, he managed to pull through the teeth-clattering chills. Although behavior like this seemed counter-intuitive, what worked for him worked.

Ever since he began growing his own flowers, he would always be greeted with the floral notes of his seasonal home garden. While he initially started the hobby as an excuse to see you more often, he began to steadily see the beauty in its meticulous intricacies. Unlike clay, flowers had life in them; a single shard of porcelain can be revived into a postmodern piece for the rich, but a stem stepped in half was practically dead. In the same way, dry clay can be fixed by adding water, flowers had a tiny margin of error when it came to feeding them their necessities.

The marmalade rays of the sun were perfectly aligned with the semi-large pots of flowers that began to bloom with the seasons. you initially picked out a starter set for him, which included marigolds, pansies, and daffodils. After he got tired of their vibrant, yellow hues, he opted for a batch of tulips, carnations, and azaleas.

“Do you know what these flowers mean?” You asked, elegantly cocking your eyebrow at him. You were wearing your shop’s apron, which complemented your figure in his eyes. Perhaps he was too used to donning the same apron each time he met you, or maybe it was the apron itself becoming a part of his renditions of you.

Of course, he knew what they meant—but he was used to pretending when it came to you. Feigning ignorance was a relatively easy and safe way for him to go around his feelings for you in repeated circles, but it was getting harder and harder for him to continue when the thought of you subjected him to blissful vertigo.

“No,” He answered, maintaining his cool exterior.

“I just wanted to get them since they looked really nice.”

After that, you helped him sow the flower seeds into a bed of soil by his studio’s moderately sized balcony. You gave him a run-through of each flower and its meaning; tulips when they were red meant deep love; carnations when they were dark red signified love and affection; azaleas represented a gentle kind of love. You teased him about it by referencing several people you’d seen at the exhibitions he’d invited you to, and he did his best to restrain himself from proudly dedicating each batch of flowers to you.

It was currently the middle of spring. Being an artist, he had an appreciation for all four seasons of the year. His sensitivity to the weather and changes in his surroundings were often reflected in the painted finish of his ceramics—for spring, he’d use finer brushes to bring life to the blue hues of the petals that adorned each vase he made; for summer, he would draw faded clouds that captured the iridescence of the light blue skies; for autumn, he’d experiment with colors and use a warm, gentle palette to accentuate the dead leaves that he often saw strewn around the roads; for winter, he created delicately designed plates that were adorned with snowbells.

He closed his eyes and felt a flurry of cherry blossom petals stick to the moisture of his freshly washed skin. Unlike the maple leaves of fall, he enjoyed the satin finish of each petal as they lightly caressed his exposed body.

As he tightened the towel on his waist, he was met with your figure sitting down on one of the studio’s stools. He did give you the keys to his house, but he didn’t expect you to come this early.

“Good morning! Aren’t you cold?”

Sunghoon greeted you with a gentle smile like he always did. He chalked it up to the orange tint of the rising sun’s rays, but there was an inkling of hope in him that blossomed as soon as your cheeks emitted the warm dyes of the weather. You offered him a steaming cup of coffee, but he politely refused. After all, he had already gotten rid of the heat in his body—he didn’t need another source to add fuel to the fire.

“I do this every morning, it feels nice.”

Your eyes wandered around the blooming pink hues of the potted flowers you helped him tend, which were now covered by a small flurry of cherry blossom petals. Carefully obscuring his barely covered form, you occupied yourself with marveling at the care he’s given them.

There was a look of concern etched on your face at his remark, and he hastily excused himself to his bedroom. Before he was able to leave, you took his hand and pulled him towards her.

“Hold still,”

You turned him around, picking the stray pieces of light pink petals that stuck to his back. A single touch of your fingertip managed to electrify him—which prompted him to exhale in jagged breaths.

“I don’t know if you’re doing this on purpose or not, but wouldn’t it be uncomfortable if you dressed yourself with petals stuck to your body?”

Through his peripheral vision, he saw a pile of cherry blossom petals increasing in size beside him.

“I thought it’d be nice body art.” He replied with a chuckle. It’s been two years now, and yet his heart always leaped whenever you laughed with him.

“Well, you should’ve told me! It would’ve been a nice source of inspiration for your spring-themed collection, and I could’ve helped you pick out which flower petals worked with your skin tone!”

You tapped his shoulder, and he automatically faced you. He noticed and admired the gradual agility in your fingers as you continued to pluck the stray petals off of his chest and neck.

“You know, maybe you’re right about the whole body art thing. This looks gorgeous! They look like scales or some half-human hybrid off of a fantasy novel.”

The palms that firmly held his shoulders were warmer than he was used to. He hummed in response, staring at your focused demeanor. It was the same one he’d see whenever you arranged flowers back at your shop, or when you’d immerse yourself in painting a vase in one of his free lessons for you.

“Love, flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

He reserved pet names for you, despite telling you he had a nickname for each of his friends. The last petal was formally removed from the left side of his collarbone, and you gave his shoulders a soft squeeze.

“Darling, I mean it. Now go get changed before you catch a cold!”

You gave him a light push towards the hallway that led to his bedroom, careful not to exert too much force. He hoisted the towel up one more time, and waved you a quick goodbye. He never dared to ask you if you reserved pet names exclusively for him or not.

“So why are you here so early? Don’t you have a shift today?”

Sunghoon was now dressed in his usual garb, and he slowly leaned his body on the elongated table of his studio. He always delved into the smart casual style, and sported a loose cream turtleneck with a checkered suit jacket.

“I took the day off. I thought it’d be nice for you to have a companion since every call we’ve had this month always ends up with me being busy.”

Oh, the things you did to him. He’s perfected the air of nonchalance that surrounded him, but it didn’t mean the beatings of his heart eased by any means.

“I mean, it’s funeral season. I’m pretty sure your services are needed to provide the appropriate flowers for the ceremony.”

Ironically, many deaths occurred in spring. Most of his commissioned urns were requested right before the vernal equinox, and seeing you running around in a sleek, black suit was a sign that spring was here. Today though, you were wearing what you usually wore, albeit a little more fashionable.

“Well, today, there were no funerals scheduled, so I had some liberties in taking the entire day to ourselves. I do have someone I want you to meet though, if that’s okay with you.”

A smile wasn’t appropriate for the conversation topic, but you managed to muster a small one towards your companion. You took the cold cup of coffee you brewed for them and slowly sipped its contents. Sunghoon left his own cup untouched—caffeine was unnecessary when you were in his line of sight.

“Who?”

You placed the mug down as you fidgeted with your seat. You then tapped your finger on your lips and gave him a cheeky wink.

“It’s a surprise!”

Although your playful attitude was refreshing to him, his curiosity won him over. Each plea from him to reveal the mystery guest he was going to see was only met with you doubling down on your secrecy. He eventually gave up, huffing to the side as he crossed his leg on one of the stools.

Timid patterns of your fingernails tapping onto the surface of the ceramic mug filled the air. The ticking of the clock continued to echo across the entire room. you whistled a tune that sounded familiar and unknown at the same time, which made Sunghoon ponder its origin. He wanted to believe that it was the same tune he’s heard in his dream, but such a twist of fate seemed too farfetched. Silence was usually something he didn’t mind when he was with her. Being next to you and feeling your presence was enough for him, and there was a part of him that found earthly comfort in her.

“I,“

You heaved a sigh. He didn’t know what it meant, but what he knew at the moment was how rare it was for him to see you distressed in the slightest. False hope was a deep kick in the brain, and he raveled in the myriads of possibilities that started with the word I from you.

“You?”

On cue, you stood up to occupy the empty stool next to him. Taking a neatly wrapped cloth out of your tote bag, you untied it to reveal shards of porcelain that were all too familiar to him. There were clusters of rich soil and plant roots that stuck on the sharp corners of each shard. His entire body contradicted himself. For one moment, he yearned to get closer to you, and in a second, sudden tremors overwhelmed his nerves, leaving him gasping for a single sliver of air.

“Please don’t get mad at me, and please believe me when I tell you this, but the first vase we made together accidentally got knocked on the floor while we were cleaning the flower shop in my dreams. It means a lot to me since it’s the first vase we made together, and I was wondering if we could maybe spend time today gluing it back?”

Your breath was audibly jaded. His eyes widened, and his mouth went agape. A sudden sensation froze him, preventing him from moving a single muscle no matter how hard he tried. Shock would be the closest phenomenon he’d describe it, and the layers of self-doubt that he’s built throughout the duration of knowing you began to peel off one by one.

“In your dreams?” He couldn’t hide the astonishment in his voice.

You gave him a slow nod after gulping. He leaned closer to you, lips forming a thin line. There was a visible plea in your gaze, which he returned with curt reassurance. You allowed your body to rest on the table’s surface, using your elbows to support your weight.

“It might seem unbelievable at first, but it’s true. In my dream, we were together in the shop, dancing to some old hits while cleaning. I think it was around nighttime, since the skies were dark and the shop had the closed sign displayed outside.”

You closed your eyes and began humming the tune whilst dangling your feet to a moderate rhythm. Sunghoon’s eyes began to grow wider, his body stiffening with every second that passed.

“Were we dancing with brooms while that vase was right in the middle?”

It was your turn to exhibit a state of bewilderment. You neatly piled the shards of ceramic back into the cloth, wrapping it in a different knot from when you first brought it in. While doing so, your shaky hands pricked themselves on one of the shards—but the pain didn’t seem to faze you one bit. Your entire body was undergoing stupefaction, and you were solidly upright like a marble statue. You tried to continue talking about your dream, but a mere croak was the only thing that escaped the invisible clasps of your throat. It took all of Sunghoon’s current strength to prevent himself from breaking contact with your dilated eyes.

“Was I the person that knocked the vase over?”

You gave him a firm nod. Placing a hand on your heart, you subjected yourself to a few rounds of deep breaths. He hesitantly took your free hand in his and gave it a firm squeeze.

“You knocked the vase over with the tip of your broom, causing all the soil and flowers to come out. And then, I woke up to the sound of clatter downstairs at the shop. The vase was broken, the flowers we planted together were also on the floor, and I immediately thought of coming here to fix it together. Maybe harvest the flowers on your balcony to regrow them in the repaired vase.”

He felt your fingers curl on the back of his palm, and he returned the gesture with a beaming grin. Your feet were now sporadically dangling on the height between the stool and the studio’s floor.

“Listen, in the end it’s just a vase, and we’ve made a lot of that together.”

He used his eyes to point at the shelf behind them. you follow his gaze, keeping your hand on his. Sure enough, the collection of ceramics he’s made with you was triumphantly displayed on a glass case right next to an endless shelf of failed pottery. Each vase and plate were arranged in chronological order, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him as he continued to stare at your rather quick progress. While you had an eye for color, you didn’t have agile enough fingers to operate a pottery wheel—the same could be said for him. While he was great at drawing flowers on his sketchbook or painting them on the ceramics he crafted, he was initially terrible at soil cultivation and maintaining flower beds. It was the parallel yet extremely complementary nature of your respective skill sets that allowed for such a relationship to blossom in the first place.

He took your hand and led you to the glass case. As your eyes hovered over your earlier works with him, a certain embarrassment began to surface in the form of tinted, rosy cheeks. On the other hand, he did his best to hide the ever-growing pride that consumed him. you averted your gaze from the entire glass case, and he used his thumb to soothe the shakiness of your hand.

“See? I don’t think we should dwell on a single vase for too long. If we glue that vase back together, the crackles are just gonna ruin the glazed finish it once had. There’s also a high chance that water might leak out of the vase since glue doesn’t specifically fix cracks in fragile things.”

The two of you were still in front of the glass case. He felt a strong aura of energy around each vase that was displayed under its glass casing. He took a deep breath as he tried to control the tremors in his body. Taking your other hand in his, he interlocked your fingers with his, feeling a perfect fit. He’s always wanted to do this.

“So, we should make another one by scratch?”

Your voice wavered, as if you were in a hurry. He tried his best to hide his looming dejection. Of course, events like this were too good to be true.

“Well, we already have a fired glazed model from last week. All we need to do now is to paint it.”

Taking his word, a grin lit up your eyes in radiant sparkles. You picked out a cylindrical shape from the batch of dried pots you shaped with him, and he added a mental tally to the chances he’s missed.

By the time the pot was ready, the sunrise that Sunghoon woke up to retained its same hues, save for the presence of a violet trail in the sky. While he added final touches to the intricate designs of the cylindrical pot, you trimmed some flowers from his home garden and arranged them in a lovely, pink bouquet. Each bud wasn’t overcrowded, and you balanced the vibrance of the petals with a fair share of leaves. As an added touch, you placed some fallen cherry blossom petals on the bouquet, giving it a youthful yet transient glow. While waiting for the paint on the pot to dry, he continued to pry your on with the identity of the guest.

“You’ll meet him soon,” You’d often reply, with a gentle smile on your face. He knew he was overthinking, but a part of him insisted that you were going to introduce him to a new significant other. The thought alone to him was extremely ridiculous and downright impossible, but nonetheless, a wave of apprehension continued to float above his head as he waited to finally have his guest revealed.

The tote bag you brought with you was large enough to fit the newly crafted vase, so you carefully wrapped its entire body with excess newspaper before gently placing it in your bag. As for the bouquet, your hand carried it with you.

“What should I bring?” He asked, while turning off the lights in his studio. He gave the flowers on his balcony one last spritz of water before locking the glass sliding door to his balcony.

“You don’t have to bring anything, really.” You patted the side of his shoulder as you said this, whilst securing the ceramic in your tote bag.

He opened the door for her, before leaving himself. Usually, you would say a snarky comment or two about him being a “gentleman” and whatnot, but that youthful manner was replaced with a gentle smile of pure gratitude. He didn’t mind this side of her—in fact, it gave him more reasons to yearn for her. The endless dimensions of your character were as multi-faceted as the endless spirals of his pottery wheel, and he never wanted to lift his foot off of the pedal that unraveled each and every layer of your soul.

The pavement outside the city was lined with fading cherry blossom trees. The spring winds blew eastward, and a flurry of light pink petals would caress your faces with a touch of tenderness. There was a small river beside the pavement, which had a stone bridge perched right in the middle of it all. Sunghoon himself has visited the park countless times, but he limited himself to the bench near the entrance—where he’d have his sketchbook opened to paint still-life watercolor illustrations of the fleeting people that ebbed and flowed with the flows of the river.

You hoisted your tote bag tighter, gripping its strap as you continued to walk. You were approaching a slight inclination that led to a miniature stone bridge that separated the river. He continued to follow you, watching your unwavering, determined figure with awe as you walk past all the greeneries, flowers, and marble headstones that he suddenly felt himself drawn to.

The entire walk from his studio to the park was in sheer silence. There were many questions that plagued his head, but at the same time, he took note of your secrecy. He couldn’t feel any malice to your slight stoicism and withdrawal. However, the curiosity that continued to consume him persisted.

Before walking away from the bridge, he took a mental note of the location. It was constructed in a typical ancient Korean fashion, which gave him several ideas for his next exhibition. Most of his works centered around floral themes ever since he met you, and he realized the redundancy in his craft. Maybe adding a body of water amidst the flowers he’d often paint would accentuate his vases and pots.

“You know,” you began, keeping your eyes in front of the road. Tall marble slabs began to appear in his line of sight, and he admired each of their craftsmanship. Perhaps, in another life, he would have chosen to become a marble sculptor. There was an allure in the macabre nature of funeral proceedings, and he was sure that each headstone he would produce would harbor an even graver symbolism than the urns that were commissioned to him.

“I don’t know if I told you this, but you’re always in my dreams.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Rows of black and grey marble headstones bore Chinese characters. In the corner of each headstone, there were greyscale photos of faces that each told a different story. You were an amazing florist to everyone else, but to him, you are a professional at subjecting his vitals to rigorous gymnastic routines.

“What do you mean?” There was no point in asking this. He predicted the answer to bear an uncanny similarity with his own nightly experiences. There was also a part of him that didn’t feel the need to tell your his side of things—there was always a telepathic connection between them, and some parts of him believed that you already knew he experienced the same phenomenon.

The two of you were approaching a colorful gateway that smelled like paint thinner. The primary colors were flashy, which was almost ironic given the monotony that existed past the gateway. The golden sign shone with the setting sun, and the watchful eyes of the two guardian lions on each side of the gate stalked your every move as the two of you walked inside. While it was his first time entering such a place, your automatic strides juxtaposed his wandering eyes.

“When Madame Mo called me to arrange your birthday bouquet, I began seeing a face that looked exactly like yours. That time we didn’t know each other, so I did my best to memorize your facial features in case I’d forget them when I woke up.”

You stopped in front of a little wooden stall by the entrance. Taking your wallet out, you temporarily handed the bouquet to Sunghoon. you thanked the monk, receiving three thin incense sticks and a candle with a matchbox in return. He offered to continue holding the bouquet, which you apologetically agreed to. you slipped a single incense stick into the breast pocket of Sunghoon’s suit jacket, patting it in place before resuming your stride.

“Anyway, I’d get these crazy fevers whenever I dreamt about you, and I never really remember what I saw in my dreams aside from you and a vase between us. I still don’t know what it means, but maybe he might have the answers.”

He?

Your footsteps came to a halt. The two of you were now in front of a wide, obsidian headstone. Unraveling the cylindrical vase from its newspaper wrapping, you positioned it right next to the headstone. Then, you gently placed the bouquet of flowers inside the vase, using a bucket filled with water nearby to add its contents inside the vase. There was a photo of a man that looked like he was in his late fifties. He had a gentle smile on his face, and he bore a certain resemblance to her.

You took the matchbox and lit the incense sticks. Sunghoon hastily pulled his own stick out of his pocket and used the heat of your two sticks to light his own. The floral notes of the sticks wafted into the air, followed by a spicy undertone that gave your nostrils a light kick. You clasped your hands in prayer, closing your eyes shut. He followed suit, bowing at a slightly steeper angle than her. A few minutes of silence filled the vastness of the cemetery. A soft clap signaled the end of your prayer, and the two of you lifted your heads up in unison.

“Dad, meet Park Sunghoon, the man in my dreams.”

All at once, the suspicion that Sunghoon bore dissipated into thin air. It was now replaced by a tinge of guilt that bore holes in his heart. On cue, he gave the headstone a long, steep bow.

“Dad, you told me that I’d know who my soulmate is if I get a high fever after dreaming of them. Here he is, and I hope you’ll watch us from above.”

Sunghoon continued to keep his head down. The sudden shock of it all was hard to contain. you tapped his shoulder, telling him it was okay to raise his head up now. you waved a quick goodbye to the headstone, before walking back to the gate of the cemetery.

The winds continued to blow eastward, with distant petals of cherry blossoms caressing your cheeks as the two of you walked on.

“I originally wanted to use the vase we first made together, since I’d imagine that held more longevity between us.”

Instead of looking forward, your eyes were now towards him. He kept his hands in his pocket, but he returned eye contact nonetheless. Even if he was extremely satisfied with the outcome, he still didn’t know how to go about it.

“I guess you were right about the vase. It had to break for us to make this new one.”

He nodded in agreement. The two of you shared a smile as you walked past the colorful gates of the cemetery. There was no need for physical contact anymore, as the two of you felt the clays of your hearts spin into one, intricate vase.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @hyuckworld @petrichor-han @wonvrse @tranquilpetrichor @soobisms @differentchildwombat @chiyuv

309 notes View Post

zhangyi-johee

2 years ago

jang wonyoung for that matter

122 notes View Post

zhangyi-johee

3 years ago

I wanna get thin just so that i could wear these kinds of clothes. Any tips to get it?

The Arranged Marriage

SYNOPSIS: You and sunghoon we're in a arranged marriage, you were a famous model in Korea and sunghoon's parents was impressed by your beauty and they arranged you and sunghoon in a marriage, while you are their trying your best to make sunghoon in love with you but he was just in love with someone else. But what if you fell out of love because of him and he just fell for you in the ending...

PAIRING: millionaire!sunghoon x model-fem!reader x model!jake

GENRES: Love triangle, one sided love, romance, fluff, angst, smau, love story, short story

FEATURING: Sana (used face), enhypen, le sserafim (kazuha and sakura), Ive (wonyoung and liz), gidle (miyeon)

WARNINGS: swearing, bullying, crack, sunghoon is a cheater in here, yuri is a pick me bitch

STATUS: ongoing

TAGLIST(OPEN): @deobitifull @hiqhkey @dneltrise @maybemiko @babystrlla @smugrogerina

NOTE: AHHHHH it is finally ready! I am so happy 😭 hope you will all like it. Please make this blow up! 🙏 I will be happy if this reached 50 likes...Even if it is just little likes it will make me happy. Hope you will you look forward to this smau! -Love yuna!

[PROFILES]

[CHAPTERS]

1. She's at it again

2. yuri the bitch

3. fuck off yall

4. jayn my ship😍😍

5. I JUST FUCKING ASKED HER OUT!!

6. WE'RE HERE IF HE BROKE YOUR HEART!!!

7. CONGRATULATIONS🥳🎉👏

363 notes View Post

zhangyi-johee

1 year ago

TERRIBLE TWO’S — PARK SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS! A rash decision on your end causes you and Sunghoon to break up. What you think is for the best turns out to be the complete opposite, actually. Cue two years later when a random encounter with your ex forces you to revisit past feelings that has never quite fully departed from either of you. PAIRING! Chairman!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader WC! 11.4k (Got carried away)

GENRE/CW! Exes getting back together, fluff, slight angst if you squint, smut (fingering, brief mentions of fem oral receiving, sunghoon has a 7 inch cock; i headcanon that, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie, lots of tongue kissing), swearing, reader is in denial just a tad bit, ft. non-idol!yunjin, reader is a struggling fine arts major, etc. MDNI

A/N: originally, i intended for this to be a simple one shot but it somehow turned out to be greater than that in the end lol. this was also my first attempt at writing smut; i've always wanted to try it but damn is it kinda hard. i feel like the title doesn't match or capture the story as good but whatever-- it used to be called 'seasons,' yet that didn't make sense either so... terrible two's it is! i hope you enjoy <3

“Y/n?”

A trace of uncertainty laces the man's voice, his mind racing with the possibility that he might have mistaken a stranger for someone from his past. Internally, he winces at the prospect of this awkward mix-up, dreading such an encounter with a random person. He clings to the hope that his intuition proves accurate. Could it really be her? Amid the bustling crowd, she always managed to stand out, an unmistakable aura surrounding her. Her presence eclipsed even the most vibrant of settings, radiating a unique energy that outshone a field of flowers.

When he tentatively calls out her name in a hushed tone, she spins around on her heel, and for an ephemeral moment, Sunghoon feels as though he's stepped into a scene from a classic romance film.

Time stills and so does he.

Each of your movements steals his breath away. The way your hair dances in harmony with the wind, and how your eyelashes cast the most delicate shadow upon your high cheekbones. Your gradual unveiling leaves him struggling to swallow past an inexplicable lump in his throat.

Sunghoon notices the moment your eyes widen. Behind those enchanting orbs, he discerns a flicker of nostalgia and a touch of melancholy. During your time together, he possessed the uncanny ability to read those emotions hidden within the depths of your irises.

“Sunghoon…” You say no louder than a mere whisper that could easily get lost in the summer’s wind that passes through the both of you.

Your heart throbs in your chest. The biological response is far too overwhelming that you can feel your stomach tying itself in double knots. You think you might need to be pointed to the nearest bathroom so you can barf up the swarm of butterflies that disturb your system. No doubt does crossing paths with an ex whom you share a long history with manages to do that to you.

“H-how are you?” You’re the first to strike up a conversation despite that being Sunghoon’s unspoken responsibility.

How am I? Sunghoon has to brace himself to collect his messy thoughts.

“I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

His response is curt and short. In any other setting, he would have elaborated on his answer but he wasn’t sure how much information was too much to reveal to an ex regarding the state of his well-being. You nod at his words, not really expecting much nor having high hopes that he would give you more to work with in this conversation of playing catch-up between an ex.

See, your relationship ended amicably, with both of you acknowledging that the spark kindled between you two had faded out. With your mind elsewhere, too focused on your academics (so you like to say), and Sunghoon preparing to inherit his family’s business, there was little room for romance in either of your daily routines. Your typical weekend dates were swapped out for meetings with major corporations and other soon-to-be-chairman-related activities so that he could fully understand what the rest of his future held for him.

Even though you missed having your boyfriend's undivided attention, you refused to act as a temporary roadblock that prevented him from making significant progress. Despite your heart and brain being at war with each other, you made the conscious decision to slowly back down from being his lover and tucked your face in the pages of your academic textbooks.

With Sunghoon too busy to even acknowledge that his girlfriend was distancing herself from him, you were the first to come forward, bearing the news that breaking up would be the optimal solution to your and his fading presence in one another’s lives.

That night when you bid goodbye, he felt half his heart shatter inside of him. Little did you know that you carried the other part wherever you went, but now that you were no longer capable of sheltering that missing piece, it almost made him want to die inside more than just a tad bit— a lot, actually.

He pretended to play it cool as your back turned to him and he watched you retreat to your car, feeling both helpless and defeated. With an unflinching countenance, a tightly clenched jaw, and fingers gripped at his sides, Sunghoon longed for his feet to have chased after you, preventing your departure from his life. He yearned to undo whatever had driven you away, to rewrite his mistakes and reshape their shared history.

Sadly, not even the first star in the sky he saw at night could grant him something as demanding as that.

On the contrary, had those things happened, he wouldn’t be here today on a Thursday afternoon rekindling a connection that got tossed up in the air and fell through his fingertips.

“I—“Before you get a chance to deliver your sentence Sunghoon’s hold on your arm prompts him to draw you to his chest.

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, eyes simultaneously widening for the second time thanks to a certain ex. You look up at the taller one with crinkled brows. A mixture of confusion and a looming feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach that hasn’t quite left, tugging at your heartstrings. His intoxicating scent of Dior Sauvage is all too overwhelming for your nose to take in. You swear your head could start spinning any minute now.

He’s so close to you. You’re so close to him. If someone were to come by and accidentally bump into you, you would be pressed up against his chest, breaking what limited distance is keeping you two apart.

A bike rider disrupting pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk whizzes by, obnoxiously ringing the bell attached to their handlebar as if they aren’t to be blamed for riding on the concrete pavement, and it’s only then do you realize that Sunghoon was protecting you from getting hit. His body relaxes once he declares that it’s safe for you to comfortably stand in the open from any oncoming obstructions.

“Sorry… acted on impulse.” His grasp on you immediately retreats to the inside of his pant pockets and you swear that his touch leaves a ghosting sensation on your skin.

Sunghoon refuses to meet your lingering gaze, eyes averting to some random couple walking their dog across the street from where the two of you are standing. It’s almost funny how he fully believed two years ago that one day both of you would be exactly like that: dog owners who take their beloved fur baby on walks together and enjoy the simplicity of the little things that a relationship has to offer.

“It’s okay, thank you,” You murmur, unsure of where things should go from here.

A beat of silence comes and goes before Sunghoon has the chance to take the initiative to prove he’s different from his past self.

The past self you witnessed throughout the duration of your shared romanticism. The past self who failed to convince you to stay because he never wanted you to leave his side. What he wanted was to work things out and to understand what he could do to change and make things better for the two of you.

Even if that meant you breaking up with him first to realize this.

“Listen, why don’t we…” He suddenly starts. Sunghoon analyzes your face and when your features evidently show that you’re all ears for what he has to say, he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Get dinner. Together.“

Although the question comes out more like a demand rather than a request, you’re slightly taken aback because you were almost certain Sunghoon probably resents you for the breakup— at least that’s what you tell yourself— and that he doesn’t want any business involving you entering his life for a repeat performance. The only different thing is that you’re his ex.

Can you blame him? It was so sudden.

The concealed hurt he tried to mask but failed to do so when you told him you wanted to end things, hoping it’d be left on good terms, rambling about how much you do and will continue to care for him no matter what he does in life or who he chooses to love after you. It seems you did more talking than he got the chance to, and Sunghoon wasn’t sure if you had this all planned leading up to that moment, or if he should’ve seen it coming.

Whatever it was, Sunghoon could never hate or repent you, but you’re no telepathic mind-reader and wouldn’t know how he feels about you now unless you asked.

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you ponder the idea of sitting in a fancy restaurant with Sunghoon and sharing a long conversation over an expensive meal that is highly overpriced for its ridiculously small portions.

“On one condition,” You quip. Sunghoon gestures for you to keep going and you clear your throat. “No five-star Michelin places, okay? I just want a simple dinner to make up for lost time.”

The older male chuckles, nodding his head sensibly. If there’s one thing Sunghoon learned about you is that you were never hard to please and preferred the opposite of a high-end luxury lifestyle that he naturally grew up with.

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8, how’s that sound?”

“That’s perfect but um—“ you purse your lips. “Do you… Do you still remember where I live?”

“Of course. It would take a lot more than time and distance apart from each other, for me to forget your every being.”

Sunghoon leans in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The underlying intimacy hiding beneath his actions has you contemplating what the course of your relationship would have looked like for the two of you, had you not broken up with a man as sweet and thoughtful as him.

Was calling it quits between you two a mistake? Should you have stuck it out just a little longer?

You can only shove those thoughts to the farthest point in the back of your mind and recenter your focus to the handsome ravenette.

Sunghoon, sporting a warm grin that gradually grows into a pearly white showcase of his perfect teeth and adorable canines, makes it worth marveling if second chances are a thing that people still stand by.

The next evening, Sunghoon unexpectedly arrived at your front door 20 minutes ahead of your readiness. While you were trying to situate yourself into your cami dress that paired well with the current season, a knocking sound coming from the entrance to your studio unit startled you in its wake. You tapped on the screen of your phone to check the time and crinkled your nose when the numbers staring back at you read 7:40.

Sunghoon’s habit of arriving for an occasion earlier than expected was not unusual for his character. The taller's mannerisms crept into other facets of his social life after years of being trained to believe that "early is on time" and "on time is late." However, 20 minutes ahead of schedule was definitely new to you, and part of you can’t help but think if this is stemming from anxiety or if that’s just you projecting your nerves onto his much early arrival.

“Just a sec!” You struggled to reach for the zipper to your dress, stress-sweating due to the pressure of having to rush through the rest of your routine.

After what felt like a millennia you finally managed to seal yourself shut into your attire and scurried to the front door where poor Sunghoon was waiting for you to answer.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get to the zipper of my dress and I don’t think me flashing you or my neighbors in semi-public is socially acceptable.” You awkwardly laugh, strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck and forehead from the accumulated sweat you managed to produce.

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head at your guilty tendency to overshare too much information for the dramatics.

“No worries. I know I showed up earlier than expected. Don’t worry about me, do what you need to do.” He smiles softly and for a second it almost slips your mind that you’re no longer romantically involved with each other.

Oh, how you wish you could leap at him and smother the dashing man with kisses all over his Greek god-like, beautiful face…

“Here,” The taller unveils a bouquet of flowers that he attempted (underline, attempted) to hide behind his back. In reality, you could already see bits of it peeking out but chose to play coy about the item he was holding back from giving you.

You fawn at the striking arrangement of tulips that come in different shades of the prettiest of pinks. Tulips. Of course, he would remember that those are your favorite. His words from yesterday ring in your ears, and believing them, you truly start to confide that Sunghoon could never boot you out of his memory as easy as a snap of his fingers.

“The prettiest bunch of flowers for the prettiest girl.” Sunghoon cautiously says, unsure if that would be stepping a line. To be fair, there isn’t an official handbook on what you should or shouldn’t say to an ex— except for some of the more common phrases; whatever that may be.

You let out a lighthearted laugh at the bold, yet cheesy, compliment and invited Sunghoon into the safe haven of your apartment, ignoring the way your heart practically skipped a beat when he said that.

He’s been here on plentiful occasions so he’s really no stranger to the arrangement of your flat and could probably draw out an entire floor plan if he wanted to. At one point he almost committed to the thought of moving in with you, but you were a firm believer that it would be best if he stuck to the minimalist mansion he personally decorated that was passed down to him from none other than his father. Needless to say, Sunghoon was a pouty puppy that day.

“I’m almost ready I promise.” You say. “I just need to add some finishing touches and then I’m all yours for the night.” Immediately your hands fly to your mouth when realization dawns on you about the delivery of your words.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, and luckily, you miss the faint smirk that tugs at the corner of his plump lips teasingly.

“You know what I mean!” You panic, waving off the metaphorical atmosphere that surrounds both of you.

You excuse yourself and escape to your room as the tips of your ears start to flush with embarrassment. Once the door leading to your bedroom shuts behind you with a mellow thud, your back presses up against the surface of the entryway. A loud sigh that you weren't even aware you were repressing since Sunghoon arrived breaks out past your tinted lips. With your mind a foggy mess and your heart threatening to leap right out of your chest, you’re under the impression that you resemble the stereotypical anime school girl the way your entire demeanor changes when you’re around him.

But that’s the thing.

It’s only Sunghoon.

It’s just Sunghoon.

So what if you guys dated in high school and partially during college? So what if he was the first and only guy you’ve been with, and even though you have no one to compare him to, he would still be the best ex you could ever have? So what if you regret breaking up with him because you got ahead of yourself and refused to be transparent with him?

So what if you want him back…

You pat both sides of your cheeks to wake yourself from a philosophical dilemma. you refuse to go down a rabbit hole of emotions especially when you’re about to go out to dinner.

You shuffle through your wardrobe in search of a certain pair of Converse that a special someone gave to you as a birthday gift. When you find it neatly stored away in its original packaging and the box that it came in you’re almost too eager to slip your feet into the collar of the Chuck Taylor’s.

You halt in your steps when you reach your vanity and grab your everyday bottle of perfume, spritzing one pump, then two, then three, and four more of the floral scent, that you’re showering yourself in it at this point.

Upon reaching the moment that you’re completely ready and exit the inviting comfort of your cozy room, Sunghoon’s back is facing you as you ascend into the living room. You can’t make out much of what he’s doing and he’s seemingly too preoccupied to notice your footsteps stalk across the wooden paneling. His neck is craned downward looking at something on the decorative table where you have a neat arrangement of framed pictures.

“You still have this?” He turns around revealing the photograph that he was referring to, now in his possession. There’s a distant glimmer of emotion that you can’t quite make out peeking around the curves of his irises.

You let out a resigned sigh.

You’ve been caught red-handed for leaving a single trace of the past out in the open.

Of all the furniture and miscellaneous objects that collect dust on different surfaces in your flat, Sunghoon chose to go for the photograph of you and him standing under a cherry blossom tree in Ilsan Park. Your arm was hooked around his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulder. The brightest of smiles stretched across your faces as petals danced around you. It was the perfect occurrence captured in stillness and you wish you could leap through pictures to relive that special day. A distant memory that feels like it happened not too long ago.

“I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s— That’s one of my favorite pictures of us.” You simply explain.

It was true, because out of all of the selfies, candid photos, and other pictures you shared together with Sunghoon, your date to Ilsan Park remained your number one core memory as a couple.

You watch intently as Sunghoon places the photo back where it originally belonged on the console.

“I think that’s one of my favorites, too.” He says as a matter of fact. “That or the one where we went to Lotte World and wore matching uniforms together.” The taller laughs.

You giggled, the recollection of your amusement park date flashing across your mind. You dragged him to go on each and every attraction with you as he stumbled in your tracks, struggling to keep up with your social battery. You felt like two high schoolers in love at the ripe age of 20 because being with Sunghoon gave you the impression that you were your 15-year-old self again.

“I like that one as well! I thought I looked pretty cute in that uniform.” You grin sheepishly.

Sunghoon chuckles and it causes you to whip your head to survey him. His eyes crinkle before they’re no longer crescent and back to their original doe-eyed shape.

“You’re still cute, y’know that?”

The comment sends your heart ablaze along with the blood that rushes to the surface of your cheeks. You can only hope that the thin layer of makeup and blush you applied is strong enough to camouflage the effect that sunghoon has on you. It’s no secret that he was always a smooth talker and still is. It makes you wonder if he’s ever used that flirtatious skill on other women he’s come across after you— or if he has.

You tut your tongue at him and reach for your crossbody purse draped on the couch that you lazily tossed aside yesterday after coming home.

“Ready, m’lady?” Sunghoon twists the knob and pushes the front door open, supporting the weight with his broad frame to keep it from closing in on you two when you exit.

“Wait!” You pip, halting in your steps. You briskly retreat to your room and grab the bouquet of tulips you left on the side table next to your bed.

You scurry over to Sunghoon, cradling the arrangement of florals like it was your baby. The haired boy opens his mouth to say something but you’re too fast to retort,

“I wanna show it off. They’re too pretty to be left at home.”

He nods and motions his hand for you to leave the unit first. The taller gives himself a mental pat on the back for inquiring in a floral shop before coming to retrieve you for dinner.

Tulips are a girl’s best friend, after all. For you, at least.

Coincidentally dinner happens to occur at the one restaurant you frequently visited when you and Sunghoon were dating. It was a simple ma and pa spot only locals in the area knew of. They were popularly known for their cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup. You like to think of it as a secret only two of you know about and continue to gatekeep it from your friends or families from ever coming across of it.

The owners grew familiar with both of you through your frequent visits and friendly conversations. your rapport with them resulted in a warm welcome every time you returned, often accompanied by a generous discount as a token of their appreciation. Since your last visit to their restaurant, a while has gone by, and you both have been overdue to make an appearance at the restaurant.

“Aigoo, Sunghoon-ah, it’s been so long!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, wearing the biggest and brightest smile that brings out the crinkles in her complexion when she notices two familiar faces. “And Y/n, it’s good to see you too!” She turns to you with the same mien still permanently plastered on her face.

You bow your head. Her contagious smile has you mirroring her grin.

“Come, come, sit.” She waves her hand for the two of you to follow in her trail as she leads both of you to your— undesignated but designated— table that you and Sunghoon would constantly sit at.

Before you even have a chance to pull out your chair, Sunghoon beats you to it with surprising swiftness. The aged wood scrapes gently against the floor as he courteously pulls the chair back for you. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you appreciate this chivalrous gesture, unable to contain a soft giggle of delight.

Mrs. Kim watches the interaction between the two of you and smirks, completely out of the loop that you have broken up; still under the assumption that you’re both dating to this day. Who could blame her when in her eyes you were the perfect missing piece for one another in this world like you were made for each other from the start.

“The usual?” She asks despite already knowing the answer to her question.

“Yes please,” Sunghoon nods. He sits after folding his blazer in half so that it can rest neatly on the chair's backrest. To add some fuel to the flame, he unbuttons the cuffs to his long sleeves and rolls them past his forearms so that they stop an inch below his elbows. The expensive watch that rests snugly on his wrist glistens, almost blinding you. You’re reminded that the man sitting across from you is responsible for an entire company under his name and capable of powerful things.

You gulp. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t be and instead take an interest in the condiments that are pushed to the side of your table.

Soy sauce, vinegar, napkins…

When you think that you’re ready to re-center your attention onto Sunghoon once your racing heart has calmed down from its high, the taller has his eyes closed as he combs his fingers through his hair. His lips are parted ever so slightly and there’s a shine to his plush tiers.

He has to be doing this on purpose now.

You watch the way his Adam apple bobs when he swallows and you swear it should be a sin to look this effortlessly good in warm overhead lighting.

You huff, a little too audibly for the male across from you to hear and his doe eyes flutter open. The sudden eye contact catches you off guard and you’re struggling to maintain yourself from the tension your mind is projecting. You shift around in your chair trying to find a more comfortable position.

This is going to be a long dinner.

After Mrs. Kim returned with your delectable dishes, the food vanished quickly as you guys delved into stories and shared the exciting highlights of your respective journeys. You and Sunghoon spent the rest of your meal at the table reminiscing about the past two years including the many ups and downs you’ve dealt with.

You learned that a month after your breakup, Sunghoon’s father officially stepped down, handing over the reins of the company to his son as the new successor. The ravenette confided in you, revealing that even though he had been groomed for this role his whole life, the transition wasn't as smooth as he had envisioned. The weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Taking charge of a major company brought with it a level of pressure he had never experienced before. The expectations were high, both from the company's board and the employees who had known him since he was young.

As he grappled with the complexities of his new position, Sunghoon couldn't help but reminisce about a simpler life he could’ve had. He missed the carefree moments he used to share with you, the laughter, and the ease of his unannounced visits when he would turn up at your door with snacks he bought from the corner store and canned beer.

Eventually his determination and drive to persevere kept him standing strong in the face of these obstacles. With his family behind him, a supportive workforce, and you in the back of his mind, he knew he had people to look back on and make them proud.

You praised the older for his character development, gushing at his transition from uncertainty to confidence, while sympathizing with the initial troubles he first started off with. Being a chairman at his age is bound to weigh heavily on his mental and emotional health, and you can’t help but wish that you had stayed by his side through it all in order to be that support pillar he needed at immediacy.

“So, what about you? I didn’t really get to hear your answer yesterday.” Sunghoon asks.

You blinked. “Me? Well, uhm…”

A bubble of insecurity creeps into your stomach. Your mind races through a mental checklist of your own achievements, or rather, the lack thereof, especially when compared to Sunghoon’s impressive journey. While your lives have taken very drastically different paths, you can’t shake the feeling that at the end of the day, the two of you are worlds apart from each other. He’s the chairman of a highly respected company. And you? You’re just a college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. A pursuit that feels miles away from Sunghoon’s achievements.

During the period that he was absent from your everyday life, all you managed to build was your art portfolio, which you eagerly sent to numerous galleries in a desperate bid to gain recognition as a struggling artist. Rejection letters became an all too familiar sight, each offering the same hollow praise— impressed but not interested. Those were dark times, where self-doubt loomed large.

Thankfully, your situation started to improve when you summoned the courage to step out of your comfort zone. You took to social media, opening art accounts on Instagram and Twitter, and sharing your artistic odyssey on TikTok. Yunjin, one of your closest friends and best friend since middle school, commissioned you to paint a mural inside a cafe she was working at. “I begged my boss for this to happen!” She said enthusiastically over the phone the night she asked you for the favor. Everything to you was a leap of faith, a glimmer of hope that prompted you to fully believe in the light at the end of every tunnel.

In spite of your situation turning out for the better, it was impossible to ignore the inescapable sense of solitude and loneliness that clung to you like a shadow. It followed you everywhere you went. A mental reminder that, no matter how bright life was starting to seem, you still felt trapped and not completely content with yourself.

You convey these exact thoughts and feelings to Sunghoon in a messy ramble, hoping that this unintentional therapy session you’ve turned dinner into won’t scare him off. You can only hope that you’re not ruining the evening with a sob story of another art kid struggling to make a name for themselves in a society, where choosing art as a career path is at a greater disadvantage in comparison to your stronger counterparts.

When you find yourself coming to the end of your rant, a wave of silence washes over the table, and you grab the nearest cup of water to gulp from. Ignoring the condensation that sweats around the glass and soils your palms. Your eyes look everywhere, purposefully avoiding Sunghoon and the tragic visage he’s probably giving you right about now.

“Y/n, look at me.”

You raise your head, complying to his soft demand.

“I’m proud of you,” he begins, and in that instant, a surge of emotion that has been suppressed for far too long wells up within you. “It takes a lot of courage and willpower to continue to follow a path you’re uncertain of.” The comment makes Sunghoon chuckle dryly, closely reminded of himself, shaking his head. “But look at you, you’re doing so great.”

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes— they combine like a gentle storm, and suddenly, tears brim your eyes, begging to spill over. Your vision is splotchy and you refuse to blink, save for ruining your mascara. You weren’t planning on being an emotional wreck tonight, especially over dinner with your ex.

“I understand how hard it must have been dealing with those struggles alone, and I wish I was there by your side to help support you when it happened.” Sunghoon continues. He pauses to take in a breath before resuming, “But I’m here now… I’m not going anywhere, and if you’d let me— I want back into your life again, Y/n.”

A solitary tear breaks free, followed by another, and then another, until suddenly your eyes unleash a torrent of waterworks like a relentless downpour from a stormy sky. You hide your face in a handful of napkins you hastily grabbed, unaware that Sunghoon got up to move from his seat and slipped into the chair next to yours. His touch catches you off guard but you immediately relax as he guides you into his embrace, allowing you to hide yourself in his arms; your face tucked away in his chest. He caresses your hair, his slender fingers thread through your styled locks as he lulls you to comfort from your shaken state.

The two of you stay rooted in that position until you confidently and mentally reassure yourself that you are okay; you’re going to be okay. Your breathing has calmed down from its high and returned to a normal, healthy rate as your tears subsided and are non-existent.

No longer conscious of your makeup— a matter far from substantial to care for anymore— you wipe away the mess around your eyes. Black clumps of mascara and some concealer transfer onto the napkin. Seeing the stains garner a weak laugh to emit from you. Sunghoon cranes his neck to survey what you’ve become engrossed with. He sees the ruined makeup and laughs lightly into your hair.

You’re thankful that there aren’t many customers dining in tonight and that it’s just you, Sunghoon, and three other parties who are far too busy drinking, conversing, and laughing amongst themselves to acknowledge the young couple tucked away in the corner.

Mrs. Kim leads both you and Sunghoon out of the restaurant with a warmth akin to a grandmother bidding her grandchildren farewell, her heartfelt wish for your safe return home evident in her loving smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Kim. Thank you, again, for another delicious dinner.” Sunghoon bows at a 90-degree angle and the formality stirs a boisterous laugh from the frail old lady. You mimic his actions, also expressing your gratitude for the lovely meal and free dessert she served to you guys ‘on the house.’

“When you guys come back I better see a wedding ring on her finger, Sunghoon-ah.” Mrs. Kim scolds lightly. You almost choke on your own saliva at the remark, coughing awkwardly to cover up your bewilderment. Sunghoon does his best to maintain his composure for the sake of the elder’s oblivion.

“You guys disappear for two years and still no diamond in sight. I was hoping some big change happened!” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, crossing her arms.

Sunghoon dips his head again in an apologetic manner. “You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.”

You whack the taller’s arm giving him a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look, eyebrows scrunched with perplexity. The last thing you want is to continue to feed into Mrs. Kim’s false reality that the two of you are still a couple. Who’s to say that Sunghoon isn’t actually on the same page as you and everything is just a facade? I mean, sure, he’s been flirty here and there, bought you flowers, comforted you at dinner, and practically asked you to take him back…

Your trust in Sunghoon has clearly waned, a result of your fluctuating self-confidence that leads you to confide in the pessimistic "what ifs." Your clouded judgment and self-doubt gnaw at your thoughts, casting doubt on the possibility of a reunion between the two of you.

Sunghoon ignores the daggers slicing at the left side of his face and the buzzing pain you inflicted on him from the harsh impact of your hand. His digits dig gently into your side, drawing you closer to him. You stumble ever so slightly and flash an unconvincing awkward smile to the old lady.

You situate yourselves into the driver and passenger seats of his Hyundai Ioniq. You’re quiet when you pull the seat belt over your upper half, and for the first 10 minutes, not a single word was uttered from either you or the male sitting behind the wheel. Your mind loiters as you watch the building lights illuminating the dark troposphere of Seoul whizz by at 2x speed.

You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.

Yeah right… You almost roll your eyes but catch yourself prolonging the idea of a hypothetical engagement and wedding ceremony with Sunghoon as your groom.

Would he have gone down on one knee to propose to you had both of you remained lovers?

You shake the contemplation loose from your prefrontal cortex.

“Is it okay if I roll the window down?” You’re the first to break the ice. Sunghoon nods, his attention still focused on the road in front of him. Without looking, his fingers find the car’s air-con button to turn it off and he gives you the ‘go’ to proceed with your desire.

The tempered glass descends and you’re immediately greeted with the beating rush of the summertime air. You giggle and rest your arms on the weatherstrip trimming of the Hyundai, your head poking out like an excited dog who’s riding in the car with its tongue hanging from its mouth. You close your eyes, taking in the wind that messes with your hair and brushes past your skin. It’s enough to transcend you into a different headspace, almost forgetting that you’re in a moving vehicle and not on some speedboat skidding across the water in Europe.

Sunghoon looks your way, unable to suppress the natural smile that lights up his face whenever he sees you. You truly are a surge of energy he needs when he wants to uplift himself if he’s feeling down. You’re his happy pill— so much so, that he wishes he could keep a chibi version of you for him to carry in the pocket square of his suits and let you roman on the wooden surface of his office desk to help him get through the work day. It’s silly and love-sickening, but Sunghoon only knows how to act a fool with you around him.

His fingers drum against the padding of the steering wheel, waking you from your daydream. You hadn’t realized that you’ve already made it back to the city and are soon approaching your apartment complex. Your neighborhood is only a couple of turns away from your current destination as the two of you sit at a red light. You roll the window up, at least it was fun for the duration it endured.

When he pulls up on the side of the street in front of your building, you try to find some lame excuse to stay with him for another minute longer, not wanting to say goodnight to him. You’re scared that this evening will be a one-off event and you'll return to your old ways, enveloped once more in the solitude that consumes you completely.

Your grip on the door handle tightens.

“Sunghoon,” you shift your view in his direction. “You don’t mind walking me to my front door, do you?”

The male smiles with his eyes.

“Who am I to not accompany a lady when needed.”

Sunghoon makes quick work to unbuckle himself from the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to open the door for you. He holds out his hand for you to take, which you generously do so, and grants him the unspoken permission to whisk you away into the levels of your residential building.

The elevator ride is a close resemblance to the trip back to your place, however, there’s a contrasting atmosphere waiting to burst like a champagne bottle and spill over. Sunghoon’s holding your hand the entire way and you don’t resist the notion.

When you approach your unit at the end of the hall, you fish for your keys that are sitting at the bottom of your bag. Sunghoon’s hand slips out of your grasp and you almost whine at the loss of his warmth and touch, but you know he’s only doing it for you to use both free hands to ultimately unlock your door. The click! of the lock coming from the other side is an indication that you can push past the door once the knob is turned.

You stand there, hesitant to enter your own home.

“I guess— this is it?” You murmur tentatively to yourself and the taller. You rock on your heels purposefully stalling time as you force both him and yourself to stare a little longer at the iron numbers detailing your front door.

You let out a rigged breath.

“Tonight was great. The longest I’ve been out of the house in a month, really.” You cringe pathetically at the confession knowing that a month ago Yunjin was the one who pulled you out of bed to get some fresh air and sunlight because you were hiding away like a vampire. "Thank you... Sunghoon, for treating me to dinner and spending the evening with me..."

He remains stoic and unusually quiet, making it challenging to decipher what he’s thinking or feeling. You wish you could enter his mind to get a glimpse of how his brain functions. You’d hate to seem pitiful for hoping that his advances from today were, if at all, genuine.

If what he said at dinner was coming from the heart.

As you contemplate what might be your last encounter with your 'the one who got away,’ Sunghoon astounds you with yet another trick up his sleeve, when he secures your wrist in his delicate grasp. Forever one step ahead of you, his lips collide with yours in a passionate fervent. The only appropriate reaction that you can give him in response is to return the kiss with just as much fervor. The strap to your purse slides off your shoulders and lands below you with a little thud thanks to Sunghoon’s antsy hands pushing it out of the way.

He cages you against the surface of the door, your back bumping into it when he forces the distance between your bodies to dissipate. Bothered by the tiny gap that prevents you from being as close as you possibly can to him. The only active barrier is now the layer of clothing he’s wearing and the tiny dress that nearly clings to your every curve. He can’t wait to impatiently rip you out of it and slip in a “I’ll buy you a new one, princess.”

Your hands find sanctuary in his soft hair. How you missed tugging at their roots when he’d go down on you in bed, on the kitchen counter, and in the shower with your one leg supporting your entire weight as Sunghoon made the other side dangle over his shoulder. Those positions are tempting, and biologically the flashbacks of your sexual activity with the male feed into the expansion of your slick that gradually soils your panties.

You squeeze your thighs together. The pressure of your inner fat is an empty feeling of pleasure that you wish Sunghoon could replace with his tongue, fingers, cock, or all three one at a time. The male notices this cry-for-help and trails his right hand down the sides of your waist. He stops at the lace hemming of the cami dress, bunching the material to provide easy access to your mid-thigh. His fingers dance on your skin, traveling upward ever so slowly in an antagonizing fashion that almost infuriates you for his teasing manner in the heat of the moment.

Sunghoon reluctantly breaks the kiss. The evidence of your already smudged matte lipstick has left a faint trace on his plump tiers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, mouth ready to latch onto the sensitive area he knows best that will cloud every crevice of your mind with nothing but want and lust. At the end of this night, all that you will know is how to be his obedient cocksleeve like the good girl he’s conditioned you into.

The sound of someone clearing their throat on the opposite end of your apartment’s hallway is akin to a record player scratch. You’re grateful that the construction workers, or whoever built this place, designed the structure of your building to be a certain way so that the split-off point from the elevator wasn’t a simple corridor style where you could see both fire exits at each side. Instead, it was more so a wide V-shape.

In other words, no one really caught you and Sunghoon in semi-public eating one another’s faces.

You stop to share a quiet laugh with Sunghoon and ultimately enter the safe space of your flat, out of your neighbors point of view where they could have had a free, front-row seat to some juicy content. The door closes behind you, you can barely get out of your shoes and make it past the front step leading to your living room when Sunghoon’s haste to have you underneath the sheets with him in your bed has you stumbling backward. He catches you before you can register that you would have fallen onto your ass against the hardwood. His lips serve him well, contributing to the situation as a distraction that redirects your every inner thought bubble.

Sunghoon casually kicks off his shoes, adding them to the haphazard pile alongside yours— the least of his concerns at the moment.

The kiss from outside repeats itself, and this time, Sunghoon can contently resume what he intended to do had another tenant not interrupted the mood. But the voyeurism exploration kink in him would have liked either sequence of events.

His tongue traces a wet stripe up your neck, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. You dully bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the whimper that is sanctioned at the back of your throat, trapped by a surge of lust and anticipation. Sunghoon’s mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear, and his hot breath tickles.

“I wanna hear you, baby.” He slurs. “Don’t be shy on me now.”

Sunghoon’s lips sheathe your sternocleidomastoid (a mouthful, yes) muscle causing you to gasp. Your shoulders tense at the foreign feeling of his mouth on your body, and you’ve forgotten how good it was to receive a hickey. You relax under his touch when he gives the soft fat of your waist a reassuring squeeze.

His canines graze your skin while he sucks on the same patch, switching interchangeably to lap his tongue at the area when he begins to see a blossom of red and purple hues mix together, creating the prettiest bruise that would surely take more than a couple of days to fully heal. You groan when his teeth apply the right amount of force onto your flesh, leaving indents in their wake. His perverted mind relishes in the fact that only he is capable of marking you in ways that no other man could ever come close to.

He steps back to fully appreciate his canvas, that is you, and the absolute masterpiece that you are to him.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to your lips, this time with a gentler, more tender spirit, devoid of any sloppy motions. It’s delicate, a striking contrast to the heated lip-locking session the two of you were entranced with just moments ago on the other side of your apartment door. His larger palms cup your face as the pads of his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks, making you feel loved and cared for.

Sunghoon lures your tongue into his mouth, clamping his lips around the muscle. He suckles at it, eliciting the cutest whimpers that he missed hearing from you since you’ve been gone.

“Hnngh… Hah,” you pry yourself off of him, a string of your shared saliva connects the two of your equally moist lips.

Your puffy lips shimmer in the moonlight streaming into your livingroom, as if the moon itself decided to play a starring role tonight. You squeeze his bicep, noticing that the muscle has doubled in size since you last touched it. You peer up at the taller through your eyelashes and Sunghoon has to conceal his primal instincts from fucking your throat with his raging hard-on.

Your fingers graze the fabric of his long-sleeve collar, tracing delicate patterns across the black tie donned around his neck. Something about being able to witness a man up close in a suit never failed to provoke a flood of arousal from overwhelming your erogenous zone. Specifically, Sunghoon. It’s a shame— not really— that it eventually has to come off. With a deft touch, you begin to unravel the four-in-hand knot, a testament to Sunghoon’s meticulous self-preparation. The silk unravels, revealing its intricate texture beneath your fingertips.

You assist Sunghoon in removing his suit jacket next, observing it gracefully descend to the floor. You briefly wonder why he's so nonchalant about leaving such an expensive garment on the ground, but he dismisses your concern with a wave of his hand. After all, as a chairman, he has the means and privilege to easily replace such clothing items.

You decide that it’s your turn to take the lead for once and initiate another heated session of sultry lip service. Your mouth kisses Sunghoon’s with primal hunger. Teeth clash, and you see no remorse for your hostility sponsored by pent-up sexual frustration and longing for some sort of relief that only Sunghoon can render.

In a poor attempt to unbutton the last layer of clothing that shields Sunghoon’s upper half, your fingers fumble with the small disks that are fastened by the slits. You whine frustratedly against his lips once you realize you’re not making much progress. It is incredibly hard to multitask when your tongue is being manhandled by his.

“Here, lemme do it.“ Sunghoon mutters in a low growl.

He tears open the placket just like he would to a bag of chips, and the buttons you were struggling to relieve him of pop off in ease, taunting you for your lack of efficiency at getting him out of his attire. He wriggles his arms free from the restraints of his sleeves and shrugs the apparel from the summit of his shoulders, allowing the ruined piece to join his suit jacket on the floor.

“Your turn, babe.”

He twirls you around, your back fully pressed against his front as the tent in his pants pokes at your globes. The thrill of his length nestled between your ass spurs you to grind yourself on him, a staggered exhale of his hot breath fans the curvature of your trapezius, prickling your skin. The cotton material of your underwear cultivates a sticky sensation the longer you stay trapped in it.

“S-shit baby, you’re a fucking tease.” Sunghoon grabs your chin, forcing your head to turn his way so that he can seize your lips in an inconsistent kiss. Alternatively, it’s a tongue duel of him wanting to shove the muscular organ down your throat.

“A-ahh,” You moan helplessly.

He yanks the zipper of your dress. The item peels off of your bust, exposing your bare skin and naked torso simultaneously. You have to wriggle your hips past the remaining fabric in order to fully reveal your bare figure to Sunghoon— besides your damp panties that is.

“No bra today? It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen…” Sunghoon taunts.

“N-no…” You squeak, shaking your head.

“No? Use your words baby.”

You turn to face him, your perky mounds that come into his view are a sight for sore eyes. Even in the dark and scant amount of natural lighting from the celestial object in the night sky, is Sunghoon competent at reading your flustered features. How you manage to be cute yet look so lewd all at once is beyond his comprehension.

“I-I didn’t wear a bra because I thought it’d be easier to go without one.” You mumble, telling the truth.

“That’s better,” Sunghoon coos. He pecks your cheek and you smile at the reward.

“Eeek! S-Sunghoon!” You burst into a fit of shared laughter and giggles when said name scoops you into his arms, your body cradled against his chest, as your legs dangled over his one arm while the other supports your back.

“Just practicing when we’re both walking down the aisle at our future wedding.” Sunghoon jests.

Tenderness fills your eyes when you look up at him. He’s joked about the hypothetical conception of marriage twice in the night that you’re fully convinced it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea. Given that both of you are ready and first rekindle the status of your relationship, of course.

Sunghoon grins. There’s a gentle kindness to his pearly whites, and you reach up to press a chaste kiss to his jawline.

He relocates to your bedroom. Gently, he lays you down on the bed, your body propped up on your forearms, bearing the weight of your upper half. With an unwavering gaze, you study Sunghoon closely, every detail of his expression and every nuance of his presence.

His eyebrows knit and meet in the middle, fixated on undoing his pants to escape from their restraints, followed by his underwear soon after. His stiff member rebounds off his lower abdomen, precum leaking from the mushroom tip. A satisfied exhale leaves his mouth. He stalks over to you with a sly smirk, towering your smaller frame when he crawls on top of the bed, his knees plant themselves into the mattress and his additional weight dips the space where you lay.

You whine when his length ghosts at the expanse of your inner thigh, suspense and arousal continue to bubble inside of you. Sunghoon murmurs for you to lay back. “Make yourself comfortable,” were his initial instructions before hooking the waistband of your panties with his fingers and dragging them below your legs. The undergarment was tossed to the side.

You nibble at your bottom lip and screw your eyes shut when a slender finger circles the perimeter of your labia.

“You’re so wet babe,” Sunghoon purrs.

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat when he slides his index finger through your inner lips, gathering an abundance of your slick to bring to his mouth for a taste. Both eyes flutter open in time to witness Sunghoon suck at the digit drenched with your arousal. The sight is sinfully lewd, nearly too much for you to handle. Your face reddens and you fight the inclination to hide behind your hands.

“You taste so good, too.“ He licks at his lips. “Wanna try?” Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, and you can’t find it in you to turn down his offer when he looks so innocent— yet acts like the devil himself when he’s overcome with lust. You nod your head with approval.

His duality needs to be studied at Harvard, you think in the back of your mind.

Sunghoon plunges his index finger past your hole, triggering your back to arch an inch off the bed. He chuckles lowly and watches as your hands grab desperately at the sheets beneath you to steady your sanity. The singular digit curls inside of you. Your unforeseen shock is vocalized in the form of a moan and Sunghoon repeats the motion several times.

“O-oh my god—“ You gasp.

The ravenette withdraws his finger and taps at your mouth, signaling you to open. You submit to his implicit dictation. Your lips encase his pointer, tongue swirling around it like a piece of sweet candy you’re tasting for the first time.

You bat your eyelashes prettily and moan. “Mmmh…”

“Dirty girl,” Sunghoon sniggers. He retracts his finger and you let it slip past your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound.

“Can you please give me your cock now?” You plead with a pout, doing your best impression of an endearing set of puppy eyes.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Let me at least prep you first, baby. How long has it been since you’ve had someone’s cock inside of you, anyways?”

You part your lips but close it just as quickly. To be candid, you've never been one to actively immerse yourself in the 'I'm single' scene. Your only foray into it was with Yunjin, roughly three weeks after your split with Sunghoon. The two of you ventured to a club, but it proved to be a brief endeavor. Within two hours, the fifth shot became a catalyst, turning you into an unending fountain of tears.

“Y/n?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry…”

“I’m sorry baby. Did I overstep your boundaries?” Sunghoon cups your face with his right hand, his eyes scan yours, sincerity and concern laced in those chocolate orbs of his.

You stifle a giggle. Of all boundaries he could have crossed he draws the line at asking for your body count and not him fingering you.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing just… I think it’s ironic you ask me that now and not before we did all of this.” You motion to your bare bodies when you say ‘this.’

Sunghoon’s ears redden.

“But don’t worry, Hoonie.” You hook your arms around his neck and pull him closer to pepper his face with several reassuring kisses. “I don’t mind it all. Now can you please fuck my brains out!”

Your ex (whatever he is to you at this point) throws his head back to share a quick laugh, shortly pressing his forehead against yours.

Without warning, he buries three fingers in your pussy; your hips twitch at the sentience. They slide in and out without strain and together the two of you watch as he finger fucks your hole to “prep” for his cock. The squelching noise of your juices fill the room in addition to your moaning, and Sunghoon confronts a hurdle of his patience wearing thin, wanting to fuck you senseless.

His digits leave your hole and you whine immediately at the loss. Sunghoon uses the mass quantity of slick as a substitute for lube to lather on his angry cock. He shuffles against the bed, forcing your legs even further apart to fit himself in between them. The stretch burns your muscles but is soon forgotten when the tip of his length is rubbing your folds, occasionally bumping your swollen clit which generates a needy whine.

Sunghoon’s face screws with ecstasy when his shaft inches past your entrance. Your walls hug his length and he whimpers at the tight muscles that suffocate his erection. You squirm under him, tensed and breathing heavily. It’s hard to relax when seven inches feel like it’s splitting you in half after a long hiatus from sex. Sunghoon notices your discomfort and stills his hips from pushing further, allowing you the necessary time to adjust.

“Sorry baby, I know it’s been a while. You can take it, right? Like the good girl you are?”

You nod. He kisses your forehead, cheek, and lips to soothe your anxiety, using his lips as a distraction to keep your mind from zoning in on his cock. He seizes the opportunity to fit the rest of his length inch-by-inch, and you feel like a virgin all over again when the burn of his cock stretching you open is almost too unbearable.

“Sshh, it’ll be alright, baby.” He wipes away a loose tear. “I’m gonna move, tell me when and if it’s too much, okay?”

“O-okay, Hoonie…”

Steadily, Sunghoon recedes his hips, cock following in suit, just enough for the tip to be the only thing that your pussy clenches on. He snaps forward, your boobs jiggle at the motion and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when he repeatedly thrusts at a steadfast pace. The pain you were once scared of is no longer a fear you have to worry about, as pleasure is the only thing you know how to feel.

“F-faster, harder, p-please Hoon.” You fight through broken moans to let your voice be heard.

“Shit—“ He curses.

Sunghoon’s fingers dig into the plush fat of your waist while his other hand presses into the space of your bed next to the side of your head. His eyebrows knit, focused entirely on increasing the speed of his thrusts. He continues to piston fuck your pussy, abusing your hole in the utmost gratifying procedure. Your thighs jiggle each time that his balls slap against your skin; everything reminds him of an amateur homemade video he’s seen from other couples on Pornhub. He’ll have to ask you some other day if you’d ever be open to filming your own tapes to watch back.

“Mmh, right there, Hoonie.” You sigh dreamily, locking your legs around his waist and linking your ankles together. “You’re fucking me so good— Aah!” A high pitch squeal slips from your vocal box when his tip probes at your G-spot.

“F-fuck,” Sunghoon leans in close, relying only on one forearm to hold himself up from crushing you with his entire weight. He hides his face in your boobs, tongue flicking at the sensitive bud that hardens in response. He persistently thrusts deeper, his cockhead pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Hnngh… Y-yes, yesyesyes!” You chant. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and tugging whenever his mouth would suck or massage at your breasts. “You’re gonna— make me c-cum!“

Sunghoon’s unrelenting despite your warning. He can feel your walls clamping around his shaft, signaling your impending orgasm, and it taunts him to force himself deeper within your warm cavern at every jerk of his hips. Your hands fall to his biceps. Nails digging into his skin as your face distorts into extreme pleasure.

“I’m so close too, baby.” He groans. “Just.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Couple.” Thrust. “M-more!”

“I’m cumming! I’m c-cumming—“ Your hips tremble with a frenzied urgency as your pussy pulsates around Sunghoon’s 7 inch cock. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp and a long, impassioned moan escapes your lips. The sheer intensity of the moment leaving you incoherent and lost in ecstasy.

Sunghoon twitches inside of you. “Hah— you’re so— fuck!— s-sexy,” He grunts. Your head thrashes at the overstimulation of his length continuously pumping into you and you push at Sunghoon’s chest weakly, crying on his cock for him to slow down. You whine, whimper, plead for mercy so that your pussy can recover from the intense orgasm you just experienced not too long ago. In spite of that, he ignores your pleas and concentrates on finishing. It isn’t until white ropes of cum are shooting at your walls when his thrusts start to get sloppier and progressively come to a stop.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon exhales through gritted teeth. Both of you are a panting mess trying to catch your breaths as your chests rise and fall synchronously. The ravenette pulls out slowly and he groans when he sees his seed spill out of your hole, it closely reminds him of those hentai comics he’s read through illegal websites.

“I’ll get something to help clean you up.” Sunghoon lifts his weight from the bed but you reach for his forearm to grab him. You don’t have to say anything for him to understand that you don’t want him to leave your side. He brings a hand to yours, the pad of his thumb grazing the hills of your knuckles soothingly. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

Not even 30 seconds has gone by when he re-enters your room with a damp cloth. He wipes at the areas where a mix of your cum and his seed litter your skin with sticky residue. He discards of the ruined cloth before joining you in bed where you welcome him with open arms. He plops down next to you and you turn to lay on your side so that you can get a proper view of his handsome face in post-sex afterglow. You reach out to gently touch his moles that adorn his features. The moles you missed seeing as the first thing in the morning when you’d wake up with him by your side. He grins lazily and cranes his neck to bring his lips to your forehead.

“Sunghoon…?” Your faces are merely inches apart from one another. Though the close proximity is not a foreign situation— especially after just having sex— you speak to him with a hushed tone.

“Yes?” He inquires.

“At the restaurant, you implied that you wanted to get back together again… Is it true? Do you really mean it?” Your lips are quivering and you mentally berate yourself for being so soft hearted in these types of scenarios where emotions are high, vulnerable, and transparency is called upon.

Sunghoon breathes shakily. “I really mean it. I miss you, Y/n.” He tucks away loose strands of hair that fall on your face. “These past two years without you have been hell. The first couple of months were so bad, I almost reconsidered being the chairman for father’s company so I could fight for us. Fight for you. I’m sorry if that part of my life got in our way as a couple, and I wish I had made more of an effort to be around you.”

You sniffle, “It wasn’t just your fault. I should’ve communicated instead of thinking I know better and that I thought what I did was for the greater good— because it wasn’t. And you’re right, the two years I spent without you were awful. I never wanna go through that again.”

Sunghoon loops an arm around your waist and guides your head to bury against his chest.

“We don’t have to.”

Morning rays gently infiltrate the room as Sunghoon stands before the full-length mirror in your shared master bedroom. His voice carries across the space as he greets his loving wife, 'Good morning, Mrs. Park,' while he meticulously adjusts his tie.

You stir in bed. The unwelcome intrusion of sunlight forces you awake despite the supposedly blackout curtains you requested when you first moved in with Sunghoon. You sigh in irritation. Dismissing the hope of another ten minutes of sleep, you push yourself upright, your arms stretching above your head, accompanied by a vibrant yawn. Sunghoon, amused by your morning ritual, chuckles softly.

“Still sleepy?” Your husband turns to face you after successfully finishing the Windsor knot of his tie. You blink away the fog of grogginess from your eyes and grin when you get a clear vision of your husband clad in his usual work uniform.

“Mmm… you’re so handsome.”

Sunghoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, touched by your kind words that always seem to set the perfect tone for his day. He approaches your side of the bed with a confident saunter and takes a seat beside you.

“Any plans for today, my lovely wife?”

You can't help but giggle at his endearing habit of calling you 'wife' and 'Mrs. Park.' It's become a sweet tradition between the two of you, a reminder of your loving bond that has grown since your wedding day. You twist your hand to observe the silver band that ornaments your ring finger. The diamond twinkles back at you in the bask of the light.

“I think Yunjin and I are getting brunch, then we’re going shopping right after, and later in the evening we’re gonna drink some wine and paint as we gossip about our husbands.”

Sunghoon laughs. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself then.” He nudges your side playfully and you giggle. “Don’t forget to fit me into your schedule. Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“Cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup?”

“Where it all started.”

You envelop yourself in your husband's embrace, showering him with affectionate kisses. Starting from his moles and moving to both cheeks, his nose, forehead, and, ultimately, his irresistible lips, you express your love and absolute adoration for him with each tender peck.

“I love you, Mr. Park.” You murmur against his plush tiers.

His fingers delicately sweep aside the loose strands of hair obscuring your face, as he lovingly takes in every captivating feature, examining them with deep worship.

“I love you more, Mrs. Park.”

Two years ago you and Sunghoon sealed the knot in California. The ceremony took place at the Alila Ventana wedding venue, perched on a cliff along the rugged coast line of Big Sur. It offered a dramatic landscape, nestled amidst towering redwood trees, and a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean; the perfect picturesque backdrop for photos and videography. The outdoor spaces, gourmet dining, and coastal elegance were truly significant factors of your reception.

Sunghoon kept his promise to Mrs. Kim when the time came to send out the wedding invitations. Her excitement was beyond words as both of you entered the restaurant, radiating a newfound delight. Her gaze immediately fixated on the sparkling diamond ring on your finger— the same one she had scolded him for, which was now complete.

Come time to exchange your vows, Sunghoon's heartfelt declaration to cherish and devote himself to your love made it extremely difficult to keep your makeup in tact. Yunjin, your appointed maid of honor, had to step in to hand you tissues one after the other. The audience laughing to themselves at your showcase of emotions.

True to his words, Sunghoon carried you bridal style as he stalked down the aisle. Your families and friends cheering from their seats, their joyous applause resonating through the air. The warmth of their smiles and the happy tears in their eyes mirrored the love that enveloped you both in that moment.

Since then, life with Sunghoon after marriage was anything but dull.

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