𝓛azy riding Sunghoon, soft moans leaving his lips as your pussy throbs around his cock, deep inside you. His hands resting on your hips as his head lays back on the pillow, lips agape
stats class. keep ur glasses on when u fuck me. statistical analysis with ur tongue. thats abt it. sunghoon word porn ngl
ENHA HARD HOURS (kinda) 18+ MDNI
-
You're late. Again.
The digital clock on your phone reads 3:10 PM as you sprint across campus, your backpack bouncing against your spine with each step. Statistics seminar started ten minutes ago, and Professor Clarke has definitely noticed your absence by now. Not that it's unusual—you've made it a habit to burst through those doors at exactly ten minutes past, a whirlwind of apologies and bright smiles.
"Sorry, sorry!" you announce as you push open the computer lab door, slightly out of breath.
Twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you, but Professor Clarke doesn't even look up from his laptop at the front of the room.
"How kind of you to join us," he says dryly. "We were just assigning semester project partners."
You flash him your most charming smile as you slide into an empty seat. "Perfect timing then."
A few people laugh. You've mastered the art of diffusing tension with humor, of making your tardiness seem like a quirky character trait rather than a genuine inability to manage time. It's gotten you this far in university.
"As I was saying," Professor Clarke continues, "this statistical analysis project will count for forty percent of your grade. You and your assigned partner will select a dataset, develop a hypothesis, and use STATA to analyze your findings." He gestures to the complex statistical software displayed on the projector screen—the same software that has been giving you nightmares since week one.
You glance around the room, hoping you'll be paired with Olivia or Zara—friends who wouldn't mind carrying the team if necessary. But when Professor Clarke reads off, "Sunghoon Park and..." followed by your name, your heart does something unexpected.
It skips.
You've noticed him before—it's hard not to. He always sits in the same spot three rows from the front, always arrives fifteen minutes early, always has his notebook open at the exact moment class begins.
What you haven't fully appreciated until now, as you turn to locate him in the room, is just how devastatingly handsome he is. His dark eyes find yours immediately behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses that give him an irresistible intellectual appeal. One corner of his perfectly shaped mouth lifts in the smallest acknowledgment, and a strand of black hair falls across his forehead when he nods at you. The combination of his reserved demeanor and model-worthy looks creates an effect that makes your stomach flip. He's the definition of a hot nerd—the kind that makes you temporarily forget about statistical analysis altogether and wonder what he'd look like with those glasses slightly askew, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
After partnering announcements finish, Professor Clarke instructs everyone to move next to their assigned partners to discuss project ideas.
You gather your things and make your way to Sunghoon's station, dropping into the chair beside him with dramatic flair.
"Fair warning," you say brightly, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this software. Like, none. Zero. Statistical analysis to me is deciding which café has the shortest queue."
You expect a sigh or a look of disappointment—it's what most serious students do when they realize they've been paired with you. Instead, Sunghoon's expression softens.
"It's okay," he says quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "I'm... not an expert either."
"But you always look so focused during class," you say, gesturing to his immaculate notes.
He shrugs, the movement slight and controlled. "I write everything down. Doesn't mean I understand it all."
When he opens the STATA program and navigates through a few screens with apparent ease, you lean closer.
"Okay, so you're being modest. You definitely know more than I do."
"Barely," he admits, and you catch the faintest hint of a smile—not the polite one from before, but something genuine that makes you want to see it again. "I just know how to make it look like I know what I'm doing."
"That's an important life skill," you laugh, pulling your chair closer to see his screen better. "So what kind of data are we analyzing? Please say something fun like ice cream consumption versus happiness levels."
Sunghoon doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Actually," he says, "we can choose almost anything that interests us."
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. "See? We're going to be great partners. I bring the wild ideas, you bring the common sense."
"Is that what they call it?" he asks, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice that catches you off guard.
"What would you call it?" you challenge.
He considers for a moment, adjusting his glasses with a single finger pushed against the bridge. The gesture shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Survival instinct."
You laugh, genuinely surprised. "So I'm dangerous?"
"No," he says, turning slightly to face you better. "Statistical software is dangerous. You're..." he pauses, seeming to search for the right word, "unpredictable."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one." The quiet confidence in his voice sends a small thrill through you.
Professor Clarke clears his throat at the front of the room. "I expect project proposals by the end of next week. Choose your dataset carefully—it will determine the scope of your entire project."
You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes of class remain.
"So, partner," you say, lowering your voice as Professor Clarke continues, "when should we meet to figure this out? I promise I'll try not to be ten minutes late."
Sunghoon's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Would you actually show up if I said 8 AM at the library?"
"Now you're just testing me," you whisper back.
"Coffee shop after class on Thursday?" he suggests instead, his voice equally quiet. "The one behind the science building?"
"Beans & Books? You've got good taste." You nod approvingly. "I practically live there between classes."
"I know," he says, then immediately looks as if he wishes he could take it back.
"You know?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly pleased.
A faint color appears high on his cheekbones. "I've seen you there. You always order something different and then type furiously on your laptop."
The fact that he's noticed you before, observed your habits even, gives you a little flutter of satisfaction. "And what do you order, Sunghoon Park? Let me guess—plain black coffee, no sugar."
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Close. Earl Grey tea."
"Of course," you nod sagely. "Sophisticated."
When class ends, you gather your things slowly, suddenly reluctant to leave. Sunghoon stands, slinging his messenger bag across his chest in one smooth motion.
"Thursday, then," he says, as if confirming an important business meeting.
"It's a date," you reply with deliberate casualness, watching his reaction.
His expression remains mostly neutral, but you don't miss the quick blink, the slight pause before he nods. "For statistics," he clarifies, but the slight upturn of his lips betrays him.
"For statistics," you agree solemnly, though you're already wondering what other subjects you might explore together.
The coffee shop meeting goes surprisingly well. What you expected to be an hour of awkward dataset discussions turns into three hours of conversation that meanders far beyond statistics. Sunghoon, it turns out, has layers beneath his reserved exterior—he plays piano, reads philosophy for fun, and has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh harder than you have in weeks.
By the end of the evening, you've not only selected your dataset (coffee consumption versus academic performance—your suggestion, which he surprisingly agreed to), but you've also learned that his stammer appears when he's either nervous or passionate about a topic. You find both instances equally endearing.
When Friday's class rolls around, something shifts. You arrive only five minutes late (progress), and the space beside Sunghoon, which is usually empty, now seems to be waiting for you. You slide into the seat and he glances up from his notebook, the corner of his mouth lifting in that subtle way that's becoming familiar.
"You're almost on time," he says quietly, amusement in his eyes.
"Don't get used to it," you reply, but there's no bite to your words.
Throughout the class, your awareness of him is heightened—the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, how his fingers tap thoughtfully against the desk when Professor Clarke asks a difficult question, the scent of his cologne when he leans closer to point something out on your screen.
After class, you find yourself hesitating as you pack up your things, watching as he meticulously organizes his notes.
"So," you begin, aiming for casual, "I was thinking... we should probably meet again this weekend to work on the project." You pause. "My roommate's gone for the weekend. We could use my dorm? Fewer distractions than the coffee shop."
Sunghoon looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods. "That would be... efficient."
You laugh at his choice of words. "Very statistical of you."
"I meant—" he starts, a hint of that stammer appearing.
"I know what you meant," you interrupt, grinning. "Saturday at four?"
He nods, adjusting his glasses. "I'll bring the data analysis. You bring the coffee."
"Deal."
Saturday arrives, and for the first time in your university career, you spend thirty minutes tidying your room before a study session. You tell yourself it's just basic courtesy, not because you care what Sunghoon thinks of your living space.
At precisely four o'clock, there's a knock at your door. Punctual as always.
You open it to find Sunghoon standing there in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his laptop bag slung across his body. He's swapped his usual wire-frames for slightly thicker black glasses that somehow make him look even more attractive—scholarly but with an edge.
"You're making me look bad with this punctuality thing," you say by way of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.
"Sorry?" he offers, clearly unsure if he's actually done something wrong.
You laugh. "I'm joking. Come in."
Your dorm room is standard—bed, desk, small seating area with a loveseat and coffee table—but you've made it yours with art on the walls and plants on every available surface. Sunghoon takes it all in with curious eyes.
"I like your space," he says, and it sounds genuine.
"Thanks. Where should we set up? Desk or coffee table?"
"Either is fine," he says, that formal politeness still present even after your hours in the coffee shop.
You end up at the coffee table, sitting side by side on the loveseat, laptops open. For an hour, you actually make progress on the project. Sunghoon explains correlations in a way that finally makes sense, and you discover you have a talent for visualizing data in creative ways that makes his eyes light up with approval.
But as the afternoon wears on, the small space means your shoulders keep brushing, your knees occasionally touch, and each point of contact feels increasingly deliberate. When you reach for your coffee at the same moment he reaches for his tea, your hands collide, and neither of you pulls away immediately.
"Sorry," you both say at once, and then laugh.
"Great minds," you add, but you're distracted by how his eyes look behind those glasses, warm and focused entirely on you.
At some point, you shift positions, both of you turning toward each other to discuss a particularly complicated aspect of your analysis. Your knees are definitely touching now, and the loveseat suddenly seems much smaller than it did an hour ago.
"So if we compare these variables..." he's saying, but you're watching his mouth form the words more than listening to their meaning.
"Hmm?" you say, forcing your attention back to the screen.
He turns to look at you fully, and you realize how close your faces are. "You're not listening," he says, but there's no accusation in his voice.
"I'm distracted," you admit.
"By statistics?"
"By you."
The words hang in the air between you. Sunghoon blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something more intense. He swallows visibly, and you watch the movement in his throat.
"I'm... distracting?" he asks, his voice lower than before.
"Extremely." Your eyes lock on his glasses, the way they frame his dark eyes, how they complete his devastatingly attractive intellectual look. "Especially with these on."
His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "The glasses?"
"God, yes," you breathe, moving closer. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look in them."
A flush spreads across his cheeks, but there's a new confidence in the way he holds your gaze. Without warning, he pulls you forward into a kiss that has nothing of his usual restraint. His laptop slides forgotten to the coffee table as you shift closer, and then somehow you're straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face as you deepen the kiss.
When you break apart to breathe, his glasses are slightly askew. You straighten them gently, then run your fingers through his usually immaculate hair, deliberately messing it up while keeping the glasses perfectly in place.
"You're so sexy," you murmur against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this since the first day we were paired up."
His hands find your hips, holding you firmly against him. "I find that... statistically improbable," he manages, but his breathing is as uneven as yours.
"I'll show you improbable," you whisper, grinding down deliberately. His glasses fog slightly from the heat between you, and the sight sends a thrill through your body. "So fucking hot," you repeat, unable to stop yourself.
His hands slide beneath your shirt, exploring with a surprising boldness that makes you gasp. "We should—" he starts, breathing heavily.
“Yes,” you agree, already pulling him up from the loveseat, walking backwards toward your bed while keeping his mouth on yours. “The project can definitely wait.”
You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you, careful not to knock his glasses off as he hovers above you. They’ve fogged again from the heat between your bodies, and something about that sight—this controlled, precise man coming undone while still looking every bit the hot intellectual—pushes you past any remaining hesitation.
“Leave them on,” you insist when he reaches to remove his glasses. “Please.”
His lips curve into a smile that’s nothing like his usual restrained expressions—this one is knowing, almost wicked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck.
“It’s definitely what I want,” you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. “Along with… everything else.”
There’s a playful air to each touch, a slow building of tension as you both start to peel away layers. You tug at the hem of his shirt first, sliding it up inch by tantalizing inch until he lifts his arms to help you pull it off. He returns the favor by slipping a hand under your blouse, fingertips teasing over your ribs. Every time he tries to hasten the pace, you grin and slow him down, dragging the fabric just a bit more before letting it fall away, leaving him momentarily breathless. The sound he makes—caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh—sends a thrill through you.
Time seems to blur as clothing is discarded piece by piece, inhibitions falling away with each new revelation of skin. The afternoon sunlight filters through your curtains, casting everything in a warm glow.
At some point, you find yourself above him, both of you completely bare except for his glasses, which have somehow remained perfectly in place despite everything. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him beneath you—all lean muscle and flushed skin, those wire-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat between your bodies.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, a vulnerability in his voice despite the intimate position.
“Can you blame me?” You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, then another, and another, each one growing more insistent. “God, look at you.”
His hands find your hips, steadying you as you continue to kiss him, his glasses occasionally bumping against your face in a way that only heightens your desire. There's something impossibly erotic about him being completely naked except for those glasses—the contrast between his exposed body and that one remnant of his studious, put-together appearance.
"You're so fucking sexy," you breathe against his mouth. "How does anyone focus in that statistics class with you sitting there looking like this?"
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. "I could ask you the same question."
Your kisses become more urgent, your bodies moving together with increasing need. The heat between you builds with each touch, each whispered encouragement. Sunghoon's usually careful movements grow bolder, more instinctive, as your hands explore each other's bodies. His glasses, still perfectly perched on his nose, begin to fog at the edges first—just a light mist that catches the dim light of your room. But as your passion intensifies, as your breathing grows more ragged and synchronized, the lenses cloud completely.
When you pull back to look at him, you can't help but laugh softly at the sight—this brilliantly composed man now completely blinded by the evidence of your shared desire, those glasses that make him look so irresistibly intellectual now rendered useless by the heat radiating between your bodies. To your surprise, he laughs too—not the polite chuckle you've heard in class or the soft amusement from your coffee shop conversations, but a genuine, uninhibited sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It's rich and warm and completely unguarded.
"I can't see a thing," he admits, his voice husky with desire and amusement. His hands find your face despite his temporary blindness, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with unexpected precision. "But I don't need to see to know exactly where you are."
"Is that so?" you challenge, your breath catching as his fingers trail down your neck, across your collarbone, mapping you with deliberate attention.
"I've been studying you," he murmurs, his touch making you shiver despite the heat between you. "Memorizing. Analyzing patterns." His hands continue their exploration, finding every sensitive spot with remarkable accuracy. "It's very... statistical."
You laugh against his mouth. "Only you could make statistics sound sexy."
Through the fogged lenses, you can just barely make out how his eyes darken at your words. "I have other statistical terms I could demonstrate," he offers, surprising you again with his boldness. His accent becomes slightly more pronounced when he's like this—another detail you've grown to cherish.
"Show me," you whisper, and he does—his hands and mouth conducting a thorough analysis of cause and effect, of stimuli and response, until you're clutching at his shoulders and gasping his name. All while those fogged-up glasses remain perfectly in place, the final vestige of his composed exterior while everything else between you unravels into glorious chaos.
You’re already bare beneath him, skin flushed from teasing and anticipation, but the only thing still clinging to his body—those damn glasses—make it so much worse. Or better. Definitely better.
Sunghoon hovers over you, gaze dark behind the lenses, lips swollen and slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. You should be embarrassed at how wanton you must look, legs spread for him, body already trembling, but he’s the one who looks wrecked. His composure is gone, shattered somewhere between the desperate kisses and the way you dragged your nails down his back.
His lips quirk. “Still want me to leave them on?”
“Don’t even think about taking them off.”
His smile turns wicked, and then he’s moving—kissing, sucking, trailing his mouth down your body with purpose. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he’s right there—close enough that you can feel the ghost of his breath against you, the heat of it making your stomach clench.
He doesn’t start slow. No teasing, no light flicks of his tongue just to test the waters. Sunghoon eats you like he’s been starving for this, like he’s been waiting for the moment he could taste you, drown in you. His tongue is hot and relentless, curling against you just right, pressing where you need him most, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body.
But what really undoes you is the feeling of his glasses pressing against your inner thighs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. Every time he moves, every time he adjusts his angle, the frames shift against your skin—slightly rough, slightly smooth, a reminder of exactly who is between your legs and how absolutely ruined he’s making you.
You fist the sheets, hips jerking up into his mouth, but he pins you down effortlessly, a strong arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. He groans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations shooting through you, making you gasp his name.
“Fuck, Sunghoon—”
His response is a low hum against your clit, and your whole body shakes. You feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick slide of his tongue, but more than anything, you feel the weight of those goddamn glasses as they drag along your skin, fogging up even more, smudging against your inner thigh every time he moves deeper, harder, sloppier.
The sheer filth of it makes you clench around nothing.
Sunghoon notices, because of course he does—because he’s been studying you this whole time, memorizing what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble around his head. And he’s smug about it, too, because when he pulls back just enough to glance up at you, lips glistening, glasses just barely slipping down his nose, he smirks.
“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is raspy, breathless, wrecked.
You don’t even try to deny it. “Yes—God, yes, don’t stop.”
Sunghoon’s smirk deepens, and he doesn’t make you beg for it. He dives right back in, tongue flicking, sucking, his grip on your thighs tightening as you lose yourself completely. The drag of his glasses, the precise way he adjusts his angle to push you higher, the way he groans into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are—it’s too much.
The coil in your stomach snaps hard, pleasure crashing over you so intensely that you barely realize you’re pulling at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer, like you might fall apart completely if he stops.
Sunghoon doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow, methodical, lazy in a way that makes you shudder from overstimulation. Only when your body twitches beneath him does he finally pull away, chin glistening, glasses fucking ruined.
You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, hovering over you, his mouth right there, his glasses so close you can see the way they’re fogged-up and smudged with sweat.
When you finally collapse beside each other, spent and satisfied, his glasses are askew once more. You reach over to straighten them, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.
"So," you say, when you've caught your breath, "should we tell Professor Clarke we've found an interesting correlation to study?"
Sunghoon laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way you hadn't heard before today. "I don't think this is what he had in mind for the assignment."
"His loss," you murmur, snuggling closer. "I'd say our statistical analysis was very... thorough."
"We should probably actually work on the project at some point," he says, but makes no move to get up.
"Tomorrow," you promise, running a finger along his jawline. "I think we need to collect more data first."
His eyebrow raises above the rim of his glasses. "For the sake of academic integrity?"
"Absolutely," you agree solemnly, before dissolving into laughter.
The statistics of probability have never been so compelling.
-
Over the next few weeks, your statistics class takes on an entirely new dimension. What was once your least favorite part of the week has become the highlight—not because you've suddenly developed a passion for data analysis, but because of the subtle dance that unfolds between you and Sunghoon twice a week in that computer lab.
The Monday after your "study session," you arrive to class five minutes early—a personal record. Sunghoon is already there, of course, and the moment he sees you, his ears turn slightly pink. When you slide into the seat next to him, now officially your spot, he gives you a small smile that feels like a secret.
"You're early," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
"I had motivation," you reply, letting your knee brush against his under the desk.
His eyes flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his notebook. "I hope it wasn't just for... statistical analysis."
"Depends on how you define statistics," you whisper just as Professor Clarke calls the class to order.
Throughout the lecture, you're acutely aware of every movement Sunghoon makes—how he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking, the precise way he takes notes, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. Halfway through class, you deliberately drop your pen between you. When you both reach for it, your fingers touch, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, he hooks his pinky finger over yours for just a moment before handing you the pen. The small gesture sends a flutter through your chest.
After class, you walk together to the coffee shop without needing to discuss it. Somehow, it's already become your routine.
"How's the dataset compilation going?" he asks as you find a small table in the corner.
"That's what you want to talk about right now? Really?" You raise an eyebrow.
A faint smile plays at his lips. "We do have a project due in three weeks."
"Always so responsible," you sigh dramatically, but there's fondness in your voice. "It's going fine. I've got the coffee consumption survey data from about fifty students so far."
He nods approvingly. "That's a decent sample size for our purposes."
When your drinks arrive—his Earl Grey and your excessively complicated latte—you notice something different about him. He's still quiet, still thoughtful, but there's a new ease to his movements, a softness around his eyes when he looks at you.
"What?" he asks, catching you studying him.
"Nothing," you say, then reconsider. "Actually, not nothing. You seem... different."
He takes a sip of his tea, considering. "I feel different," he admits after a moment. "With you."
The simple sincerity of his words catches you off guard. For all your flirtatious confidence, his straightforward honesty disarms you completely.
"Good different?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy.
"Very good different," he confirms, and beneath the table, his foot rests against yours. Not by accident.
By the third week, you've fallen into patterns that blend the academic with the intimate. Your Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are devoted to actual project work—usually in the library where the public setting keeps you reasonably focused.
Your Saturday “study sessions” in your dorm room are significantly less productive in the statistical sense, though you joke that you’re certainly collecting plenty of data on other variables.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes every time you say it, but you know he loves it—loves how eager, how shameless you are when it comes to him. Because every time you spread your legs for him, every time you drag him into another compromising position, he never tells you no.
Case Study #1: The Textbooks
It starts with an innocent enough setup—Sunghoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against your bed, flipping through a statistics textbook while you sit across from him, pretending to study. But it’s boring. He looks too good in his glasses, sleeves rolled up, the slightest furrow in his brow as he concentrates. And before you even realize you’re moving, you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him right there on top of the book.
He barely has time to exhale your name before you sink down onto him, making both of you groan.
The hardcover digs into your knees, the pages creasing beneath you, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon is buried inside you, stretching you open, warm and deep and perfect, and the only data you’re analyzing is how his breath stutters when you roll your hips just right.
“Fuck, you’re unreal—” he pants, hands gripping your waist, watching you through the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses as you use him, ride him slow, grind on him like you want to ruin him.
You do. You want to wreck him just as much as he’s wrecking you. The friction, the delicious drag, the way his hands squeeze your hips to urge you to go faster, harder—it all shreds your self-control.
By the time you both come undone, gasping and clinging to each other, the textbook beneath you is thoroughly creased, sticky, ruined. Neither of you even bother looking at it.
Case Study #2: The Desk Chair
Another Saturday, another useless attempt at studying.
Sunghoon’s seated at your desk this time, one leg lazily spread, hand bracing his forehead as he tries to focus. But you’re kneeling between his legs, and the moment you reach for his zipper, his entire body tenses.
“You’re insatiable.”
“And?” You tug his pants down just enough to free him, palming his length, watching him harden in your hand as his breathing turns shallow.
He leans back, exhaling sharply when your lips part and you take him deep. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, tease him, make him fall apart.
His glasses slip down his nose as he watches you, half-lidded and dazed, jaw slack as you take him deeper, sucking, hollowing your cheeks, making obscene little noises that drive him insane.
He trembles when he finally spills down your throat, groaning your name, head thrown back against the chair.
And the moment he catches his breath, he drags you into his lap, flips you onto the desk, and fucks you stupid.
Case Study #3: Against the Window
Another week. Another “study session.” Another location.
This time, you find yourself pressed against the glass of your dorm window, palms splayed, breath fogging the pane as Sunghoon pounds into you from behind.
The curtains are open.
You don’t know if anyone can see—if someone walking by on the street below can look up and spot your bare body, the lewd way you’re bent over, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with punishing force.
But you don’t care.
All you care about is the way he grunts into your ear, his glasses slightly askew, one hand slipping down to rub your clit, making you jerk and gasp his name as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growls, voice thick with lust, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “Look outside. Look at what a mess you are.”
Case Study #4: The Shower
It’s late, and you should be asleep. But instead, you’re pressed up against the tiled wall of your tiny dorm shower, water scalding hot, steam curling around you as Sunghoon lifts you up, holds you against him, and fucks you slow, deep.
His glasses are gone, finally.
They’d fogged up the moment he stepped into the shower, and the second you’d made a joke about it, he’d taken them off and set them on the sink. But you don’t miss them too much—not when his mouth is on your throat, sucking bruises into your wet skin, not when his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you in place as he rolls his hips into you with exquisite precision.
You come twice before you finally stumble out of the shower, exhausted, dripping, completely spent.
And the moment you walk back into your dorm room, still naked, Sunghoon picks up his glasses, slides them back on, and gives you a look that tells you he’s nowhere near finished with you.
Case Study #5: The Floor (Again, Because You Can’t Stop)
At this point, you don’t even make it to the bed.
You’re both desperate, panting, **clawing at each other like you can’t stand the idea of being apart for another second.**The moment Sunghoon pushes you onto the floor, you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down, gasping when he fills you in one smooth thrust.
It’s fast, dirty, messy.
He grits out your name, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open as he slams into you, pace brutal, relentless. The carpet burns on your back will be worth it.
He loses his glasses at some point, but you don’t even notice—you’re too busy coming apart beneath him, clawing at his back, moaning his name like you’ll never get enough of him.
Maybe you won’t.
Because the second you catch your breath, still tangled up in him, you’re already thinking about where you’ll fuck next.
What surprises you most is how much you enjoy both versions of your time together. The project, which should be tedious, becomes engaging through Sunghoon's perspective. He has a way of finding patterns in chaos that makes even the driest data seem fascinating. And through your influence, he's learning to approach problems more creatively, to see beyond the rigid frameworks he's always relied on.
"What if we visualize it this way instead?" you suggest one Tuesday, sketching a completely unorthodox chart on the margin of his meticulously organized notes.
His initial reaction is skepticism—you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow—but he considers it longer than he would have three weeks ago.
"It's unconventional," he says finally.
"But?"
"But it might actually work better for presenting the correlation," he concedes, and the smile you give him is so bright it makes the student at the next table look over.
In class, Professor Clarke notices the change in both of you. Your questions become more insightful, Sunghoon's responses more animated. When you present your initial findings mid-semester, the professor actually seems impressed by your unusual approach to visualization.
"An interesting methodology," he comments, adjusting his own glasses in a way that reminds you of Sunghoon. "Unorthodox, but effective."
You beam at Sunghoon, who ducks his head slightly but can't hide his pleased expression.
After class, he catches your hand as you're packing up—a gesture he would never have initiated before.
"We make a good team," he says quietly.
"The best," you agree, squeezing his fingers before reluctantly letting go. Public displays still make him slightly uncomfortable, and you respect his boundaries.
-
It's during a rainy Friday evening in your dorm room, six weeks into your relationship (though neither of you has officially labeled it as such), that something shifts again.
You're sprawled on your bed with your laptop, Sunghoon sitting at your desk reviewing your latest statistical findings, his glasses reflecting the blue light of the screen. Classical music plays softly from his phone—another new development. He's been gradually introducing you to his favorite composers, and you've found you actually enjoy the background music while working.
"Your scatterplot is missing a data point," he says, turning to look at you.
"Mmm, probably deleted it accidentally," you reply, not looking up from your position. "Is it important?"
"All data points are important," he says, but there's amusement in his voice rather than criticism.
You roll onto your back, laptop balanced on your stomach. "That sounds like something that would be on a statistics department t-shirt. 'All data points matter.'"
He laughs—a sound that's become less rare but no less thrilling to hear. "I'd wear it."
"Of course you would," you tease. "With your glasses and a pocket protector."
He makes a face at you. "I don't own a pocket protector."
"Yet," you add with a grin.
He shakes his head, turning back to the screen, but you catch the smile he tries to hide. After a moment, he speaks again without looking at you.
"My parents want to meet you."
You sit up so quickly your laptop nearly slides off your stomach. "What?"
Now he turns, his expression a mixture of nervousness and something softer. "I mentioned you during our weekly call. Multiple times, apparently. My mother... noticed."
"You talk about me to your parents?" You can't keep the pleased surprise from your voice.
He adjusts his glasses, a gesture you now recognize as his tell when he's feeling vulnerable. "It seems I do."
"What do you tell them?" You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention.
"That you're brilliant in ways I'm not. That you see solutions I miss." He pauses. "That you make statistics class the best part of my week."
Your heart does that skipping thing it did the first day Professor Clarke paired you together, only stronger now.
"Sunghoon Park," you say softly, "are you saying I'm statistically significant to you?"
His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain gentle. "With a p-value approaching zero," he replies, and though it's phrased as a joke, his tone makes it clear it's anything but.
In statistics, a p-value approaching zero indicates an extremely high likelihood that an observed effect is real and not due to chance. It's the closest thing to certainty that statistics allows.
You cross the room to where he sits, gently taking his face between your hands. His glasses are slightly smudged, and you resist the urge to clean them, focusing instead on the eyes behind them.
"So," you say, "when do I meet these parents who raised such a statistically significant nerd?"
He laughs, pulling you into his lap in a move that would have seemed impossibly bold from him just weeks ago. "They're visiting next weekend. Dinner on Saturday?"
"I'm there," you promise, sealing it with a kiss.
-
The day of your semester project presentation arrives with an unexpected lack of anxiety. You're prepared—more prepared than you've been for any academic presentation in your life. Partly because the subject has actually become interesting to you, but mostly because working on it meant spending hours with Sunghoon.
You stand beside him at the front of the class, watching him explain your methodology with a confidence that wasn't there at the beginning of the semester. His voice is still quiet, still measured, but there's a strength behind it now, an assurance that comes from truly understanding his material. When he gestures to your creative visualization on the screen, there's a hint of pride in his voice that makes your chest warm.
When it's your turn to present, you catch him watching you with undisguised admiration. You explain the correlations you found between different types of coffee consumption and various academic performance metrics, throwing in jokes that make the class laugh and complex statistical terms that make Professor Clarke nod approvingly.
"And in conclusion," you finish, "we found that while caffeine consumption generally correlates with improved academic performance up to a point, the type of environment in which the coffee is consumed may be an equally significant factor."
"Furthermore," Sunghoon adds, stepping forward to stand beside you, shoulder to shoulder, "we discovered that the companionship variable—whether students studied alone or with others—showed the strongest positive correlation with both satisfaction and performance outcomes."
His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you know he's not just talking about the data anymore.
When Professor Clarke gives your presentation an A and commends your "complementary analytical approaches," you resist the urge to high-five Sunghoon in front of everyone. Instead, you wait until you're outside the building, then throw your arms around him in celebration.
To your surprise, he lifts you slightly off the ground in his enthusiasm, spinning once before setting you down, his face flushed with excitement and mild embarrassment at his own uncharacteristic display.
"We did it," he says, adjusting his glasses which were knocked askew by your hug.
"Was there ever any doubt?" you reply, reaching up to straighten them properly. "We're statistically significant, remember?"
His smile softens, and right there on the path outside the statistics building, with students streaming past on their way to other classes, he kisses you without hesitation or self-consciousness.
"What was that for?" you ask when he pulls away, delighted but surprised by the public display.
"I've been collecting data," he says, his eyes crinkling behind those glasses you've grown to love, "and I've formed a hypothesis."
"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And what hypothesis is that, Mr. Park?"
He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you begin walking toward the coffee shop that's become your place.
"That I'm in love with you," he says simply. "And unlike most statistical conclusions, I'm one hundred percent certain."
You stop walking, turning to face him fully. "That's a bold statistical claim. Absolute certainty is rare in your field."
"I have compelling evidence," he counters, and the confidence in his voice, so different from the hesitant student you met months ago, makes your heart race.
"I might need to review your data," you tease, though your voice catches slightly.
"Extensive observation over time," he begins, stepping closer. "Consistent results across multiple variables. Reproducible effects." His voice drops lower. "Significant positive impact on all quality-of-life metrics."
"Very scientific," you murmur, your hands finding their way to his chest.
"I thought so," he agrees, his eyes serious despite the playful exchange. "So my conclusion stands."
You rise on your tiptoes, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, as someone who's conducted a parallel study, I can confirm your findings. The evidence suggests I'm in love with you too."
His smile, rare and full, lights up his entire face. "Independently verified results. The best kind."
“Should we celebrate this breakthrough with coffee?” you suggest, already knowing his answer.
“I was thinking maybe we skip the coffee today,” he says, surprising you again. “I have other hypotheses I’d like to test.”
“Professor Clarke would be shocked at your dedication to statistical research,” you laugh, letting him lead you in the direction of your dorm instead of the coffee shop.
“Some variables,” he says with newfound confidence, “are worth studying in depth.”
You lean in close, pressing your lips right against the shell of his ear, and whisper the kind of filth that would make even the most shameless person blush.
“Then why don’t you pin me down the second we walk through that door, shove your face between my legs, and eat me so fucking good I forget my own name? And when I can’t take anymore, you’ll flip me over and fuck me like you’re trying to imprint yourself inside me—deep, rough, until I’m crying and drooling on the sheets, too dumb to do anything but take it.”
Sunghoon stops breathing.
You feel the exact moment your words hit him—his entire body locks up, his grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind.
His glasses fog immediately.
A strangled noise escapes him, something between a curse and a choked groan, and then he’s moving.
Not just moving—dragging you, fast, purposeful, like a man on a mission.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice wrecked, dangerous, and it sends a thrill straight through you.
By the time you reach your dorm, he’s already reaching for the door handle, barely keeping himself together, and the second it clicks shut behind you—
You know he’s about to make good on every single word you just whispered.
That, by any metric, was statistically significant indeed.
ᯓ౨ৎ.ᐟ ⊹ 🐰 ever since you were little, you’ve loved anything cute- your favorite color is pink, your hair is constantly decorated with ribbons, and you dot your i’s with a heart. however you overhear your james (who you may or may not have a big fat crush on) describe his ideal type as the exact opposite as you, and you feel a sudden urge to reinvent yourself.
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# 🐰 : i love 2 post at random times . anyways y/n is me i am her
Enha with a super girly gf? Like they go to her house for the first time and everything's pink and sanrio !!
love for u - enha hcs
: 엔하이픈 x fem reader !
[ enhypen and their lovely lov gfie, whos somewhat nervous about showing her room to her boyfi! ]
WRITING 𓈒 HEADCANONS , MINOR DNI , age difference of 5 years (jay) , mentions of phone sex (jake) , mentions of pole dancing (hoon) , mentions of fucking on a pole (hoon) , ass gripping (sunoo) , teasing (sunoo) , petnames : princess, doll, babe, baby, honey, love, bunny.
wc: n/a
heeseung : 506 words
you skipped to your dorm with heeseung trailing right behind you, babbling about different makeup brands he wouldn't understand, or the latest drama between your friend’s group, “and then, minnie said to him, no way! i wouldn't even date you with a 10 ft pole, you stink!”
heeseung, nodded along with your words, in all honesty, he couldn't give a rat's ass about what you were talking about. he just thought your voice was soothing, and he loved it when you spoke about your day. his eyes just wandered around your backside as you bounced your way back to the dorm.
you came to a sudden halt as you were, after what felt like an eternity, in front of your dorm room. and heeseung didn't even notice himself, his chest bumping into your head, only to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your fluffy hair.
“we’re here, hee!” you smiled, grabbing the key from his pocket, because you put everything in there, sliding it into the metal lock.
and sure, the first looks into the dorm room seemed normal, the birch wood on the ground sleak, the fur carpet a cream colour and the sofa a white, with occasional pink pillows and one hello kitty plushy deadcenter.
“wow, princess this is so neat. how do you even manage?” he murmured into your hair, as you took synchronized steps into the room.
all you could do was let out a giggle with a heavy pounding in your heart, your hands resting ontop of his as you went deeper into the dorm room, stopping in front of your room. “i dunno, i mean, i like cleaning!” you chirped, opening the door of your bedroom.
the first thing heeseung could notice was the strong scent of lychee and baby powder hitting his nose. it smelled exactly like you.
for a second, as soon as his vision came back, he stilled, arm slackening around your waist, just enough for you to skip past and sit on the bed. the bed was covered in pink and a hello kitty duvet, the unicorn jellycat sat in the middle of the bed, just staring at him.
his eyes widened, unblinking as they scanned even more of the room. the plush, blush-pink rug, the matching pink curtains against your windows, the pink desk beside your bed, and white shelves upon shelves covered with sanrio figures, cups and daily necessities.
the hello kitty plushies on the desk stared at him, and he stared back before letting out a deep sigh. almost a soft, breathless laugh escaped his lungs. it wasn't mocking, just in adoration.
“cute room, princess,” he hummed, going to sit next to you on your oh so soft bed, the fur of the rug under his feet making him melt im comfortablity. he pushed you down on the bed, making you yelp as he rested his head on your chest with a smile.
“it’s perfect, so perfect,” he mumbled into your chest. he wasnt talking about the room.
jay : 644 words
you padded around your room nervously, this was the first time jay would even come to your place, you’ve always only been to his. this was also your first time dressing up comfortably (not to say you didn't, but it was always a faux version of how you normally dressed up with him.)
the thigh high socks and large white shirt you stole from jay’s house adorned your body as you bit the freshly manicured extensions on your thumb. what if he didnt like it? not to mention, he was almost 5 years older than you. you were already insecure enough about the age gap, what if he wanted someone more mature? what if he didnt want to date you anymore because you were too pink and loved–
the sound of your doorbell ringed through your ears, as your thoughts were interrupted, he was here.
you took a deep, shaky breath, the scent of strawberry and vanilla from your walls filling your lungs, as you padded to the entrance of your dorm room.
you swung the door open, and there he was. your boyfriend, park jongseong, jay, looking effortlessly handsome as he always did. his eyes softening the moment he saw you, a small smirk creeping onto his lips before his gaze drifted past your shoulder into the dorm room.
his smile didnt vanish, but froze. his eyebrow slightly lifting as he took in the sight behind you. his hands going to grip your waist to move to the side to invite himself in, his movement uncharacteristically slow as his eyes scanned the room with a focus that made your stomach drop.
he was silent for too long for your liking.
“wow, doll.” he said, breaking the silence, his tone unbearably flat and unreadable. he walked closer to your bedside table, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of your pink lampshade. his eyes scanned the rows of identical-looking yet (to you) completely distinct my melody figures. “this is a lot, doll.”
your heart sank in your chest as soon as you heard that. a lot. in jay’s words, that means ‘too much’. he thinks it’s childish, he thinks im childish.
“i-i know it’s kinda… girly,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself almost as if you were trying to hide.
jay hummed a soft tune, as if he was agreeing with you, as he picked up a tiny, rare my melody figurine, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, glaring it with almost an intensity that could burn lasers through it with a practically critical frown. “girly is an understatement, doll. this is just commitment.”
he set the figurine down with a quiet click against the shelf. this was it. he was going to say he needed space between the two of you, the age gap was too much, almost childish in his eyes, he needed to be with someone who was his own age, not someone young and dumb–
“y’know,” he interrupted your thoughts, voice low and still measured. “my apartment is a greyscale, everything has a place, where it should be. efficient.” he finally turned to look at you, and his eyes were staring into your own. “it’s sterile, practical.”
he took long strides towards you, closing the distance within seconds. his hands went to cradle your face, his touch surprisingly urgent.
“and this,” he said, gaze flickering across the pink room, before locking back onto yours. “this is just you, the colour, the figurines.” he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a raw and husky whisper. “it’s the most alive i’ve felt in any room in years.”
his lips connected your plump, glossy ones, hard and possessively, before pulling back to speak, his lips and breath brushing against yours. "now, are you going to show me which one of these... things is your favourite, or do I have to guess?"
jake : 660
jake has seen snippets of your room countless times during late-night phone calls, when you were showing off your outfits for date nights, even when you guys had phone sex! but this was the first actual time he would be coming over.
you needed and wanted everything to be perfect, as you rushed to fluff out the pillows once again, putting your special bonbonribbon plush in the middle of your pillows, tucking her into the blanket.
the air was thick with the sweet scent of the cupcake candle you lit just minutes ago. your eyes darted around, checking for any flaw, a dust bunny, a misplaced hair clip, or worse extension! it had to be perfect.
the distinct, chirpy ring of your doorbell made you jump in fear and excitement. he was here.
you took one last breath as you smoothed your pink tank top down and pushed your bangs to the side, padding to the door.
swinging it open, you were met with your boyfriends beaming face, eyes shining like you had hand-painted the skies, and a smile so bright it could power the whole city.
“babe!” he cheered, his voice almost as sweet as the cupcake scent of your room. but, before you could even utter his name, his eyes had already glanced past you into your room. his jaw physically dropped before his words came out of his mouth. “woah!”
he didnt even wait for an invitation into your dorm room. he brushed past you, steps rapid and eager as if he was entering the dog park. “no way,” he huffed out, head swivelling back to you with those big shiny eyes. “it’s even better in person!” he sai,d bouncing on his heels softly.
“its like entering the california girls music video!” his excitement was all over the place, filling the room even more than the pink decor. he pointed towards your canopy bed, one with the white curtains. “those are the fairy lights you told me about, y/nnie!” he gasped in adoration, taking steps closer, “the ones with the small strawberry charms!”
his eyes zeroed in on your desk, where you kept all your beloved albums and rare collectables. “and you have the lalaloopsy you’ve always wanted! what was her name again…” he hummed, tapping his chin before an invisible lightbulb went off, “right! bubbles smack 'n' pop!”
he turned towards you, eyes in genuine awe and adoration. “this is adorable, babe!”
as he spun around once again, his gaze landed on your bed, and the plush you’d so carefully positioned.
his entire face softened in an instant.
“oh, and who’s this little cutie?” he asked with warmth, his voice dropping to a coo. he walked over with strides, and gently, so gently, picked up the bonbonribbon plush.
his big hands engulfing soft plush as if it were made of porcelain.
he looked from the plush’s smiling face to yours, his own expression overflowing with a mix of tenderness and adoration. “she looks just like you, baby.”
your earlier nerves melting away under the warmth of his gaze. “she’s been waiting for you to visit.” you mumbled softly with a smile.
jake’s smile turned impossibly softer, carefully tucking the bonbonribbon plush back into the blanket and patter her head twice.
his full attention now on you as he closed the distance with two giant strides. his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you in a small, joyful spin that made you squeal with a giggle.
setting you down, he kept you locked in his embrace, nuzzling his nose against the softness of your hair. “your room, it’s perfect.” he whispered, eyes glistening. “it’s so you, i love it.”
he pressed a quick, sweet kiss to your lips, the taste of your white peach balm transferring onto the lips of his own. “now, official tour, please. you need to introduce me to everyone. starting with this little one.” he said, nodding seriously toward bonbonribbon.
sunghoon : 465 words
sunghoon followed you into your room with his usual grace, arm a warm, reassuring weight around your neck, but the moment he stepped in he stopped dead in his tracks. however, he wasnt in shock, instead, a soft captivated “oh” escaped his lips, gaze sweeping over the pinks of your room.
they tracked from the hot-pink walls, to the fluffy black rug, to the opened closet crammed with your skimpy outfits and leopard prints, to the pole in the middle of it, and finally to the giant hello kitty lazing on your bed. it was like watching the first snow fall, quiet, and utterly mesmerizing.
he let go of your hand only to take a few slow steps further in, his eyes drinking in every detail. you held your breath, nervously twisting the hem of your skirt as the silence stretched, thick and heavy.
he was silent, but it wasn't a judging silence, it was the silence of someone fully immersed in a feeling.
he reached out, his fingers, elegant and precise, caressing the metal pole in the middle of the room with curiosity. his touch was almost thoughtful, he was analysing it, as he traced the cool sleek metal.
his gaze ditching from the pole, to the hello kitty on your bed, and the leopard prints in your closet, and finally, back to you.
a slow dawning smile spread across his face. it wasnt his usual polite smile, nor was it the smile he wore around you; it was something deeper, mixed with intrigue and maybe a hint of arousal at the fact there was a whole pole in the middle of the room. it made your heart clench.
“you do realise we will be fucking on this, right?” he murmured wickedly, his voice low and laced with a new kind of warmth. he took a step towards you, his eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and amusement. “the girl who has a whole hello kitty stuffie next to her six-inch heels.”
he closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on your hips. his touch was firm, possessive. "all this time, i’ve only seen snippets of you?” he laughed softly, “the keychain on your bag, the sticker on your phone... but this..." he gestured around the room with his head. “it’s really something else.”
he leaned in, his forehead nearly touching yours, "it's driving me crazy, in the best way." he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. his eyes darted around the room one more time, lingering on the cold metal pole one last time before shaking his head. eyes dark and intense as he locked them back onto your own.
“why dont we fuck now?” his question earning a stinging feeling on his face. “worth it, baby.”
sunoo : 612 words
you were on the phone with sunoo as you waited for him to arrive, laying on the daybed in your room, kicking your sock clad socks against your ass. “sunooooo!” you whined, rolling over with a pout. “how much more longer!!”
your complaining earned a soft chuckle from sunoo, “only a minute, honey, i’m just parking.” he hummed, the sound of the car beeping in the background of your phone.
“well, hurry! i cant wait any longer.” you huffed, getting up from the bed and laying the blanket so it was neat and tidy for her boyfriend when he got here anyminute. “love you.” you giggled, letting out an exaggerated ‘mwah!’ as you hung up the phone.
as soon as you hung up, you heard a knock on the door.
a giddy smile instantly spread across your face as you practically skipped to the entrance. swinging the door open without a care in the world, you found sunoo standing there, one hand in the dark leather jacket pocket, his phone in the other. a found amusement on his face.
he didnt say hello.
instead, he lifted his phone, tapped the screen and held it to his ear, eyes never leaving yours. from your own phone, which you'd tossed onto the daybed, you heard the faint, delayed sound of your own voice through his speaker: "...love you. mwah!"
your jaw dropped, a hot blush immediately flooding your cheeks.
he had recorded you.
sunoo’s expression shifted into one of joy, the fox-like smile you love appearing as he lowered his phone. “got you, honey.” he hummed, voice dripping with a playful smugness.
before you could even process the embarrassment, he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around your waist, and lifted you in a swift, joyful spin right there in your doorway.
"now I have proof that you're the cutest, whiniest, most adorable girlfriend in the world," he cooed, setting you down but keeping you locked tightly against his chest.
he nuzzled his nose against your soft hair, his laughter soft and warm. "and I'm never deleting it."
still red, you giggled and tried wriggled out of his embrace, “you’re the worst!” you protested and whined, only to be betrayed by the massive smile on your lips.
"you love me," he corrected smoothly, finally releasing you from the hug but immediately grabbing your ass through your thin panties as he walked past you and into that room of yours for the first time.
the smirk on his face softened, overtaken by a look of wonder. his eyes widened, taking in your room the walls painted a soft ballet-slipper pink, the shelves overflowing with porcelain blythe dolls and the fluffy white rug that looked like a cloud.
“woah.” he breathed, his voice filled with admiration. giving your hand a tug as he pulled yourself in with him as he fully stepped inside, as if drawn in by the rooms cuteness. almost getting whiplash trying to take everything in at once.
he stopped in the center of the room, his eyes finally landing on your daybed which was littered with a dozen baby pink pillows and the giant garnet plush you’d just been cuddling.
a slow smile spread across his face, even more wider than his usual fox like grin as he grabbed the cat like plush and cuddled her closer, smelling the scent of your marshemllow perfume. letting out a sound of pure delight.
“oh, honey, this is perfect.” he groaned, throwing down the plush and engulfing you in a hug hands going to rest on your ass as your arms rest around his neck.
“love you.” he hummed, finally saying it back from the call.
jungwon : 404 words
jungwon sat in your living room, leg bouncing in anticipation as he waited for you to clean up your room. the usual subtle tension in his shoulders, a remnant of a long day, seemed to melt away. perking up as he heard the soft click of your door open.
“come in, wonnie.” you said softly with a smile, as you held the door open waiting for him. with those words, he sprung up from your cream couch and stood infront of you with a warm smile.
“hi.” he giggled, looking down at you with those cat like eyes you always adored.
“hi.” you replied, taking his hand as you lead him into your room with a smile, letting go of his hands stand in the middle of the room with your hands in the air. “ta-da!”
as jungwon entered the room, the soft wift of whipped cream and cotton candy entered his nose, his cat like eyes squinting as he glanced around the room, scanning the place as if this would be his own bedroom for the next few days. from the cream coloured walls to the calming hues of blue and pink on the rug.
the room was practically perfect in his book, flopping ontop of the bed like it was his own, surrounding by many rilakkuma plushies and a large bunny jelly cat which he snuggled with. “this is perfect.” he purred calmly, flipping onto his side to see you sit on a soft pink beanbag beside him.
eyes catching a glimpse of a pillow fort just by the bookshelf where it was adorned with vinyls and of mangas and romance books, it was just like you in his eyes. the korilakkuma just peaking from the sheet of your fortress making him giggle to himself.
“y’know, bunny, the korilakkuma looks just like you.” he says with a velvety voice, nodding towards the plush. “reminds me of a warm hug, it’s feels like you.” he hummed, holding up the rilakkuma like it was an airplane. “and the rilakkuma is me.”
you laughed softly, getting up from the beanbag and replacing the rilakkuma that was once against his chest, now you taken the spot, laying your head ontop of his chest. “you do know they arent dating, right?”
he paused for a second, before placing the rilakkuma down, wrapping his arms around your back. “well, in here, they are.” he hummed, kissing your nose.
riki : 401 words
riki followed you into your room, his lanky body draped over your own short one as you took one step at a time not to trip the both of you. as you both stopped in the doorway, his eyes took a quick sweep of the space.
for a second, his mind went blank, his brain processing the sensory overload. the clash of black walls against the hot pink leopard print bedding, the classic innocent hello kitty logo plastered over tacky pillows, beside different playboy shapped pillows and a fuzzy zebra rug.
a black pole lamp in the corner, besides a high heel stool and shelves of pristine sanrio figures.
his mouth hung open, then closed. looking at the different band posters you had, from the punk-rock hello kitty wearing a spiked collar to the giant and fluffy hello kitty plus on your bed, and back to the avril lavigne poster, he was utterly lost.
“holy shit, love.” he finally managed, his voice a mix of pure confusion and adoration. “your room is… something.”
“whats that supposed to mean?” you asked with raised eyebrows, watching him take a cautious step further into your room.
“nono– nothing,” he hummed as his fingers brushed against your bedside tabke, where a hello kitty lamp with a leopard print shade sat, beside a photo of the both of you in a photobooth.
“is she… is hello kitty your muse, here?” he asked turning over with raised brows, a hint of teasing yet genuine curiosity in his tone.
you laughed at his question, nodding softly as you went to sit ontop of your bed with a smile, digging under the pillow to hold up a keychain, one of hello kitty with a black hoodie on. “take it, put it on your bag, ki.” you hummed with a smile.
riki’s eyes widened slightly, looking from your smiling face to the keychain in your hand. for a split second, he just stared at the keychain. the cutesy hello kitty, with a black hoodie? yeah right, this was just confusing.
“only because i love you.” he replied with a smile, taking it from your hands like a fragile doll. “it looks like you, love.” he hummed, clipping it around his jeans rather than the bag.
“now everyone will know im yours.” he smiled, leaning down to kneel between your knees, grabbing your wrist and kissing it with a smirk.
One of the funniest things to come out of the live action Titans show has to be the behind the scenes pics because every single one I see of Brenton Thwaites is the most in character depiction of Dick Grayson I've ever seen
Like look at these photos and tell me he wouldn't do this shit
BOO .ᐟ IM TRYNA HAVE SOME FUN WITH YOU .ᐟ [TEASER]
➤NO NEED TO BE SCARED.. I WANNA HAVE FUN WITH YOU ꩜ .ᐟ
pairing 🃟 killerclown!yangjungwon x fem!reader
warning 🃟 18+ smut, mdni, non-con!, dub-con!, obsessive!jungwon, exbf!jungwon, dom!jungwon, pinv!, mentions of chainsaw, explicit content, sub!reader, knife!play, rough!manhandling, cheating…, fingering, sidecharacter!jake, hair!pulling, doggystyle, + more tags once it's released!
word count 🃟 around 3k
release date 🃟 hopefully by the first week of nov (ik I said halloween but school is eating me up rn...)
the midnight sky was still – dark, cold. the porch lights flicker as they slowly die with every beat becoming faded as they hold onto the remaining power they had left. the soft pour of crickets filling the crisp silence, cradling in the sky like a lullaby. you take out your keys as they clamp together in a symphony as you try to find the right one before you click the door open. as you enter, you’re greeted with jake, sitting on the couch watching TV as the soft blue flickers streak over his face until he realizes that you were at the door.
“hey babe.” he greets, his eyes fully focused on the tv.
“hey..” you groggily answered him as you closed the door.
“you’re back early.”
“yeah….” you shrug your bag off your shoulder, slowly gliding off the outline of your arm before placing it on the armrest of the couch. he notices the tired tone. ”how was the party?”
“it was ok, wish you could’ve been there.” you lazily come up to the couch and plop down beside him. resting your head on his shoulder while he brings you closer. “i know honey but i had some work to do.” he cradles you while his hand rubs the side of your arms, creating a soothing heat that melts you into a soft slumber. “yeah, i know – i just miss you, that’s all.” your voice, soft and loving. “i missed you too.” he kisses the top of your head. “well since you’re home early, we can spend some time together, you know, watch a few scary movies and eat some candy — whatever you want, my treat. ” he reassures. “ok!” your mood immediately shifts, like a switch of a light bulb.
“are you hungry?”
“a little.”
“well, there are some leftovers in the fridge, just heat them up in the microwave, ok?”
“okkk” you lit up, making your way to the kitchen.
the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet with each step. the rattle of bottles clinking together as you open the fridge, skimming through the contents. you could feel your stomach eating itself alive, growling with a raging hunger. soon, the lights flutter once again, watching the entire room beat with a soft flicker. “what’s going on?”
“i don’t know, its probably a squirrel messing with the wires.” his voice, unbothered, casual about the situation at hand. he notices your change in mood, watching how your face falters with a clear sign of discomfort. “just don’t mind it, i’m sure it won’t happen again.”
you reluctantly took his word, hoping that was the case. just as you’re about to place your meal in the microwave — the lights diminish, swallowing your vision to see nothing but pitch black. you feel a rush of nerves consuming over your body, immediately full of panic.
“are you fucking serious right now.” he screams at the tv, throwing his hand in the air with disbelief.
he sighs in frustration.“ shit….alright, stay here and don’t leave. i’m going to check out the fuse box.” he turns on the flashlight on his phone and heads towards the door before disappearing into the eclipse.
lolli's notes 🃟 yo jungwon lately.....that's all imma say...
lolli: sorry but this fic is under maintenance. however, while you wait, check out other stuff!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — october’s cold bite brings out the ghosts, the parties, and the wild in everyone but you’d rather vanish than join the crowd. one haunted house party, one stolen motorbike, and one impossible boy later, you find yourself tangled in a night of dares, heated bets, and secret corners where every shadow feels like a dare. what starts as a brush with danger becomes a halloween tale of risk, pleasure, and being finally, truly seen. sometimes the scariest thing isn’t the dark, but what happens when you let yourself want more. or; when you try to ditch sunghoon’s halloween party he accuses you of stealing his bike, and before you know it, he’s giving you riding lessons, on and off the motorbike.
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — explicit language, rough sex, public sex (party/bathroom/garage), face riding, nipple play, heavy grinding, mutual masturbation, oral (f/m), risky sex, dom!sunghoon, possessiveness, jealousy, spanking, slapping, hair pulling, spitting, dirty talk, praise/degradation kink, mild choking, orgasm control, overstimulation, riding kink (literal and metaphorical), clothing/lingerie kink, slight exhibitionism, voyeurism, minor dub-con vibes (consensual but high pressure), sex under the stars, pool sex, food play (kitchen), alcohol use, mentions of sex addiction, hints of competitive fucking, biting/marking, aftercare, light humor, multiple rounds, light angst, halloween party themes, wild chemistry, intense eye contact, motorbike as a prop, very vocal reader, emotional vulnerability, catharsis through sex, heavy makeouts, accidental romance, feeling seen for the first time.
listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🎃
The cold hits harder out here than you expected, a knife-edge wind slicing through the thin satin of your costume until your teeth chatter. You curl forward, shoulders hiked like you’re trying to fold yourself into a smaller target, one arm clutching the neckline in place, the other white-knuckling your phone as you bounce from rideshare app to rideshare app. Each rejection pings through you like a bruise: No drivers available in this area. Of course not, it’s past midnight, you’re half a mile from campus in a suburban stretch no sane driver cruises after Halloween. Your shoes, strappy, glittery, chosen for possible fun, not actual mileage, grind tiny rocks into your heels every time you shift your weight, and you feel each sting all the way up your calves. Behind you, the bass thrums in your bones, a relentless heartbeat you want to outrun but can’t.
From the cracked doorway you left ajar in your rush, you catch neon slices of party light: strobing orange, sickly green. The smell of sugary punch laced with cheap vodka drifts out in sticky waves, hazed with smoke and that unmistakable tang of too many bodies packed too close. You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes inside, long enough to see two strangers giggling on the staircase as they unzipped each other’s costumes, long enough to watch a couple you think you’ve seen in your econ lecture full-on tongue each other in the pantry beside the plastic-wrapped loaf of Hawaiian rolls. Someone had already spilled an entire cauldron punch bowl, raspberry-red tide creeping across the hardwood while three different people filmed it instead of helping. The music was a remixed early-2000s hit, pitched high and cruel, a relentless pulse that made your temples throb like they were trying to hammer their way out.
Out here, the party house has a warped, storybook charm, its two stories blurred with orange string lights and half-sagging cobwebs, plastic skeletons swinging crookedly from the porch beams, caught in the wind like marionettes abandoned mid-dance. The front steps are crowded with carved pumpkins, some masterpieces, some crude, all grinning with flickering teeth, candlelight twitching behind jagged mouths. Every window pulses with the blur of movement, staccato silhouettes framed by haze and music, a thousand tiny dramas happening behind smudged glass: someone jumping onto a friend’s back, a flash of bare thigh as a costume rides up, a glittering mask tossed aside. Laughter rises, shrill and wild, then drops into a bassline rumble that rattles the panes, the house itself seeming to sway with every surge.
You shift your weight, heel sinking into the wet grass, feeling the chill leak through your tights. The tombstone at your ankle—R.I.P. GOOD GRADES, black marker slanted, makes you snort quietly, a bubble of bitter amusement rising as you imagine your transcript going six feet under by morning. Another gust claws at the hem of your dress, dragging satin up your thighs, and you jerk it down, face burning with the self-consciousness of a kid who thinks the whole world is watching. The truth is, no one’s looking. You’re invisible out here, a scrap of shadow on the fringe of something riotous and glowing. The laughter from inside feels both inviting and pointed, like a joke you’re not in on. You fold your arms tighter across your chest, cold gnawing through the thin costume, phone clenched so hard your knuckles ache.
You can hear everything, even with the door mostly closed, the off-key chorus of a group shotgunning punch in the kitchen, the shriek of someone spotting a friend in matching fangs, the groan of floorboards under too many stomping boots. Once or twice, someone opens the door and a sheet of sound pours out: old pop remixed with horror-movie effects, giggles that burst and scatter across the lawn before vanishing. From your place in the dark, you’re neither guest nor stranger, just the negative space around the party, a half-forgotten margin between porch lights and street. You watch the light flicker over the lawn, golden and syrupy, and wonder if it would swallow you whole or spit you back out if you tried to re-enter.
You shift again, the ache in your feet growing sharper, shoulders curled forward against the wind. You can smell the sweet reek of fake cider, pumpkin guts, sweat, something fried and overcooked wafting out the kitchen window. The sound of glass shattering, cheers follow, then a thud. Someone’s already made a mess of the living room, you’re sure. Inside, everyone’s burning hot and too loud, while out here, the night clings to you, cool and damp, and you swear you can hear your own heart louder than the music. It’s the peculiar ache of being somewhere you’re not wanted, but not brave enough to leave for good, just stuck, in between, shivering while the party goes on without you.
You stare down at your phone, thumb hovering, willing a rideshare to appear out of thin air. You’d give anything to be back in your bed, mismatched socks and pumpkin-scented sheets, watching something soft and safe under a pile of blankets. Instead you’re here, on the fringe of someone else’s fun, and even the skeleton on the porch seems to laugh at your expense. You came because Mira wouldn’t let up, weeks of “please, just this once,” all her puppy-dog eyes and promises of fun, until you caved. She’d wanted you in something cute, something that would “make guys jaw drop,” but mostly you just wanted her to stop begging. Now you’re cold, alone, haunted by the echo of her laughter somewhere inside, regretting every step that brought you here. You never belonged at parties like this; you don’t want to flirt with strangers or drink until the world goes blurry. The truth is, you regret letting yourself be convinced you could slip into someone else’s story for a night, and all you want is to disappear back into your own.
Your phone glows blue against your frozen palm, thumb twitching with every failed attempt at summoning a ride. The screen flickers, mocking your desperation with its pulsing “no drivers available.” Each try makes your hands shake harder, nerves tangled with cold and something rawer, embarrassment, maybe, or just the ache of being so pathetically out of place. Wind slices down the street, swirling around your bare legs, catching at your skirt, making you shiver so hard your teeth knock. Overhead, the porch lights pour orange into the darkness, smudging everything in the tint of jack-o-lanterns; your breath comes in little clouds, white against the chrome tank of the bike beside you. The metal gleams, slick and beautiful, reflecting broken fragments of party light. bodies moving behind frosted windows, teeth bared in laughter, the blur of devil horns and fishnets in every glass pane. You press closer to the seat, the machine thrumming quietly in the chill, its silhouette a hard comfort beside the wild warmth you’re locked out of.
You’re pressed against the bike without thinking, letting the warmth of the metal seep into your skin. Your brain barely registers that it’s a stranger’s ride, you just know it feels good to lean here, like it’s the only thing anchoring you in the cold. The bike is a silent furnace in the October dark, its black-chrome tank radiating the leftover heat of a vanished rider, and you find yourself pressed to it like bruised fruit to a warming windowsill, heedless of propriety, grateful for any spark that staves off the night’s bite. The metal hums under your corseted ribs, reflecting candle-orange jack-o’-lantern glows so that your satin witch skirts shimmer like spilled potion across a cauldron’s rim; every breath fogs the mirror-shine, a ghostly charm you can’t help tracing with chilled fingertips. It smells of gasoline and clove-sweet cologne, a contradiction as sharp and steady as a heartbeat, promising movement even while standing still. Somewhere inside the house, bass and laughter crash like storm surf, but out here the machine’s quiet authority feels like an oath: if darkness wanted a steed, this would be it, sleek, predatory, patient, waiting for the figure who commands it to step from shadow and claim both engine and the girl foolish enough to lean against its ribs for warmth.
You don’t hear footsteps at first, just the slow scrape of something heavy over loose gravel, a metallic chime threading through the wind. It’s the kind of sound that prickles at the back of your neck, not quite alarming, just enough to set every sense on edge. For a heartbeat you imagine it’s nothing, just the house shifting, the wind knocking something over, but then it comes again: deliberate, boots rolling stone, steady as a metronome. It slices through the chorus of party noise, sharp as a knife against glass. You press closer to the bike, letting the engine’s leftover heat bloom against your thighs, comfort and tension mixing in your chest. In the haze of porch lights and swirling fake fog, you glimpse a silhouette moving between parked cars, broad shoulders, tall frame, a slow and certain gait that seems almost out of place in a yard full of drunken, tripping shadows. He isn’t hurrying; it’s as if he owns the night, or at least the piece of it you’re trying to disappear into.
There’s a chill in the air, cold enough that your breath smudges the chrome when you exhale, and for a second you almost resent how safe you feel pressed to this machine. Like the bike is a wall between you and the chaos, or maybe a bridge, letting you float in the space where things might shift. The motorbike’s frame is smooth beneath your palm, the black paint glossy, reflecting the orange flicker of carved pumpkins and the gold edge of a too-late moon. You let yourself linger, hiding in the outline of a life you don’t live, heartbeat syncopated with the metallic hush behind you. A shadow stretches over your shoulder. You sense him before you ever look, something in the air tightens, a shift, a hush, your nerves winding up. He stops just outside your peripheral vision, close enough that the warmth of his body eclipses the bite of October air, close enough that you smell the faint tang of leather, sweat, and sugar from inside. You don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t look, hoping for a moment that if you don’t acknowledge him, the world will hold its breath with you.
Then his voice breaks the quiet, low and careful, not quite mocking but edged with challenge. “Didn’t peg you for a thief.” The words curl between you, slow and dangerous, sliding under your skin like a secret. Only then do you glance up, finally facing him in the dim light, he’s not just any boy at the party, not just another student fading into the night. He’s something darker, sharper, carved from shadow and sweat, every inch of him humming with the kind of attention that makes you wonder if you’ve just been chosen, or hunted.
You’re face to face with Park Sunghoon, and even in the bad porch light, you can’t pretend he’s anything less than beautiful. He’s the kind of campus legend whose name is always half-whispered, half-worshipped: everyone knows someone who’s slept with him, fought with him, wanted to be him, wanted to ruin him. The upperclassmen swap stories about the time he bench pressed a whole rugby team for charity, or that night he disappeared with two girls and came back grinning, lipstick-stained, not a hair out of place. His jaw looks cut from stone, hair tousled and a little wild, eyes rimmed dark with exhaustion or maybe just the shadow of too many nights like this one.
Every line of his is built for attention, broad shoulders filling out the tactical jacket, long fingers loose and confident at his side, the quiet sort of power that says he doesn’t need to try, because everyone’s already looking. You tell yourself he’s just another campus cliché, a heartthrob in a crowd of a thousand, but your heart still skips when he gives you his full attention, gaze skimming over your bare thighs, pausing at your mouth like he’s reading your secrets there. Park Sunghoon, the name that floats through every corridor, scrawled on bathroom stalls and whispered in stairwells. Heartthrob, rumored bad influence, the reason half your classmates even show up for lectures some days.
His group is legendary in the way popular boys always are, untouchable, glossy, all gravity and golden-hour confidence. They’re sprawled across every soft surface inside, Jake’s laughter bouncing off the ceiling, Jay flicking bottle caps at Heeseung, who’s busy texting three people at once. Jungwon always tries to pull new faces in, but even he can’t break the circle’s spell. You’d never admit it out loud, but you don’t really like them; it’s the easy entitlement that grates, the way they move through parties like the floor tilts for them, the private language of in-jokes and glances that leave everyone else as an afterthought. Still, you watch them, everyone does. Every glance is loaded, every dare filthier than the last, the air around them thick with things that never make it onto Instagram stories. Sometimes you catch yourself eavesdropping on their whispered bets, who’ll fuck in the backyard, who’ll hook up in the guest room, whose ex is coming back for another round.
It’s a little disgusting, how much you don’t want them to notice you. The idea of being just another girl on their lips, their attention, their approval, the sharp appraisal in their eyes, makes your skin crawl. Sunghoon and his group are infamous for a reason: they dominate every room, weaving inside jokes and filthy dares, surveying every girl as if she’s on offer for their amusement. The last thing you want is to become part of their legend, another conquest, a story for them to laugh about the next morning. You’d rather be invisible, anonymous, just a background blur they forget by sunrise. Tonight, the worst outcome would be to have his eyes linger on you, for all the wrong reasons, only to be discarded, forgotten, left with the bitter taste of being used and nothing more. You’d take invisibility over their spotlight any night.
You might wish to disappear, but you’re not going to be invisible tonight, not with the way he’s looking at you now. Sunghoon’s gaze is impossible to ignore, heavy-lidded, shamelessly direct, as if he’s already catalogued everything about you worth having. He leans against his bike like he owns the night, boots planted wide, one broad hand casually splayed on the chrome, the other dangling his keys. There’s a cocky slant to his mouth, a flicker of amusement in the set of his jaw; he looks at you like he’s been expecting this moment all along, like he knows exactly how this story ends. It’s in the subtle way his eyes trace your silhouette, lingering on the way your costume, tight, vintage, a pin-up witch in midnight satin, clings to your hips and frames your legs in thigh-highs and velvet. His own costume is almost a mirror: black tactical jacket unzipped just enough to show the muscle beneath, his arms all sinew and power, the fake blood at his jaw making him look like he’s just come from a bar fight or a heist. You notice it now, the way your costumes echo each other, matching in their darkness and defiance, and for one breathless second, it’s like you planned it, like you belong at his side.
He doesn’t let the silence settle. “You stealing my ride, or just looking for trouble?” he drawls, voice low and edged with a teasing smugness that’s all challenge and none of the usual frat-boy bark. He flicks his gaze pointedly between you and the bike, as if the two of you are both just barely out of his reach, and grins when you bristle at the implication. “Didn’t think anyone could make leather and fishnets look this good except me.” The words are warm, gliding over you, and you catch yourself staring at the outline of his bicep under the sleeve, the line of muscle at his throat, the way every inch of him seems designed to be wanted. You swallow hard, trying to keep your expression blank, but your heart’s already traitorously loud in your chest. The bike at your back hums with his presence, the chrome cold through your stockings, and you realize you’re both reflected in its lacquered curve, shadow-twins in the flickering orange of the porch lights.
You try to step away, making your tone clipped, your shoulders set. “I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to go home.” The words are brittle as ice, and you keep your eyes fixed on the curb, desperate to avoid the full brunt of his attention. You gather your jacket tighter, shift your weight away from him, praying he’ll take the hint and leave you in peace. “I don’t need to talk to you, or anyone, actually. This isn’t my kind of night and it’s an even lamer party.” You mean for it to sound dismissive, but your voice cracks on the last word, betraying your nerves. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just lets the smile curl a little wider.
“Damn,” he says, feigning a look of mock offence, hand over his heart. “That’s how you feel about my party? Lame?” He gasps, a cartoonish, exaggerated sound, but his eyes stay sharp, glued to you. “It’s not a lame party, by the way. We’ve got a Ouija board, haunted jello shots, and someone threw up in a cauldron. That’s, like, three for three on Halloween bingo.” He leans in just enough for you to smell the lingering spice of whiskey and cinnamon gum on his breath. You’re so close now, you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the cut of his cheekbone where it catches the porchlight. There’s a new edge in his voice, something heavier, a dare behind the bravado. He tips his chin at you, lips curving. “So, let’s hear it. What’s got you so ready to run home? Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little fake blood and too many plastic bats.”
You snort, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Please. Your party smells like cheap vodka and somebody’s regret. I saw three people making out on the pantry floor. One of them might’ve been wearing a diaper, and don’t even get me started on the punch. Did you poison it, or is it supposed to taste like cough syrup and sadness?”
He grins, flashing teeth, shifting even closer so his knee bumps yours. “That’s our secret recipe. You just can’t handle the classics. At least nobody’s passed out in the tub—yet.”
You arch a brow, defiant. “Only because the bathroom door’s jammed. Pretty sure I watched Heeseung and some girl try to break in with a plastic skeleton arm. The music’s so loud my fillings hurt. And what’s with the playlist? If I hear Monster Mash one more time, I’m walking into traffic.”
He feigns horror, clutching his chest. “Monster Mash is a classic. It’s Halloween law. I bet you’re the type to skip Thriller, too. Besides, you could dance if you wanted.”
“I don’t dance at parties where half the costumes look like a fever dream. Jay’s in a toga and Crocs. Someone’s got devil horns and pajamas. What were you even supposed to be? Discount Batman?”
He laughs, deep and easy, voice dropping. “Funny. I thought you’d appreciate the tactical look. Didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about Crocs. You’re one to talk, what are you supposed to be? Kinky Elphaba?”
Your mouth quirks, heat rushing to your face. “Vintage witch, actually. Didn’t know you knew the difference between velvet and vinyl. I figured the only spell you could cast was making girls disappear the next morning.”
He leans in, close enough for your breath to catch. “Maybe I only disappear when I’m bored. And for the record, your costume’s the only thing keeping this party alive right now.”
You scoff, fighting a smile. “That’s rich. You throw this whole party and you’re out here harassing girls next to your precious bike? Afraid someone’s going to steal it, or do you just like the view?”
His eyes flick down, then up, slow and shameless. “I like a good view. Especially when it’s freezing and some gorgeous girl’s pressed against my seat, acting like she hates every second of it. I’m starting to think you don’t hate it at all.”
You cross your arms, tilting your chin. “I hate loud parties, cheap drinks, bad costumes, and boys who think they’re God’s gift just because they can grow a five o’clock shadow. But sure, maybe I’ll give you credit for the bike.”
He grins, looking at you like he wants to bite. “You can hate the party, but you can’t pretend you don’t like the attention.”
Your voice is soft, but edged. “If I wanted attention, I’d have stayed inside. Maybe I just like the cold.”
He steps even closer, so close the air shivers between you, the lines of the party dissolving behind him. “If you really wanted to leave, you would’ve already. Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to give you a reason to stay.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “Give me one good reason.”
He smirks, lowering his voice, his breath warm at your ear. “I could make you forget you ever wanted to leave. Bet I could make you beg to stay.”
For a split second, it’s all sharp and electric, your glare, his crooked smile, the space between you thrumming with something wild. The party could fall off the edge of the earth and you’d never notice, not with his eyes pinning you in place. You shrug, forcing a dry laugh, the tension thrumming under your skin. “Big talk. But I’ll need more than cheap lines and Monster Mash to stick around, Park.”
He cocks his head, grin widening. “How about a ride? On the bike, or—” his gaze drags, deliberate, “—wherever else you want. I’m good with my hands.” The words hang there, filthy and funny and daring, and you realize you’re smiling back, your whole body wound tight as a bowstring, refusing to look away.
You’re silent, unable to look away from him. His eyes bore into you, daring you to call his bluff, to walk away, to break the charge that’s suddenly vibrating between your bodies. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You can feel your own pulse thudding in your throat, the burn of his gaze heating every inch of exposed skin, the tension thick as smoke. The urge to say something, anything, is overpowered by the urge to just close the last few inches and see what would happen if you stopped pretending. The whole night feels head-fucked, every nerve jangling. You gulp, searching his face for a sign, for a warning, for something that might let you break free but all you see is intent, fixed and hungry, and you realize, with a rush that leaves you breathless, you don’t want to be invisible anymore.
He shrugs off his jacket with a casual flick, the leather warm from his body, and drapes it over your bare shoulders. His hands linger a moment too long, thumbs tracing the slope of your arms, fingertips curling at the nape of your neck to settle the collar. The gesture is unexpectedly gentle, almost reverent but the heat in his eyes makes your breath catch. “Can’t have you freezing out here,” he says, voice low and loaded, “not when you look that good.” You feel the weight of it, his scent ghosting over your skin, the jacket swallowing you up in his presence. For a second, you both go still, tension knotting tight between you, the world outside the circle of his touch blurring into insignificance. The party roars, but all you hear is the soft hush of his breath as he pulls the zipper up under your chin, knuckles brushing the hollow of your throat.
You smirk, trying to chase off your own nerves, “You’re so possessive about this jacket, your bike’s gotta be worse. Afraid someone’ll scratch it, or are you afraid I’ll look better on it than you ever did?” The words are teasing but shaky, colored by a strange, heady thrill.
He grins, all teeth and hunger, stepping closer, his hands moving to your hips without asking. “Trust me,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “that seat was waiting for you.” His grip tightens, bold, confident, and the implication is unmistakable. “And I like seeing you on things that belong to me.” The words hit low in your gut, wicked and forward.
You meet him glare for glare, matching his pace, refusing to break first. “You’d have to earn it,” you challenge, letting your fingers toy with the zipper, “and not just the bike.”
He doesn’t blink. He dares you with a crooked smirk, nodding toward the machine gleaming in the porch light. “Go on. Try it.” At first, you scoff, half-laughing, but something in his stare dares you to want it. Your hands shake a little as you straddle the seat, your dress riding high, leather warming your thighs, his hands steadying you, fingers sliding up your waist, guiding you, lingering, until there’s no space left between you. He steps up behind, fitting himself to your back, his chest pressed to your spine, breath hot at your ear. The chaos behind you intensifies, laughter and shrieks swirling around the porch, but Sunghoon’s touch makes the night fall away. The press of his body is electric, his hands molded to your hips, his chin brushing your hair as he leans in. “You look fucking perfect up here,” he whispers, the words meant only for you, the promise of everything he could do vibrating in the air between you.
All eyes are on you now, friends, strangers, half the party turned to stare, their voices rising in gasps and shrill disbelief, a flicker of phone flashes capturing the moment. People are elbowing each other, whispering, “Is she really—? That’s Park’s new girl now?” But you don’t care, not when his hands are sliding under the hem of your dress, adjusting your seat, making you feel safe and exposed all at once. He presses his lips to your ear, voice velvet and dirty: “Wanna know how it feels to really ride, sweetheart?” Every word tingles over your skin, promise and threat, and you shiver, whether from the cold or him, you can’t tell.
It hits you, suddenly, just how insane this is, straddling Park Sunghoon’s bike, his hands on your body, the party crowding the porch behind you, the night sharp and alive. You never thought you’d even talk to him, let alone be here, burning with want and daring, ready for something wild. The world outside your little orbit feels blurry, distant, unreal. You feel his breath in your hair, his thigh braced against yours, his presence filling every empty space in your body. There’s a sharp, dizzy certainty blooming in your chest: this could be the start of something dangerous, something real, something that belongs only to you and him. For once, you’re not invisible. For once, the universe is staring back, and it feels right, perfect, inevitable.
He leans forward, mouth ghosting over the curve of your ear. “I’ll make you a bet. I take you on a ride, show you what it feels like, what it means to let go and if you love it, you come back inside and spend the rest of the party with me. Let me show you how much fun you can really have.” His fingers flex at your hips, his mouth inches from your neck, eyes burning. You don’t hesitate. “Fine. But if I don’t like it—if riding isn’t all that, then you’re coming with me. We’re leaving, and you’re sitting through a double feature of every classic Halloween movie I own. Popcorn, pumpkin candy, and you’re not allowed to complain.”
His eyes crinkle, his smile dangerous and real. “Deal,” he says, the word rolling over you like a promise. “But just so you know—I never lose.” The world shrinks to this moment, this heat, this wild, reckless bet with the campus heartthrob, your heart beating in time with the engine you’re about to start. For once, you can’t wait to see what happens next.
The engine is cold and mean beneath you, the bike a beast between your thighs, chrome gleaming in the jack-o-lantern haze. Sunghoon is right behind you, his chest pressing into your back, the hardness of his body an anchor and a dare. He leans over you, one hand braced on your thigh, the other guiding yours to the ignition. You can feel his breath on your ear, the rumble of his voice so low you almost miss it. “Twist, baby. Not too gentle, but not all at once. Like you mean it.” His fingers curl over yours, large and certain, veins tight under his skin, and the contact shoots straight to your core.
“Scared?” he asks, voice so close it’s almost in your mouth, and you can’t help the shiver. The wind whips your bare legs, goosebumps rising along your skin, but it’s his touch that makes you tremble. “Or just nervous because you know I won’t let you get away now?” He laughs, the sound hot and cruel and proud, one hand sliding up to your waist to steady you as you shift on the seat.
You try for a smirk. “Are you nervous? That I’ll crash and ruin your pretty bike, Park?”—but your voice is thin, breathless, your whole body wound tight, braced for anything.
His laugh is low, a rich rumble against your spine, and you feel it before you even hear it. He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice smug and deep. “I’m not worried about the bike, sweetheart. I’m more concerned about how wet you’ll be by the time we stop.” His hands glide down your arms, tightening at your waist as the bike idles, heat radiating from him in waves. “You think I’d let anything happen to you? I’d let this bike hit the pavement before I’d let you fall. Besides…”—his hips shift, pressing himself closer, unmistakable, hard, cocky—“I like a little risk. Makes it more fun when you hold on tight.” He nips at your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, and you shudder, caught between fear and anticipation. You barely have time to gasp before he’s revving the engine, his mouth a wicked line at your jaw. “Show me how bad you want to ride, princess. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Your cheeks burn so hot it’s almost painful, his breath catching as his words settle over your skin, thick and heavy, a promise and a dare all at once. You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes over your shoulder, your pulse racing, words caught somewhere between a challenge and a plea. “Big talk, Park,” you murmur, lips parted, your body already melting into his grip. “Maybe I want you to worry a little. Maybe I want to see just how far you’ll let me go.” Your fingers tighten over his, anchoring yourself in the warmth of his hands, the shiver in your voice making everything more electric. “Hold on, then. I hope you like the way I ride.” The wind whips past as you start to move, your heart pounding out a wild rhythm, his chest pressed to your back, his laughter rumbling dark and approving. For the first time tonight, you don’t care who’s watching, you just want to see what happens when you finally let go.
He reaches around you, his body caging yours, hand on the throttle. “You ride this right, you’ll feel everything. Hold on, don’t let go.” He presses his mouth to your ear, whispering, “If you fall, it’s on me. But I never let anyone fall, especially you.” The dominance in his words is thick, his palm bracing your hip, the weight of his thigh pushing you into the machine. You feel trapped and protected, wild and claimed, and it’s the kind of danger you’ve never tasted but always craved.
Just before the engine snarls awake, Sunghoon reaches behind him, fingers curling around a matte black helmet, and without a word he settles it gently over your head, brushing your hair back, buckling it beneath your chin with careful fingers. His gaze flicks up, sharp and serious for a beat, every cocky edge smoothed out by the way his thumbs linger on your jaw. “No one rides with me without this, princess. I plan on riding with you until we’re breathless, not getting you killed.” He grins, soft and wild, then slips his own helmet on, the click of the strap loud in the night as he swings his leg back over the bike, pulling you flush to his chest, the world outside the visor already fading away until it’s just the two of you, heat and wind and everything waiting to happen.
The engine coughs to life, vibrations buzzing straight up your spine, and Sunghoon laughs again, low and proud, a dark sound that thrums in your chest and somewhere lower, the sound of a boy who knows exactly what it is to break rules and bend bodies to his will. “Let’s go,” he commands, his voice all gravel and smoke, one broad hand curling under your jaw to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes. The porch lights flicker across his face, sharp jaw, eyes hungry, lips parted with something dangerous. “Look at me when I say it. You ready?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your pulse, claiming every shaky breath as his own.
His hands guide yours over the throttle, his fingers splayed wide, palms swallowing yours, he wants control, but he wants you to feel it, wants you to know you’re not alone on this ride. “Throttle slow, then fast. I want to see if you can take it,” he says, voice curling over your skin, making you shiver even through layers of leather and lust.
You twist, too eager, and the bike jerks forward, the motion pitching you flush back into his chest. His hands clamp hard on your hips, holding you in place, fingers digging in, half-pain, half-possession, laughter curling through his body and into yours. “Easy,” he growls, his voice all dominance now. “Don’t fight it, let it move through you. Trust me.” He moves with you, hips rocking forward, pressing himself against your ass, the heat of him so blatant it makes you clench around nothing, makes you want more.
Every time you steady, he tests you, hips rolling forward, hands sliding up and under the hem of your dress, stroking the bare skin of your thigh, his mouth ghosting over your ear. “Lean back on me, baby. That’s it. Let me see how good you can be for me.” The dominance in his touch is overwhelming, your mind slipping out of gear, body burning with every command, every subtle flex of his hands.
The house fades behind you, the party noise swallowed by the engine’s growl and the rushing wind. Your thighs clamp tighter around the bike, your body rocking with the pulse of speed, and he’s there, hands never letting you drift, his mouth at your ear again, whispering filthy encouragement, the threat and promise of what he’ll do to you later. “That’s it. You like this, don’t you? Taking over my ride and letting me show you how it’s done?”
You giggle, a sound almost wild with adrenaline, “Can’t believe you’re leaving your own party for me.”
He answers, smug and bright, “The party was dead the minute you walked out. This is where the real fun starts.” You surge into the darkness, the wind stealing your breath, hair whipping around your face, your heart beating so fast it almost hurts. The lights fade behind, the night swallowing you both, and for the first time all night, you feel free, held tight, taught to let go, every inch of you pressed against the only boy on campus who’s never let anyone close enough to fall.
You can feel him, hard, thick, grinding up into you even as the bike rumbles forward, the vibration of the engine running right up your thighs and into the softest, rawest parts of you. Every time you ease off the throttle, he shifts behind you, hips rolling with the bike, cock pressing firmer through denim, making it absolutely impossible to ignore what’s coming or how desperate you already are. His chest pins you forward, the line of his body sheltering and daring you all at once. He laughs again, but this time the sound is right at your ear, half-mocking, half-hungry, and it’s so filthy and intimate you feel it echoing in your bones, a private message only you can hear. “Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he murmurs, the threat and the promise burning just beneath his words.
His hands never stop, one steering, the other sliding up from your waist to your ribs, fingers slipping under your dress, teasing the edge of your bra, calloused thumb tracing the dip between your breasts. You gasp, the bike lurches, but he holds you tight, laughing low, breath hot on your skin, every touch a dare. “You feel that? You like the way I fit behind you?” he taunts, his cock grinding harder, every bump in the road making you jolt back onto him, so aware of the friction, the heat, the want coiling low in your belly.
You shudder, knuckles white on the handlebars, legs spread around the engine, the wind snatching at your hair, dragging it across his cheek as he leans closer. “You ride like you fuck,” he hisses, hips jerking into you, the lewd praise making you ache, skin prickling with anticipation. “Little messy, a little too eager, but you make me want to lose control.” He drops a kiss at the base of your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp, your back arching into him, desperate for more.
Every stoplight, every sudden turn, becomes an excuse for his hands to find a new spot, to pull you tighter, his mouth dragging up your throat, whispering the filthiest things—how pretty you look like this, how wet you must be, how he can smell the heat of you even with the night air whipping past. “You gonna cum just from riding?” he teases, and the shame of it, how close you actually are, makes you whimper, hips rocking, the engine shuddering between your legs and his cock a relentless promise behind you.
You try to keep your composure, biting your lip, eyes burning from the rush of wind and sensation, but Sunghoon’s relentless, never letting up, his palm sliding down between your thighs, pressing against you through your panties, rolling his hips so you feel every inch of him, every intent. “Don’t slow down, baby. I want the whole street to know who’s making you lose it,” he rasps, one hand on your heart, the other on your cunt, the world shrinking to just this—his body, your want, the wild risk of it all.
The city blurs around you, neon streaks, orange streetlights flickering over wet asphalt, the roar of the engine swallowed by the sound of your own breath. You barely register the world beyond him, every sense overloaded by the feel of his hands, his cock, the heat of his mouth dragging along your jaw, the taste of danger and desire so thick you can’t breathe. You know you’ll lose this bet, you want to lose, and the certainty of that makes your skin buzz, every muscle tight, every nerve ending raw.
You tip your head back, riding the high, the speed, the risk, and feel him everywhere, his words, his touch, his hunger, so overwhelming you never want the night to end. For the first time, you feel yourself letting go, really letting go, surrendering to the wild, dangerous promise that only Sunghoon and his bike can offer. The engine roars, your heart roars louder, and you realize this is what it means to be alive—this freedom, this fear, this heat, this boy at your back and his cock already promising the next disaster you’ll both make out of each other.
You hit the open road, every muscle in your body locked with tension, every bump and turn magnified by the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. But he’s behind you, all power and ease, his hands covering yours on the grips, voice low in your ear. “Just relax, you’ve got this. Lean when I lean. Trust me.” It’s strange how quickly you do. The first curve sends you tilting, a gasp catching in your throat, but his touch steadies you, his palm splayed across your stomach, pressing you back against him. The night air rushes over your skin, the bike’s engine is a wild animal beneath you, and you realize you’re not afraid anymore. You’re breathless, high on speed, on him.
With every mile, your body finds its rhythm. Your back straightens and a wild laugh spills from your lips as the wind whips your hair into your mouth. Sunghoon’s answering chuckle rumbles in your ear. “See? You’re a natural.” The city melts away, orange streetlights blurring into streaks of haunted color. You glimpse shadows of trees, the glint of moonlight on glass, the silver ribbon of river cutting through the darkness. Everything is in motion, bright and endless and fast.
You let your head fall back, air cold and clean against your throat, hair flying behind you like a cape. For a second, you close your eyes and let the world tilt and spin. Sunghoon’s chin drops to your shoulder, the heat of his mouth brushing your skin, “Open your eyes, pretty. You don’t want to miss this.” You do as he says, and the world explodes into sensation, stars caught in puddles along the road, the smell of earth and autumn smoke, distant bursts of laughter from backyard fires. Your giggle rises, unguarded and dizzy, and you feel him smile against your neck, pride and possession burning in his gaze.
You start to move with the bike, hips shifting with each twist and swerve. The speed picks up, Sunghoon leans in, his voice a growl, “Faster, yeah? You can handle it.” The pavement blurs beneath you, the engine roaring, your heart pounding so hard you feel it in your teeth.
You squeal, loud and unashamed, “Go! I want more!” and he obeys, one hand firm on your thigh as he pushes the bike harder, the two of you a blur of shadow and heat cutting through the night.
There’s a kind of reckless magic in this, every shiver of fear swallowed by the rush of pleasure, every trace of self-consciousness left behind with the party and its noise and strangers’ eyes. You haven’t let yourself be this unguarded in so long, maybe ever. The night is a movie reel, and you’re the girl who’s finally living, the bike, the needle that stitches every moment into your skin. You never knew you needed this, to trust, to let go, to laugh without thinking about who’s watching. Sunghoon’s hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as if to remind you: You’re here, you’re with me, you’re not going anywhere.
You catch glimpses of your own reflection in storefront windows as you fly by, wild hair, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and greedy for more. The cold bites at your exposed thighs, but you barely feel it, body humming from the heat pressed close behind you. Sunghoon’s mouth is at your ear again, a command and a promise, “You look good like this. Free. Happy. You should see yourself.” You grin, twisting to look at him, your noses almost touching, and there’s a moment, so brief and electric it’s almost painful, where you feel everything change between you.
The city drops away, replaced by dark stretches of road, houses spaced far apart, empty lots overgrown with weeds. The speed is dizzying now, your laughter mingling with the roar of the engine, a song that belongs only to the two of you. Sunghoon guides you with each shift and press, his hands confident, greedy, reassuring, and you let yourself fall into the motion, the heat, the possibility that this night might never end. It’s a bet you already know you’re going to lose—you’ll never want to go back to the party, not when you’ve tasted this kind of wildness.
The world feels infinite, time suspended between the streetlights and your own pulse. Every sense is alive—cold wind on your bare skin, Sunghoon’s body is a furnace at your back, the steady vibration of the bike beneath you. You lean into a curve, his arms caging you in, and for the first time, you feel unstoppable. This is more than escape, it’s surrender, it’s flight, it’s the start of something you don’t want to name. You press your head back, find his mouth at your ear, and let yourself whisper, “Don’t ever stop.” The night stretches out before you, wild and wide and open, and you know with aching certainty that you’ll follow him anywhere.
For a moment you aren’t a girl on a bike, you’re acceleration itself, a streak of untended starlight blazing through October’s velvet hush. Moon-silver air rushes over your teeth, and the raw grin splitting your lips feels bigger than your own face, as if your happiness can’t be contained by skin. You tilt your head back, eyes slicing upward, and the night answers in saturated color: bruisy indigo curling at the horizon, a slick ribbon of violet where the streetlamps blur, clusters of feathery gold stars pricking the black like lit confetti. The clouds, thin as sugar-spun dreams, drift past in bruised lilac and ghost-white strips, glowing each time they trespass across the moon. Every shade feels personal, poured directly into your marrow.
You realize you’ve been holding your breath for weeks—months—maybe years, the way a cracked teacup holds rain, always fearing the next tremor will make you shatter. But right now the tremor is freedom: the engine’s hum vibrating up your spine, Sunghoon’s laugh buzzing against your nape, the metallic rasp of wind yanking at your hem. Your lungs expand so wide it almost hurts, filling with cold, cinnamon-scented air, and you think: this is what it’s like to live in color instead of grayscale. You wonder how close you came to skipping it all, curling beneath a dorm blanket while October spilled its fireworks outside.
His hands tighten on your hips, steady, grounding, yet somehow a dare, don’t look away. So you don’t. The sky is a dark river and you’re a stone skipping its surface: brief, bright, reckless. You’re a jack-o-lantern’s candle, flame licking its own wax, never meant to last the whole night but burning as if that’s the only commandment. You’re every wicked little rumor that ever clung to his name, speed, danger, pleasure, yet here, under these storm-colored stars, those words turn tender, almost holy.
You laugh, wild, helium-light, half-sob because minutes ago you were desperate to vanish, and now you want to swallow the night whole. Every fear tastes small beside the taste of wind on your tongue. Somewhere behind you the party still howls, but it’s only background static now; the real song is the low thunder of the bike, his ragged breathing, the drumline of your heart. If the road never ended you’d ride it until dawn set the world on fire, until every bruise on the sky blushed pink. The thought strikes you: there’s so much left to feel, and you almost missed it. You squeeze his thigh, grateful, greedy.
Up ahead the streetlights scatter like molten coins across wet asphalt, and you swear the pavement itself shimmers, liquid obsidian, reflecting constellations even the astronomers don’t have names for. The future might be hiding in that shine, or maybe it’s pressed between your shoulder blades where his chest echoes your heartbeat. Either way, it feels like the night is only just cracking open, rich with possibilities that taste of gasoline, laughter, and want. You can’t predict where it will take you, but you know, deep in bone, blood, and spark-bright grin, you won’t be the girl who leaves early ever again.
His hand tightens on your thigh, fingertips pressing hard, almost possessive as the bike idles beneath you. The street behind blurs out, just the two of you straddling the engine and each other, your bodies tangled in the aftershocks of speed. Sunghoon’s mouth is close to your ear, his voice thick and lazy with pride. “Look at you,” he breathes, letting his teeth graze the edge of your jaw, “didn’t know you had it in you, riding like you were fucking born for it. You know how fucking good you look with your hands all over my bike, legs spread, hair wild, shit, you could ruin a man right here.”
You laugh, still giddy, your fingers tightening on the handlebars. “You like watching me take control? Thought you were the one giving the lessons tonight.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s a challenge there, a dare you want him to answer with more than words.
He laughs, low and cocky, his hips pushing forward so you feel the solid weight of his cock, hard through his jeans. “Trust me, I’m learning, too. Didn’t know how much I’d love this, watching you take it, hearing you squeal for me, knowing every pair of eyes at that party wishes they were me right now. This wasn’t on my bucket list, baby, but fuck if it isn’t my new favorite thing. Might never let anyone else on my bike again.”
You tip your head back, bumping into his shoulder, your grin wicked. “So you’re saying I ruined you?”
He smirks, thumb brushing up under your dress, slow and filthy, tracing the outline of your soaked panties. “Ruined, obsessed, whatever you want to call it. Never seen anyone take a ride like that, never seen anyone make it look so fucking hot. You got me all fucked up, sweetheart. Gonna need you on the back of this bike every night now.”
You hum, feigning innocence as you roll your hips back against him, breath catching at the friction. “You better keep up, Park. I might just be your best ride yet.”
He growls, leaning in, his tongue flicking at the shell of your ear, voice thick with heat. “Oh, you’re more than that. You’re my favorite problem. Don’t think you’re leaving my side for the rest of the night, not when you’re this fucking perfect, not when you ride like you’re made for me.” You laugh again, the sound shaking through both your chests, and you know he means it, every word, every touch. This isn’t just about the bike. This is the start of something reckless, stupid, and maybe exactly what you’ve been starving for.
You’re still clutching the handlebars, knuckles white, breath tumbling out in warm clouds. There’s a wildness in your chest you almost don’t recognize, something reckless and alive, a fizzing urge that overrides the usual need to control, to keep every feeling on lockdown. You’ve always been the girl who winds herself too tight, who keeps her edges sharp and her words neat, who never risks looking foolish or out of place. But right now, with your thighs burning from the ride, your heart battering your ribs, and Sunghoon’s hands everywhere, you feel loose, uncoiled, like you’ve finally let go of a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying.
You glance over your shoulder at him, laughing, hair a tangled mess, skin flushed and alive under the city’s neon haze. “I didn’t know I could feel like this,” you say, voice thick with disbelief and wonder. “I didn’t know I could let go. I’m always so—tight, so careful, and you just—” You shake your head, at a loss, because it’s never been this easy to be wild, to want, to take.
Sunghoon grins, wild and bright, his eyes burning as he watches you unravel. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You keep everything bottled up. Maybe you just needed someone to make you forget how,” he murmurs, his words soft but edged with heat, pride, and the promise of even more freedom to come. It’s not just the bike or the speed or even the sex, it’s the way you let yourself be seen, wanted, and reckless for the first time in a long time. Sunghoon’s given you that push, the one you would’ve never asked for, and you know you’ll chase this feeling again and again, every wild night, every backroad, every moment you forget how to hold yourself back.
You let out a squeal, high and bright, as the bike picks up speed, your laughter tumbling out before you can help it. The wind whips at your face, wild and sweet, but the rush isn’t just the night air, it’s him, Sunghoon, right behind you, his voice a growl of approval. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” he calls over the roar, the compliment ragged, almost a moan. “You’re cute when you’re happy. Ride for me, pretty girl. Let me see you let go.” The praise makes you giddy, makes you bold. You lean back, pressing your ass into his crotch, feeling how hard he is, feeling his hunger, how badly he wants you.
“Touch me,” you beg, the word spilling from your lips without shame, your body straining for more, for anything. “Please, Sunghoon, I want your hands on me, right now.” You’re giggling, desperate, dizzy, your skin buzzing from the freedom and the danger, the engine’s vibration everywhere. His laughter is low and filthy, his breath hot at your ear, and then you feel it, one of his hands never leaving the handlebar, but the other slipping right between your thighs, pressing into the slick heat already soaking through your panties.
“Fuck, you’re soaked. You’re so tight,” he groans, two fingers rubbing you slow, then fast, his grip steady even as the bike keeps moving. The road is a blur beneath you, the only real thing is his touch, his dominance, the way he makes you feel held and ruined at once. He keeps you balanced, guiding you with his body, his mouth never far from your skin. “You wanna cum for me? Here, like this?” he growls, his palm flattening, working you just right, thumb teasing your clit as you gasp, writhing, the world spinning out beneath your wheels.
Your nipples ache, hard beneath your dress, and he knows, of course he knows, his free hand sneaking up under your top, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud, his fingers rough and clever. You arch for him, a whimper sliding out, wanting more, needing everything. “Look at you, baby. You can barely ride straight,” he teases, and you can hear the smirk, feel the filth in every word. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? You love when I touch you, when everyone could see if they just looked close enough.”
The moans spill from you, unashamed, wild, all for him, lost to the night and the thrum of the engine, the world reduced to the feel of his hand moving inside you, the sting and sweetness of his grip on your breast, his lips at your ear. “That’s it, pretty. Let me hear you. Give me those sounds,” he pants, his own hips grinding up against your ass, cock throbbing, ready to split you open the second he gets you alone.
You’re begging, mindless, all words and want: “Don’t stop, please, Sunghoon, I need more, I need you to fuck me, ” but you never finish, because he shoves two fingers inside you, fucking you slow and deep, thumb flicking over your clit until you’re sobbing, coming for him on the back of his bike, the world exploding in sound and speed and need.
He growls in triumph, biting your shoulder, still guiding the bike steady, never letting you slip. “That’s my girl. You’re so fucking perfect, so wet for me,” he hisses, his hand never stopping, still tormenting your nipple, still fucking you with his fingers, milking every last aftershock, every moan, every trembling gasp. The whole world spins out, wild and reckless and so fucking good, and all you can think is that you never want this ride to end.
It’s not just the engine’s roar or the wind tangling your hair that drives you wild, it’s the dizzy rush of being slightly drunk, skin humming, blood sugar-quick from too many shots and too many longing glances, that makes everything sharper, sloppier, more dangerous. The alcohol is a fuse burning low in your veins, a soft haze that loosens your tongue and dissolves every last inhibition; it makes Sunghoon braver, too, reckless in a way that borders on feral, all cocky smiles and bold hands, his laughter loud and mean and full of want as he pushes you further, faster, messier. Each gasp and grind is magnified, each dirty word and desperate kiss charged with the kind of wildness you only find when you’re both half-untethered. intoxication turning every brush of skin, every shared look, into a dare you can’t help but take.
The ride back is reckless, laughter and moans eaten by the wind, and you barely feel the ground beneath the tires when Sunghoon finally swings the bike up to the curb in front of the pulsing party house. The porch lights smear gold over chrome, heat swirling off the engine, the house a blur of chaos behind you but the world shrunk down to the fever between your legs and the press of his chest at your back. You kill the ignition, breathless, hair whipped wild, and the quiet hits so suddenly you laugh out loud, a startled, delighted giggle, hand clapped to your mouth, high off the speed and the risk and the boy pressed so tight behind you.
You lean back, letting your head loll against his shoulder, turning just enough to catch the outline of his mouth in the dark, the glitter of want in his eyes. The silence stretches, heavy with promise. He grins, all teeth and hunger, and you tip sideways until your lips brush his, tasting sweat, adrenaline, and the faintest hint of whiskey from earlier. He groans, low and broken, immediately surging forward to devour you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue sliding deep, hands everywhere, pulling you down into his lap so the bike rocks under you, echoing every desperate thrust of your hips.
It’s clumsy and urgent, all knees and elbows and teeth, his hands squeezing your thighs, dragging you closer until you’re straddling him, skirts bunched up, the whole world condensed to the slick heat between your legs and the hard line of his cock grinding up against you. The engine is still warm beneath you, metal humming against your calves, and every time you move the bike bounces in place, a dirty rhythm that makes your breath catch and your vision blur. Someone shrieks with laughter near the porch but neither of you notice, locked in, lost, every nerve ending tuned to each other.
You can feel him, solid and throbbing, rutting up between your thighs, and it’s so filthy, so public, you almost hope someone’s watching. He’s got one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he can bite down the length of your throat, sucking marks into your skin, growling praise into your ear. “You’re fucking wild,” he mutters, nipping your jaw, hips bucking up to meet every grind. “You gonna fuck me out here, princess? Let everyone see how bad you want it?”
Your answer is a moan, muffled against his mouth, fingers clutching his shoulders, grinding harder, riding the hard seat and his cock and the thrum of the whole damn bike. He kisses you again, open-mouthed and messy, spit slick between your lips, his hands sliding up under your shirt, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you gasp, arching into him, desperate for more. The house is roaring, the whole street alive, but you’re caught in your own little fever dream, hips stuttering, body electric with need.
You pull back for just a second, breathless, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes glazed with lust and something deeper, something hungry and possessive. “You make me fucking crazy,” he rasps, one hand slipping down, pressing against the soaked crotch of your panties, teasing you right there, in the open, shameless and proud. “I could do this all night. Would you let me, baby? Would you let me ruin you right here, just to show them all you’re mine?”
You’re whimpering, rocking into his palm, desperate and aching, every movement making the bike jolt beneath you, every gasp swallowed by his mouth. His teeth scrape your lip, his hips thrust up, and for a wild, endless moment, the whole world is just heat and need and the delirious, dirty joy of being wanted, of wanting him right back, your hands in his hair, his fingers inside you, the two of you wild and high and so, so alive in the Halloween night.
Your breath fogs, lips swollen, heart racing from the ride and the way your body is caging his in, one of his hands locked around your waist, the other tracing slow, lazy circles over your thigh. “Sunghoon,” you gasp, voice raw and greedy, “I want you—fuck, I need you. Can we please go somewhere quiet and let me scream for you? I want to fuck you so loud everyone in this town hears.” You’re not guarded anymore, not even close, just ruined by adrenaline and the night, the need thrumming through your veins like gasoline. You turn, mouth right against his visor, and beg: “Please, please, just take me somewhere—”
He grins, full and wicked, teeth flashing under the parking lot lights. “Looks like you lost our bet, pretty girl. And you know what that means, I’ve got to show you what a real party is before I let you ride me again.” He plants a slow, filthy kiss at the corner of your mouth, tasting your need. “Don’t pout. You’ll get everything you want. Just let me have you in my world first.” You groan, muttering under your breath, but you’re already nodding, already slipping your hand into his, letting him lead you back up the drive.
Walking into the house now, your entire body thrums with possession and hunger, Sunghoon’s hand huge and warm in yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, the two of you moving as one. It couldn’t be more different from when you arrived, cold and invisible, hugging your coat to your chest and shrinking from every blast of music or snatch of laughter. Now the lights seem to blaze in welcome; heads turn, conversations stall, and the air is thick with something that wasn’t there before. You hear someone gasp your name, and a low ripple of “Is that Sunghoon with—?” runs through the crowd. There are stares, half-curious, half-envious, but you barely notice, the world narrowing to the press of his palm, the way he glances back at you with a look that says you belong to him.
Sunghoon doesn’t stop, not for anyone. He weaves you both through the tangle of bodies, the haze of spilled beer and too-sweet punch, and even though you know you’re suddenly the center of attention, you don’t care at all. All you feel is the weight of his hand, the way your chest brushes his arm, the way he glances down at you every few steps, eyes dark and proud and already undressing you again. The house hasn’t changed, there’s still the same chaos, the same heat, the same wildness crowding every corner but this time you’re not a ghost on the margins. You’re here, you’re seen, you’re wanted, and with him you feel untouchable.
He squeezes your hand, tugging you close, his lips at your ear as he murmurs, “Let’s give them a show, hm? Let’s make them wish they’d been the one to drag you out into the night.” And all you can do is nod, dizzy and gleaming, as he sweeps you through the crowd, no longer invisible, no longer alone, just you and Sunghoon at the center of it all, heat rising, promise in every step, your body already singing for what’s coming next.
The noise of the main room swells as he steers you through the crowd, his hand never leaving the small of your back, both of you brushing against bodies slick with heat and cheap cologne, the chaos a living thing. It feels strange, surreal, to be claimed in front of all these people, his hand guiding, sometimes squeezing, sometimes sliding just a little too low, as if to say mine. But his voice in your ear is quieter, coaxing. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he says, mouth brushing your hair, and you let him lead you past the crowd, trusting him in spite of everything.
He pulls you into the laundry room, flicking on a string of battery lights tacked over the washing machine, the sudden hush making your breath feel loud in your chest. Someone’s left a tray of cider shots on the dryer, apples, cinnamon, a bite of whiskey and he pours you each a glass, nudging it into your hands with a wink. “Most people never see this side of a party,” he says. “But this is where you get the best stories.” The light is soft and yellow, the air perfumed with detergent and the distant sound of bass. He leans back against the dryer, watching you, thumb brushing over your wrist, as you sip and feel the tension begin to ease. It’s so private, so removed, it almost feels like you’ve wandered into someone else’s memory.
The music changes, something slower and older, a song you half-remember from a summer you almost want to relive. He grins when you recognize it, reaches for your waist, and pulls you into his lap on the edge of the dryer. “Let’s have a dance, pretty girl,” he whispers, voice husky. You go willingly, legs swinging, his knees bracketing yours, the two of you swaying just slightly to the beat. The air smells like sugar and clean cotton, his hands smoothing up and down your back, and for a moment it’s as if you’ve always belonged here, folded into the heat and hum of the house.
After a few minutes, Sunghoon lifts you down and grabs your hand again, tugging you into a narrow hall lined with old framed photos and thrift store art, pausing at a door. “Attic’s this way. Hardly anyone goes up except my closest friends.” He flicks on a lamp at the foot of the stairs, and you follow him, your footsteps muffled by the thick runner. At the top, the attic is transformed: fairy lights strung overhead, mismatched pillows scattered everywhere, people curled up in little knots, laughing, sharing secrets, couples tracing patterns on each other’s skin. A few glance up, but Sunghoon’s presence makes room for you. He pulls you onto a heap of pillows, his arm around your shoulders, your thighs flush against his, both of you facing a window lit blue by the city outside.
“Look,” he murmurs, pointing out at the skyline, “you see that spire? That’s where Jake and I got locked out one night, and had to climb down the fire escape.” He starts telling stories, sharing tiny memories tucked inside each room, how Heeseung once slow-danced with a boy up here just to win a dare, how Jay wrote song lyrics in Sharpie on the beams, how the best nights are always the quiet ones nobody else remembers. As he talks, you realize how little you ever saw before, how the surface chaos of a party hides all these softer, stranger, sweeter corners. Your heart starts to calm; you can feel it physically, breath deepening, laughter slipping out more easily, the tension of the night draining from your shoulders as Sunghoon traces circles over your knee, always touching, always close.
You curl into a velvet throw blanket and Sunghoon’s side, letting him hold you, the two of you half-watching the slow, lazy dancing on the far side of the attic. At one point he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail over your cheek, and it makes your whole body hum. “See? It’s not all beer pong and bad decisions,” he murmurs, nuzzling your temple. “Sometimes it’s just… this.” He kisses you, slow and deliberate, lips soft but hungry, one hand sliding up your thigh under the blanket, the rest of the room melting away.
When you break apart, giggling and breathless, he pulls you even closer, fingers tangled with yours, and starts pointing out silly details, the sticker someone left on the lamp, the shoes dangling from a ceiling beam, the soft hum of a group playing a whispered game of truth or dare in the corner. Every detail he shares feels intimate, like a secret, and your heart twists at how easy he makes it to forget where you started tonight, alone, outside, cold. Here, with him, you feel warmer, lighter, like you might finally be letting yourself belong.
Eventually, he coaxes you up again, guiding you through the attic’s hidden exits, down a back staircase that lets out into a tiny sunroom full of dying houseplants and candles burned almost to the glass. He grins, squeezing your waist, and says, “If you ever need a break from the crowd, this is where I hide. Want to stay here a little longer?” The way he looks at you, soft, possessive, so sure, makes it impossible to say no. You let him settle you in his lap again, the two of you tucked away behind a half-closed door, sharing more cider, his hands never still, tracing patterns on your thighs, your back, your jaw, leaving you aching and giddy and wanting nothing but him.
He kisses you again, this time with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. Your fingers knot in his hair, your body pressed to his, the rest of the world gone fuzzy and distant, just shadows and candlelight and the thrill of being seen, finally, in all the ways that matter. You forget, for a little while, about the bet, about the crowd, about anything except the heat and weight of him, the little world you’ve carved out of the party chaos, a secret speakeasy, a blanket fort in an attic, a sunroom full of overgrown green. All of it, suddenly, just for you.
You sink into Sunghoon’s lap, straddling him with your knees pressed to the cushions, hands braced against his shoulders, the velvet throw puddled around your hips but forgotten. Your bodies align perfectly, his legs wide beneath yours, your chest flush to his, every inch of space gone in an instant. The room is a low-lit cocoon: candlelight flickering over floorboards, the muted thump of party music far below, but here it’s nothing but the heat between you. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs sweeping under the hem of your dress, palms dragging you closer until your core is pressed to the hard length straining against his jeans.
You don’t answer with words, your hips answer for you, rolling forward, grinding down slow and shameless, feeling the heat and pressure build where you both want it most. He sucks in a sharp breath, head tipping back, and you chase his mouth, lips meeting in a kiss that’s already half-moan, half-bite. His hands are everywhere: cupping your ass, tugging you harder against him, tracing up your spine to fist in your hair, holding you in place as he kisses you like he needs to taste every part of you. “You feel that?” he mutters against your lips, letting his hips buck up, cock thick and ready under you. “Fuck, you’re so hotc so fucking wet for me already. I knew you’d be trouble the second I saw you leaning against my bike.” His words are a low growl, but his hands are worshipful, sliding up your ribcage, thumbing at your nipples through the thin fabric, squeezing until you whimper into his mouth.
Your grinding gets bolder, wetter, a rhythm building that’s just for the two of you. Every little friction sends sparks up your spine, your body wild for more, your breathing ragged. You pull back just enough to see his face, eyes glazed, lips slick, jaw tight with want. You lean in and whisper, “You like this, don’t you?” and he laughs, low and desperate, thrusting up to answer you with his body. Around you, the rest of the world could disappear and you’d never notice, all that matters is the way he holds you, the way his tongue tangles with yours, the slow, relentless drag of his hands under your dress and the unspoken promise that there’s so much more waiting once you finally leave this attic.
The world outside your little corner is still all raucous music, distant shouting, and the distant thud of feet on the stairs, but here it’s a warm, golden hush, every flicker of candlelight dancing across his jaw, every heartbeat close enough to taste. Sunghoon’s hand finds your thigh, long fingers squeezing, inching the hem of your dress higher. You tip your head back, breathless, lips parted, watching the shadows play over his face. His voice is low, smoky, barely more than a whisper: “You know, I was watching you all night. Out on the lawn, leaning against my bike. You looked like you were waiting for someone.” He presses his mouth to your ear, nuzzling, soft laughter rumbling through his chest. “Did you know it’d be me?” The words burn, heavy and sweet. You turn in his arms, facing him fully, and his hands settle around your waist, holding you steady as you straddle his lap, knees pressing into the pillows.
Your answer is a slow, deliberate kiss, your mouth finding his lips soft at first, tasting the cider on his tongue, letting him pull you closer until your chests are flush, until your hips sink down and you feel him, already hard, straining through his jeans. He groans against your mouth, biting gently at your bottom lip, and you let yourself melt into him, every inch of your body wound up, aching, hungry for more. His hands slide under your dress, palms hot and greedy, pulling you tighter, rocking you against the thick length of him, grinding slow and heavy, as if he needs to memorize the shape of you. He breaks the kiss, just enough to murmur against your jaw, “Fuck, you feel good. I could sit here all night with you just like this. No one’s ever looked better in my lap.” His breath is hot, damp on your skin, hands never stillc one sliding up your spine, splaying wide between your shoulder blades, the other dipping down to cup your ass, urging your hips into a deeper roll. You gasp, your body answering without thought, grinding down, letting the ache and the friction carry you somewhere shameless.
Your lips find his again, messier now, open-mouthed, teeth grazing, tongues tangled, each kiss more desperate than the last. He tugs your head back, exposing your throat, and leaves a trail of kisses, biting just hard enough to make you shiver. The blanket slips, pooling around your hips, leaving you open, exposed, glowing in the lamplight. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, one hand guiding your hips as you move, slow and shameless on his lap. “You want more?” His words are a growl now, all need, all promise.
You nod, panting, nails digging into his shoulders, the world blurring into heat and want and the soft scrape of his jeans against your thighs. “I want you,” you say, voice raw. “Right here, right now.” He hisses, his grip tightening, hips bucking up, grinding you down, the two of you gasping into each other’s mouths, chasing pleasure in the secret hush of the attic, the party nothing but a heartbeat beneath your feet. He kisses you again, rough and deep, and everything else falls away, just the taste of him, the strength of his arms, the dizzy, perfect friction of your bodies tangled together, lost in the golden dark.
You’re ready to ride him, breathless in his lap, but before you can sink down, Sunghoon pulls back with a sly, taunting grin, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you at the edge of his lap, just out of reach. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low, heat coiling in every word. “You lost the bet, remember? I promised to show you how this party’s supposed to feel.” He sits up, shifting you off him just enough that your body aches at the loss, that empty throb making you want to whine. Before you can protest, he grabs your hand, fingers laced tight, tugging you through the tangle of blankets and across the attic floor. “Come on, pretty girl. You’re not leaving without a tour.”
You barely catch your breath before he’s leading you down the stairs, weaving through shadow and light, past half-dressed couples and collapsed partygoers. He sweeps you into the kitchen, chaos, sticky counters, trays of half-eaten snacks, a punch bowl looking suspiciously radioactive. He grins, snagging a loaf of bread and a bag of shredded cheese, elbowing a drunken Jake out of the way at the stove. “You ever had a grilled cheese this late?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Bet it’ll ruin you for life.” He’s cocky, almost childlike as he fumbles with the pan, but there’s something soft in the way he glances back to make sure you’re watching, the way he leans close so only you can hear: “I make it better when someone’s looking.”
You tease him for his technique, swiping at the cheese on his wrist, and he retaliates by offering you the first bite, feeding you slowly, thumb brushing your lower lip. The kitchen is a storm of sound, someone yelling about spilled cider, glass shattering in the sink, laughter bouncing off the tile but with his hand on your cheek and the taste of melted cheese in your mouth, it feels private, secret. Sunghoon backs you against the fridge, lips crashing to yours, stealing the taste of your last laugh, vodka and sharp cheddar and something so fucking raw you shiver. His hands slide to your waist, hips pressing forward, grinding you up against the cold metal, the heat between your bodies making you forget where you are. Every pass of his tongue is dirtier than the last, the world blurring around the sharp edges of your want, your breath fogging the stainless steel.
Someone shouts from the other room, music blares, a new song pounding through the floorboards. Sunghoon just grins into your mouth, pulling away to catch your dazed, hungry look. “Still think you want to go home?” he asks, letting his hand fall to yours again. Before you can answer, he’s dragging you out of the kitchen, down the hallway, where most of the party has thinned. He fishes his phone out, scrolls for a second, and suddenly you’re alone in the biggest living room, the couch deserted except for a couple passed out on each other. He plugs his phone into the speaker, some slow, pulsing track filling the room, something sexy and lush and meant to be heard in the dark.
He finds you with his eyes, grinning, and tugs you into his arms, hands landing low on your hips, pulling you in so close your chest brushes his with every shallow breath. “Let’s see if you dance as good as you ride,” he teases, his voice velvet, and you can’t help but laugh, nerves and want fizzing through you. He starts slow, rocking you in time to the music, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers filth, compliments, filthy things he wants to do to you, praise for how fucking hot you look tonight, how no one else in this house compares. His hands get bolder, sliding over your ass, fingers tracing the line of your spine, drawing you flush against the hard line of his body. You can feel him, thick, ready, pressing up against your core with every step, every sway. He kisses your neck, bites your shoulder, lets his hands cup your ass and grind you in time to the music, not caring that anyone could walk in and see.
There’s laughter somewhere, but its background, unimportant. You only hear the music, feel the pulse of his hands, your hips rolling shamelessly into his. It’s intimate, obscene, slow-dancing in the dark with the one boy who can set you on fire with just a look. When he finally pulls back, breathless and grinning, you realize your heart is beating out of your chest, your body begging for more, and you know the night is nowhere near finished, not with Sunghoon in charge.
You barely get a warning, a grin, a wicked glint in Sunghoon’s eye, before he tugs you away from the music and the chaos, down a shadowed back staircase and up another, the air thinning and cooling as you climb. The hallways narrow, overhead lights flickering, distant bass thrumming through the floors. He pushes open a heavy door and suddenly you’re hit with the hush of night, cool air against your skin, the city spread out in glimmering bokeh below. The rooftop is a secret garden, untamed: fairy lights strung haphazard over rusted railing, wind-worn deck chairs scattered around a square pool that glows aquamarine in the dark, steam rising from a sunken jacuzzi bubbling in the corner. No one else is here, just you, Sunghoon, and the hiss of water on tile.
He doesn’t hesitate. He drops his jacket on a chair, then peels off his shirt in one easy motion, letting it fall to the ground with a thud that feels more intimate than a kiss. Under the golden lights, his body is all shadow and muscle, pale skin glinting, dark hair wild above his brow. Every line of him is honed and unapologetic, broad shoulders tapering down to a tight waist, the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves, chest dusted with the faintest line of hair trailing down, stomach tight and cut with abs you want to rake your nails across. He smirks, undoes his belt with a lazy twist, slides out of his jeans, boxers following until he’s bare, no shame, no fear, just confidence and hunger.
His cock hangs thick and already hardening, jutting forward between strong thighs, the head flushed deep red, glistening in the half-light. Your throat goes tight at the sight, he’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes your mouth water, your core clench, every inch of him made for sin. He catches you staring, one eyebrow arching as he fists the length slowly, spreading the slick with the pad of his thumb just to tease. “You gonna keep watching, or you gonna come take what you want?” he taunts, voice velvet-dark, making heat bloom everywhere in your body.
A low, greedy growl rumbles in your chest before you can stop it, hunger twisting through your belly. He grins, hungry and wolfish, drinking you in with the same unhidden need, the weight of his cock swinging as he steps closer to the pool. The sight alone has you pulsing, ready to sink your teeth into his shoulder, to taste salt and skin, to claim every inch. The way his body moves, so unhurried and certain, makes you want to drop to your knees and worship every line, every shadow, every drop of sweat. It’s almost feral, the way you crave him—hot and raw and desperate, a need that claws under your skin, threatening to eat you alive if he doesn’t touch you soon.
Your throat goes dry. You’re trembling from the cold, from the heat in his eyes, from the raw audacity of being here, alone, exposed, with Sunghoon. He grins wider. “Come on, sweetheart. No one ever finds this place. Only the good ones get an invite.” You glance at the skyline, at the empty chairs, heart pounding as you tug your dress up over your hips. The hem catches, and you flush, fumbling with the zipper, but his voice finds you: “Slow down. Let me see.” Your hands go still. You lock eyes with him, and the rest of your dress slides up, satin rustling, baring your legs, then your thighs, then your bare chest beneath the witchy corset you chose just for tonight. You toss it aside, goosebumps racing down your arms. You hook your thumbs in your stockings, rolling them down inch by inch, his gaze dragging over every inch of skin you reveal. By the time you’re bare, the night air is colder but your body is burning, your nipples pebbled, your pulse thrumming everywhere.
His eyes drag over every inch of you, slow, greedy, a touch of reverence mixed with unmistakable hunger, his gaze dips from your flushed cheeks to the swell of your breasts, nipples pebbling in the chill, down your belly to the soft skin between your thighs, the shadows hiding nothing, the goosebumps rising everywhere he lingers. He stares like he’s starving, tongue wetting his lips, jaw tensing as his gaze traces the curve of your ass, the arch of your back, the vulnerable line of your throat. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice husky, eyes blown wide with want. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, messy, perfect, dripping for me.” For a moment you swear he’s lost language, just breathing you in, jaw flexing, cock twitching, hungry as a wolf, not moving until you come to him.
He crooks a finger, beckoning. “Come here. It’s warmer here.” You take a breath and step in, the water licking up your calves, knees, thighs, until it’s waist-deep and your body sighs at the sudden heat. Sunghoon doesn’t give you a second to hesitate, he meets you in the middle of the pool, hands finding your waist under the surface, his touch anchoring you as your legs threaten to give out. He drags you closer, chest to chest, skin to skin, the world vanishing until it’s just your heartbeat and his, the smell of chlorine and him, the stars reflected all broken in the ripples.
He tilts your chin up, grinning, hair dripping over his brow, his eyes so dark you could drown. “Thought you’d run,” he whispers, but you shake your head, breathless, hungry. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” You reach for him, hands sliding down his back, feeling the shiver that runs through him. He kisses you, slow at first, tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth, then deeper, hungrier, one hand tangling in your hair, the other sliding down your spine to cup your ass and pull you flush. Your legs wrap around his waist, your back arching, every inch of your body slick with water and want. The heat of the jacuzzi swirls around you, the city humming somewhere far below, but up here, there’s only the slap of water, the breathless hush between your moans, the quiet gasp when his cock grinds against your core.
His stare doesn’t let up for a second—you feel it, sharp and unblinking, grazing every curve, every patch of skin you’ve just exposed to the night. You try not to flinch under the attention, but there’s something primal in the way he watches, like he’s memorizing you for later, cataloguing every dip and hollow and inch of soft flesh he’s about to touch. When you finally step closer, the city lights painting you gold and silver, he lets his hands settle on your hips, drawing you into the heat of him, his cock hard and leaking against your belly, bodies flush and slick as the steam from the jacuzzi blurs your outlines. He doesn’t say a word—just devours, starting at your mouth, tracing your lips with his tongue before deepening the kiss, messy and slow, until you’re gasping. His mouth finds your throat next, nipping a bruise under your jaw, then scraping his teeth over your collarbone, biting the tip of your shoulder just hard enough to make you moan, then soothing it with a kiss. He trails lower, lips and teeth mapping you like a secret he’s waited all night to claim, and by the time he licks the shell of your ear, his hands have moved up, thumbing your nipples, making your head drop back, breathless and bare in every sense.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he growls, nipping, licking, drowning in you, his voice raw. Your hands grip his hair, your hips moving against his under the water, grinding, desperate, chasing the heat that builds with every slick stroke. Your thighs tighten around him, holding him there, wanting more, always more.
He slips a hand between your legs, fingers teasing, sliding through your folds, finding you already soaked despite the water. “You gonna let me make you cum right here?” he murmurs, teeth flashing. “You want the whole city to hear you?” You whimper, nails scratching at his shoulders, biting back a moan as he circles your clit, slow and dirty, just how you like. His other hand cups your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple, tugging until you’re squirming, so close to falling apart already you could scream.
He kisses you again, swallowing your cries, his hips moving, grinding you together in the steaming blue water, the slap and swirl of it echoing off the tiles. “Hold on to me,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged. “Let me take care of you.” And you do, you let him, you let yourself, lost in the thrill of being naked and devoured and seen, right here where no one else will ever find you.
The water sloshes around your hips as Sunghoon’s hands find your waist, pulling you down into his lap, every inch of skin meeting his, his cock sliding between your thighs, hot and heavy. You’re still half-floating, legs weightless in the warm pool, when his fingers find your clit under the surface, slick and slow, the pad of his thumb circling until you’re arching into his chest, mouth buried in his shoulder to keep quiet. The steam rises, fogging the air, your breaths mingling with the night as he slips a finger inside you, then two, knuckle-deep and curling just right, making your legs quake beneath the surface. He coaxes you, filth in every whispered word, “You want everyone in this city to know how good I make you feel, pretty thing?” before sealing his mouth over yours to swallow your answer. His grip tightens, rhythm cruel and perfect, and you lose track of time, every heartbeat pulsing against his palm, your body clenched and fluttering, thighs trembling around his hand as you come hard, biting down on his shoulder, stifling your scream.
He doesn’t let you sink back into the water. Instead, with a strength that feels possessive and adoring all at once, he scoops you up, water streaming off your skin, and lays you out on the cold stone edge of the pool. Your back hits the tile, the shock of it chased by the heat of his gaze, and you barely catch your breath before his hands are parting your knees, spreading you open to the night. The city sprawls behind him in a mess of neon and traffic, but all you see is the hunger in his eyes, the way his hair falls into his face as he kneels at the edge, mouth already ghosting over your inner thigh. He pauses just long enough to drink you in, fingers stroking gently over your slit, then dives in, tongue flattening against your clit, licking long and slow, savoring you like something decadent.
Every pass of his mouth is unhurried, deliberate, obscene, his tongue teasing your folds, dipping inside, then back up to flick against the swollen bud of your clit until you’re whimpering, fists tangled in his hair, heels digging into his bare shoulders for leverage. He groans when you writhe, mouthing curses against you, lips glossy with you, tongue never letting up, devouring every sound you make. The cold air hits your skin but you’re burning from the inside out, trembling on the edge of another orgasm as he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming low, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you cry out, all the while murmuring how sweet you taste, how filthy you look like this, dripping, ruined, spread out for him and only him.
Stars blur overhead, the city roaring beneath you, but the only thing that matters is his mouth—Sunghoon, unashamed and relentless, eating you out like it’s his whole reason for being. When you finally break, shattering in a rush of sound and sensation, he doesn’t stop, lapping up every drop, tongue gentle but insistent, anchoring you to the rooftop, to the heat of his body, to the wild, dizzying realization that no one has ever made you feel like this before. When you come down, breathless and boneless, his hands are there, steadying you, worship in every touch.
You barely hit the tiles before Sunghoon has you pinned, his mouth crashing against yours, teeth and tongue and hunger, your bodies slick with water and need. Your arms loop desperately around his neck, legs tangled at his waist, every kiss a collision, every gasp a promise. He stumbles you both through the dark, trailing wet footprints, groping blindly for a door, laughter and party noise echoing distantly behind you. Your nails rake his back, hips grinding against his as he fumbles the knob, shoves you both inside a cramped bathroom, and kicks the door shut with a shuddering slam. The lock clicks. He presses you flat to the door, mouth devouring yours, his hands everywhere, palming your ass, tugging you higher, fingers digging bruises he’ll kiss later. The need is dizzying, a heat that scorches your lungs, every breath a moan swallowed between frantic kisses, hips rutting helpless and greedy, both of you lost to the madness of wanting, desperate to fuck and tear the rest of the world away.
He grabs your jaw in one hand, tilting your face up, and spits right into your open mouth, smirking as you swallow it down, hot and filthy, your tongue flicking over your lips just to taste him. He kisses you hard, tasting himself, grinding you harder against the door so every ridge of his cock rubs through his jeans into your clit. “Open wider,” he commands, sliding two fingers between your lips and fucking your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue. “Show me how much you want it. Make it sloppy, baby.” You do, spit pooling on your chin as you suck him, moaning around his hand, your eyes rolling back at the roughness of it, the ownership, the way his gaze never leaves your face.
He drops his hand to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch, holding you still while he kisses down your chest, biting the soft skin above your neckline, leaving dark marks that will bloom into bruises. You arch, whimpering, hips rolling, desperate for more, your cunt aching, dripping, desperate for his cock. He grins, wicked and sharp, and slides his fingers back between your legs, smearing wetness over your thighs. “Can’t believe how much you’re leaking for me,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and want. “Do you want everyone to hear how filthy you get when I touch you? Want me to make you scream for real this time?”
The porcelain sink bites into your hips as Sunghoon shoves you back, your dress bunched at your waist, your panties tugged off so fast the elastic burns your thighs. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, just drops to his knees on the grimy tile, his hands spreading your legs so wide the stretch aches. His mouth finds your cunt like he’s been starved for it all night, his breath hot and ragged, tongue flat and broad as he licks a filthy stripe from your hole up to your clit. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t flirt, just devours, tongue moving in brutal, greedy circles, sucking your clit between his lips, letting the messy slick and spit drip down his chin. He moans into you, loud and guttural, as if the taste of you alone could make him cum. You arch, clawing at the edge of the sink, your moans bouncing off tile, high and desperate and wet.
He slides two fingers inside without warning, curling them up ruthlessly, knuckles grinding against your dripping cunt while his mouth works like you’re the only thing in the world he wants to worship or ruin. Every flick of his tongue is frantic, his nose pressed into your mound, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He pins you open, one palm splayed against your belly, pressing you down to keep you from writhing away as his fingers fuck you rough and deep, hitting that spot that makes you scream. He growls against your clit, “Scream for me, pretty baby, let them hear how fucking sweet you taste”—and you do, your voice raw, the whole party surely hearing your cries as you cum the first time, legs kicking, hands fisting in his hair.
He doesn’t slow, doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop to gloat. He just pulls you closer, nearly lifting you off the floor, tongue pressing inside you, fucking you with his mouth, the mess soaking his chin, spit and slick dripping onto the tile below. He eats you like you’re his last meal, like he needs you to survive, his hands squeezing your thighs so tight you’ll bruise, groaning into your skin every time you shudder or cry out. You lose track of your own noises, pleasure pouring out in filthy moans and half-words. “Please, please, don’t stop, need it, fuck”—and he only laughs, eyes gleaming up at you, pupils blown wide, devouring the sight of you coming apart.
He starts talking, filthy and low, every word vibrating through your cunt. “Look at this pretty pussy, dripping all over my tongue, you taste so fucking good, bet you’ve never been eaten like this before, have you? Bet no one’s ever made you cum just from their mouth, yeah? You wanna cum again? You gonna soak my face, baby? Show me how much you love being ruined like this”—his words half-mocking, half-worshipping, every line making you melt. You try to close your legs but he pins them open, spreading you wider, licking even deeper, nose bumping your clit as he sucks, tongue fucking you, grinding his face into you like he’s marking you for everyone to see.
When you cum again, it’s violent, your whole body spasms, thighs clamping down on his head, hips bucking so hard you nearly knock the sink loose from the wall. He grins, loving it, lets you ride his tongue through the aftershocks, never stopping, fingers still pumping deep, thumb rubbing messy circles on your swollen clit. “Good girl,” he breathes, “cum for me, fuck, do it again, want you shaking,” and you sob, tears running down your cheeks, every nerve ending on fire, pleasure rolling through you in endless, breaking waves. He slaps your thigh, hard, just to feel you jerk and cry out, the sting mixing with the ache and the want and the mess he’s making of you.
He’s relentless, licks you through every twitch, never letting up, using his spit to make you even messier, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, eyes locked on yours the whole time. You’re babbling now, begging, not even sure what for, just needing, needing, needing, and he eats it up, hungry for every sound, every shiver. He pulls back for a second, eyes dark, mouth shining with you. “Look at you,” he says, “look how fucking ruined you are for me. You want more? Want me to spit in your mouth again? Want me to fuck you with my tongue until you forget your name?”
You nod, desperate, and he laughs, leans up to spit in your open mouth, then dives back down, tongue working faster, messier, sloppier. His hand slips up, finds your throat, squeezes until you’re dizzy, your moans turning strangled and high-pitched, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. He lets go just long enough to slide his thumb into your mouth. “Suck, baby, wanna feel your tongue”—then goes back to devouring you, his voice muffled, “Gonna make you cum for me again, I don’t care if you scream, let everyone fucking hear you, I want them to know you’re mine now, all mine.”
He keeps eating you out until your legs are shaking so badly you can’t stand, until you’re half-sobbing, half-laughing, your whole body tingling, the mess everywhere, on your thighs, his mouth, the sink, the floor. When he finally stands, his jaw glistening with your slick, he wipes his face on the back of his hand and smirks, looking at you like you’re the only thing worth having tonight. You’re a wreck, thighs trembling, voice hoarse, eyes wild and all you want is for him to ruin you all over again.
The door rattles in its frame, pounding and laughter echoing from the hallway, but neither of you move. Sunghoon stands, eyes glazed and hungry, his hands cupping your ass as he lifts you just enough to grind the thick, aching length of his cock right against your dripping cunt. The fabric of his jeans is rough, the pressure perfectly filthy, and you gasp, desperate for friction, thighs trembling as you rut helplessly against him. His voice is all low smoke, breath hot in your ear. “You want me to fuck you in front of everyone?” he whispers, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, “Or do you want to get on your knees and show me how much you need it?”
Your answer is a broken whimper, but you slide down his body, tongue tracing the ridges of his abs as you go, licking sweat, teeth scraping over his skin, fingers digging into his waistband until you reach the bulge that’s been tormenting you all night. He yanks his belt open, jeans barely past his hips, cock springing free, flushed and leaking for you. You don’t hesitate, just take him in hand, spit already pooling on your tongue, gaze flicking up to meet him. He grins, cocky and wild, one hand sinking into your hair, gripping tight as he guides you to his cock. “Open up, pretty thing,” he growls, voice barely louder than the party outside, “Let me see how much you can take.”
You suck him deep, hollowing your cheeks, loving the way he shudders, the salty tang of him heavy on your tongue. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling, making your eyes water in the best way. Every thrust of his hips makes you choke a little, spit and precum dripping down your chin, but you’re greedy for it, moaning around him, nose pressed to his pelvis, throat stretching for him. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, “Look at you, drooling for my cock with the whole fucking house outside.” The bathroom door rattles again, someone’s yelling, pounding, but Sunghoon’s only response is to fuck your mouth harder, his other hand braced on the sink behind you, holding you steady.
You pull back, licking a wet stripe from the base to the head, swirling your tongue under the tip, making him gasp. He’s twitching, pulsing, desperate already, and you love the power of it, love the way he looks down at you like you’re the filthiest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “You gonna let me cum down your throat, baby?” he whispers, breathless, “Or do you want to taste it on your tongue first?” His hand is tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him, his cock smearing your cheek. You moan, sticking your tongue out, begging for it without words.
He slaps his cock against your tongue, leaking all over your lips, then pulls you up by the hair, making you gasp as he drags you to your feet. “Not yet,” he murmurs, “Want you screaming when I fuck you.” His grip is brutal but careful, a hand cradling the back of your head, thumb brushing your jaw as if to soothe. “Gonna ruin that pretty mouth, then bend you over the sink and make you take it until you’re crying for more.” His mouth finds yours, kissing you with teeth and tongue, the taste of his cock mixing with your own slick on his lips.
You’re shaking, wet and desperate, every inch of your body on fire as he turns you, pressing you hard against the cool porcelain, cock grinding into the curve of your ass. He lifts your dress, bare skin to the open air, and rakes his nails down your spine, making you arch and whimper. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “Love seeing you messy. Love knowing everyone can hear how much you want it.” His hand slips between your thighs, fingers stroking your soaked folds, spreading you open just enough to make you gasp. He leans in, voice right at your ear, filthy and soft. “Bet you’ll cum for me just from this, just from grinding on my cock while they all listen.”
The door bangs again, louder now, angry voices and more laughter, but Sunghoon just laughs low in his throat, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “Let them wait,” he smirks, “You’re not leaving this room until I’m finished with you.” His other hand finds your throat, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, his cock rocking against your cunt, your slick already soaking his jeans. You whimper, grinding back on him, desperate for more, for everything. “Say you want it,” he whispers, biting your ear, “Say you want to be ruined with everyone listening.”
You manage a breathless, “Want it, want you to fuck me right here, make them hear me scream,” and he smiles, dark and hungry, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he purrs, “You’re mine tonight. Only mine.” He sucks a mark into your neck, hand still tight in your hair, cock still pressed hot and heavy against your soaked cunt, every muscle in your body straining for the moment he finally gives in and takes you.
The bathroom is a wild, echoing chamber of sweat and heat, the thump of music and muffled shouts from the party pounding through the door. Sunghoon’s cock grinds against your soaked folds, the denim gone rough and sticky from your slick, his fingers threading through your hair as he breathes in the sound of your moans. He kisses you, hungry, biting, the kind of kiss that makes you ache for more even when you’re already trembling. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice pitched low for you alone. “Bet you’ll forget your own name when I fuck you. Bet you’ll scream so loud the whole house will know who you belong to.”
Your body surges forward, desperate, greedy, hips rolling back to meet every shift of his. “Sunghoon,” you gasp, clawing at the porcelain, “please. Please, just fuck me. I can’t, I need it, I need you right now.” He laughs, dark and delighted, the sound vibrating up your spine. You feel the slap of his palm on your ass, sharp and stinging, and it only makes you wetter, your body bowing under the command of his hands. “That’s it,” he hisses, “Beg for it, pretty girl. Show me how desperate you can get.”
He yanks your dress up, leaving you bare from the waist down, your cunt glistening in the harsh bathroom light, so wet you’re practically dripping onto the tiles. His fingers dip between your legs, gathering slick, spreading it over your folds, just to hear the filthy sound it makes. “Fuck, you’re soaked for me,” he growls, lining himself up at your entrance. “You want everyone to know how needy you are? Want them to know I’m the only one who gets to ruin you like this?”
The head of his cock pushes inside, thick and slow, stretching you open inch by aching inch. Your mouth falls open, a strangled moan torn from your throat as he fills you, the world tilting, vision white-hot at the edges. You clutch the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, as he bottoms out, grinding his hips into yours, refusing to let you adjust before he’s pulling back and slamming back in, hard enough to make the whole counter shudder. “Fuck—so tight,” he groans, voice strangled, “God, you feel fucking perfect. Taking me so well, baby.”
You can’t form words, just breathless pleas and broken whimpers, every thrust driving you closer to the edge, his grip bruising on your hips. “That’s it, let them hear you,” he pants, rutting into you harder, the slap of skin loud enough to be scandalous. “Let them hear how much you love getting fucked by me.” You’re half sobbing, half laughing, lost in it, forehead pressed to the cold mirror, tongue out to catch your own moans as you watch the way his eyes burn into your reflection.
The doorknob rattles. There’s a sudden shout, someone’s trying to barge in, the handle wrenching, a flash of hallway light. You barely register it before Sunghoon snarls, pulling out, turning you, shoving the door shut with a slam that shakes the wall. “Occupied,” he barks, voice raw and ragged, and you’re giggling, high on adrenaline and shame and desire, watching him lock it again, his cock flushed, glistening with your slick. “No one’s interrupting,” he mutters, grabbing you, spinning you around so your back hits the door, pressing his body flush to yours.
His mouth is on your neck, your jaw, biting down hard enough to leave marks, his hands everywhere—m, thighs, ass, waist, the small of your back. You wrap your legs around his hips, locking him in, grinding down until you feel him tremble. “You’re so fucking hot,” you whisper, licking the sweat off his cheek, “I want you to lose control for me. I want you to cum so hard you forget your own name.” He groans, teeth bared, and then he’s back inside you, pounding up into you with desperate, filthy need, every thrust pushing you higher.
You’re gone, lost in sensation, the world narrowing to the place where his cock splits you open, the sting of his teeth on your collarbone, his fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you hard enough to make the door rattle in its hinges. “Take it, take all of me,” he growls, fucking you through his own shaking, “You’re mine tonight. All fucking mine.” You moan, clawing at his shoulders, nails raking his skin, leaving marks you know he’ll love in the morning.
There’s another crash from outside, someone pounding, another voice laughing, the party oblivious or pretending not to care. You gasp, the noise pushing you closer, making it feel even dirtier, the risk of being caught sharpening every edge. “You want to be caught, don’t you?” he whispers, dragging your head back by the hair, forcing you to look into his eyes. “You want everyone to know you’re getting fucked like this.” You’re so close, teetering, your whole body slick and straining, and you can only nod, desperate for release.
He slows for a moment, catching your jaw in one hand, holding you steady as his hips snap into yours, cock grinding right against your g-spot. “Say it,” he growls, “Say you want everyone to hear you cum.”
“I want it,” you whimper, voice shaking, “I want everyone to know I’m yours.” He laughs, soft and dark, then fucks you harder, pulling you down onto him, making your legs quake with every thrust. The pleasure builds, wild and sharp, until you’re sobbing, crying out, your whole body spasming as you shatter around him, the sound echoing off the tile and mirror and his lips at your ear, telling you how good you are, how fucking perfect.
When it’s over, you collapse against his chest, both of you shuddering, breath tangled, his hands smoothing over your skin in rough aftercare, mouth gentler now, peppering kisses over your face, your shoulder, whispering praise and filth in equal measure. “So fucking good for me, baby. Never seen anyone take it like you do. You’re unreal.” You’re barely standing, legs jelly, and he eases you down, kneeling, pulling you into his lap on the floor, still joined, still desperate for more. His voice is softer, careful, but still electric. “You want to cum again?” he asks, thumb stroking your swollen clit, “Or do you want to make me lose it this time?”
Your answer is a hungry nod, and before you can blink, he’s pushing you gently to your knees, his cock glistening and flushed, right at your lips. “Open up, pretty thing,” he murmurs, “Show me how filthy you can get.” You don’t hesitate, just lick him clean, savoring the taste of both of you, moaning as he shudders under your tongue. He’s so sensitive, every swipe of your mouth making him twitch, curse, eyes rolling back in his head.
He thrusts into your mouth, both hands tangled in your hair now, fucking your throat slow, then faster, his voice ragged and ruined, “Fuck, just like that, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, take it, take it all, baby.” Someone bangs on the door again—neither of you care, the risk only making you hungrier, your hands squeezing his thighs, pulling him deeper. He’s losing it, voice shaking, “Gonna cum, you want it, don’t you? Gonna swallow every drop like a good girl, show me, show everyone how much you love my cock.”
He holds you in his lap for a moment, both of you still trembling, his heartbeat thundering beneath your cheek as you catch your breath together. The air between you hums with something raw, something unfinished—neither of you satisfied, not really. His fingers trace idle, hungry circles over your bare thigh, and when your eyes meet in the bathroom mirror, the heat is still there, unspent, ravenous. You see the glint in his eyes, that ache that never seems to settle; the kind of need that isn’t satisfied by one orgasm or two, but by losing himself inside you, over and over, until you forget where you end and he begins. You don’t even flinch when he stands, hands gripping your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, pushing you back against the door with a force that’s both desperate and deliberate.
He fucks you until your knees buckle, sweat dripping down your spine, your body crushed between his and the bathroom door. Sunghoon’s breath is ragged at your ear, every thrust harder than the last, his body strung tight as a wire. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he snarls, his cock slamming deep, the slap of skin against skin echoing out past the music and shrieks from the party. “I can’t get enough of you. I need you again. And again.” You cry out, dizzy, so full you can barely take it, but the ache is everything—sweet, stinging, electric. His hand snakes around your throat, thumb pressed gentle over your pulse. “You gonna take all of me? You gonna let me ruin you tonight?” He’s watching you in the mirror, pupils blown, jaw clenched, desperate for the sight of you fucked out and open just for him.
Even after you’ve come, trembling, spent, Sunghoon won’t let up. He doesn’t even pull out all the way, just drags you across the tiles, bends you over the sink, and pushes in again, making you whimper with every fresh thrust. “Look at yourself,” he whispers, curling your hair around his fist, yanking your head back so you have to meet your own reflection. “Look how perfect you look with my cock inside you. Tell me who you belong to.” You choke on his name, lost in sensation, in the way he fills you up, his cock bruising you deep, his voice nothing but hunger. “That’s right,” he laughs, low and dark, “all fucking mine.”
He fucks you raw, hard, relentless, each round rougher than the last. Sometimes he’s almost gentle, sliding in slowly, letting you feel every inch, but then the tension snaps and he’s pounding you again, hips slamming into your ass until you cry out, your nails raking his shoulders, leaving him marked and claiming him just as much. There’s nothing soft in the way he takes you, nothing patient in the way he chases his own pleasure and yours. He wants you spent, ruined, the memory of him pressed into your body for days.
You feel the edge coming again, too quick and too much, but Sunghoon lives for it. He pulls out just as you shudder, then drags you to your knees, cock smearing your cheek as he strokes himself, sweat running down his chest, breath hot and wild. “Open your mouth,” he commands, voice barely more than a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You do, tongue out, eyes locked on his, and he groans, cock sliding past your lips, thick and still slick from your cunt. He fucks your mouth, using you, loving every second, thumb brushing the corner of your lips as you choke and swallow him down. “That’s it, good girl, take it—fuck, I could do this all night.” His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you down, his hips jerking as he uses you for his own release.
When he cums, it’s with a guttural cry, cock twitching against your tongue, his whole body shuddering as you swallow him down, not wasting a drop. He pulls you up, still hard, still wanting, and kisses you hard, filth and heat and possessiveness tangled in every movement. He doesn’t stop, he presses you to the wall, fingers between your legs, sliding into you, smirking at how wet and ready you still are. “You’re fucking insatiable,” he teases, licking the sweat from your collarbone. “You want more, don’t you? Can’t get enough of me.”
And you don’t. Your body aches, pussy swollen and sore, but you need him, crave the way he fills you, the way he claims you over and over. He lifts you again, legs wrapped around his waist, cock sliding in so deep you see stars. “That’s my girl,” he pants, fucking up into you, relentless. “So perfect, so fucking perfect. I could keep you here forever, just taking my cock, just for me.” Your head falls back, mouth open, lost in the endless heat, the push and pull of his body, the dirty words that fall from his lips, the praise and the possession and the hunger that never ends.
The night is brutal with cold, a sharp bite that steals your breath and stings your cheeks, but you barely notice it over the pulse in your veins. You follow Sunghoon through the aftermath of the party, red Solo cups scattered in the grass, bits of toilet paper caught in the branches, a deflated jack-o-lantern leaking candle wax on the curb. The house behind you still pulses with music and leftover heat, but it’s nothing compared to the gravity that drags you to him, to his bike waiting like some shadowed beast under the streetlamp.
He glances back, eyes black and glittering, a cocky grin flickering on his mouth as he tosses you the helmet. “Let’s get out of here. For good this time,” he says, voice gone low and rich, threading through you like a promise. “This place was just a rental. My place is better.” You pull the helmet on with trembling fingers, chin strap digging into your jaw, every movement made clumsy by adrenaline and nerves. He swings his leg over the seat, muscles flexing in his thighs, black jeans hugging him like a second skin, and then he looks over his shoulder, nodding for you to climb on. “Come on, pretty. You’ll ride behind me, hold tight, don’t let go.”
When you settle in behind him, it’s instinct to grip his waist, but he grabs your hands and slides them lower, guiding your arms around his middle, his fingers warm even through your coat. “Right there,” he murmurs, thumb tracing a lazy circle against your knuckles, voice a secret meant for your skin. “Closer. I want to feel you the whole way home.” He revs the engine, the bike shuddering beneath you, the vibrations running straight up your thighs, making you squirm against him. He laughs, deep and knowing, a rumble that vibrates through your chest as you press yourself into his back.
“Keep your knees tight, princess,” he says, letting his hand rest atop your thigh, stroking just enough to set you trembling. “Balance is everything. Move with me. Lean when I lean. And don’t be scared, nobody rides me off the road.” The world narrows to the feeling of his body, the rough texture of his jacket, the heat of his palm curving possessively over your thigh. You smell his cologne, that sharp, addictive note of leather and musk and the wild tang of autumn air, and you realize you’d follow him anywhere.
The bike snarls to life, engine growling under both of you, and suddenly you’re flying, roaring out onto dark city streets, neon blurring, Halloween decorations spinning past in your periphery. Every corner tilts your universe, every jolt drives you harder into his back, your arms locked around his waist, your breath stuttering with every turn. He speeds up, faster and faster, chasing the empty stretches of night, the world whittling down to your shared pulse, the cold air burning tears from your eyes.
When you lean into him, your chest pressed flat to his spine, you feel the way he arches back, shifting his hips so your thighs lock tighter around him, one hand reaching to squeeze your knee. His other hand sneaks down between your bodies, fingers creeping under your skirt, tracing the damp silk clinging to your skin. “That’s it, baby,” he says, barely audible over the wind and the engine, but you hear him anyway, every syllable curling through your body. “Can’t wait till I get you home. Gonna keep you on my lap till sunrise.”
Every stoplight is an excuse for him to touch you, thumb pressing circles into your thigh, knuckles grazing the skin above your panties, just enough to leave you aching for more. The thrill is heady, wild, your laughter spinning out behind you in the wind. He leans back, helmet tapping yours, voice a filthy whisper, “Doing so good, princess. You hold on so tight. Do you feel that? That’s what you do to me.” You gasp, not sure if you’re riding the bike or him, the world a blur of color and sound and him, always him, guiding you home, where the night won’t end, not until you’re wrecked and ruined in his bed.
The ride ends behind a block of dark, glassy apartments, a part of town that never really sleeps, but tonight is quiet, all the noise contained inside walls you’ll never see. Sunghoon coasts the bike down a narrow drive, past numbered parking bays and flickering security lights, until he pulls up in front of a steel door set flush in the back of the building. You realize, with a start, that this isn’t just any garage, it’s his. His apartment is right above, keys on a loop at his belt, and you see the mark of him in everything: the battered bike helmet hanging from a peg, a stack of textbooks balanced next to a laundry basket, old posters curling on the far wall. When he swings open the heavy door, you step into a space that’s private in a way nothing at the party ever was, this is where he keeps what matters. The air smells like cold metal, grease, and a hint of his cologne, the floor scarred by tire marks and the ghost of old spills. Every echo in here belongs to him.
He kicks down the stand and looks over his shoulder, eyes dark and waiting. You linger at the threshold, not quite ready to shatter the quiet, this is his domain, the world where he’s more than just a rumor or a dare. You see the apartment door at the back, a spiral of keys hanging, the comfort of knowing if you want, you’ll follow him all the way home. For now, you’re just here, in his garage down below, surrounded by the proof that this is real, this is private, and for the first time all night, you’re not just crashing someone else’s scene. You’re in Sunghoon’s.
The garage is chilly and cavernous, but every echo of concrete and steel is muffled by the throb of your heartbeat and the low rumble of Sunghoon’s bike beneath you. He sits back on the cool leather seat, legs splayed, jeans shoved low, cock flushed and thick and already slick from your mouth. You climb onto him, knees braced on either side of his hips, skirt bunched up around your waist, panties already gone, your bare skin prickling with anticipation and the brush of night air. The bike creaks under your shifting weight, the smell of oil and rubber sharp as you grip the handlebars behind his shoulders, using the frame to hold yourself steady as you slide down onto him in one greedy, desperate motion. You gasp, the stretch brutal, your thighs trembling around his.
He groans, hands splayed hard on your hips, dragging you flush against him, the bite of his grip promising bruises that’ll last for days. “Fuck, just like that,” he growls, voice echoing off the garage walls. The engine’s still warm, humming beneath your knees, every movement of your hips causing the bike to shudder and groan, the vibrations traveling straight up through your cunt, making you shiver and moan. You start to bounce, riding him hard, letting your head fall back, hair spilling down your spine, the slap of skin on leather shockingly loud in the echo chamber of the garage.
You’re loud, too, deliberately so, every gasp and curse tumbling out unfiltered. “God, Sunghoon, fuck, you feel so good, you’re so deep,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders as you pick up the pace, grinding down until you see stars.
He reaches up, grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your mouth to his, tongue rough and demanding, swallowing your moans. “You like that, baby?” he whispers, letting you catch your breath just long enough to whimper, “Yes, yes, fuck, don’t stop.” His free hand slaps your ass, the sound ricocheting, making you clench around him and bounce harder.
The bike rocks beneath you, tires squeaking against the concrete as you move, the whole thing swaying with the rhythm of your bodies. Sunghoon’s jacket is bunched between your fists, his chest slick with sweat. “Look at you, riding me like you own me,” he rasps, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide. “Think you can cum for me, right here, with the door open?” You look over your shoulder, see the sliver of night through the half-rolled garage door, the risk of being seen, of being heard, making you whimper. “You want the neighbors to know what a slut you are for me?” he teases, his voice filthy and fond, hand snaking up to wrap around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse as he thrusts up into you.
You bounce harder, the engine’s growl under you mixing with your cries. “Yes, please, Sunghoon, I want it, I want you,” you pant, the words ragged, desperate.
He leans forward, licks a stripe up your throat, teeth grazing your jaw, before pulling your hand up to cover your own mouth. “Be quiet, or I’ll stop,” he warns, but there’s laughter in his voice, the challenge clear. You whimper against your palm, trying to stifle your cries as he pounds into you, the bike rattling, every thrust making the headlights flicker. The slap of your skin against his, the wet drag of your cunt, the heavy bass of the engine, every sound makes you clench tighter, feel wilder, needier.
He pulls your hand away, forcing your mouth open with his thumb. “Let them hear,” he commands, voice low and brutal. “Let them know who’s fucking you, who’s making you cum.” You shudder, the humiliation and pride blurring together, hips jerking as you start to unravel. He digs his fingers into your waist, urging you to ride him harder, faster, until you’re sobbing, back arching, body straining for release. “Good girl,” he breathes, the words breaking you open, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you nearly scream, collapsing against his chest, shaking and spent.
He won’t let you stop. He flips you, pushing you forward so your hands are braced on the handlebars, ass high in the air, your thighs spread wide. “Stay just like that,” he orders, lining up and slamming back in, his hips slapping against your ass. The bike is shaking, the whole garage vibrating with every desperate thrust. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby, you take it so good,” he groans, hand sliding up to fist in your hair again, jerking your head back so you have to look at him, see the wild hunger in his eyes. “I could fuck you like this all night, do you want that? You want to cum again, for me?”
You’re begging now, every word a plea, every breath a sob. “Please, Sunghoon, more, I need you, I need it.” He reaches around, rubs your clit in tight circles, fucking you through another shattering orgasm, your whole body convulsing, tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity.
He leans in, kisses the salt from your skin, whispers praise into your ear, every word filthier than the last. “Such a good girl, so fucking pretty when you break for me. I’m never letting you go.” The engine purrs beneath you, the garage ringing with the sound of your ruin, the thrill of being caught making every moment burn hotter, every climax sweeter, every inch of you his.
You barely catch your breath before Sunghoon is on you again, lips crashing into yours, rough and hungry, all teeth and spit. He pushes you down to the cool concrete floor, the grit of dust biting your bare thighs, his weight pinning you in place. “You said you wanted more,” he growls, voice ragged, fingers digging into your hips as he yanks your legs apart. The floor is cold and hard, but his hands are everywhere, bruising and possessive, his cock pressing hot and heavy between your thighs. “Spread for me. Let me see.” You do, shameless and pliant, arching your back so he can slide back inside, stretching you wide as he sinks in, groaning at how slick you are, how ready you always seem to be for him. The garage lights flicker overhead, the world reduced to the slap of his skin, the slap of his cock, the sweet ache of the concrete scraping your spine.
He leans down, mouth hot on your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, then dragging his tongue across the mark, soothing and claiming. His hips pound into you relentlessly, the sound obscene, wet and filthy, every thrust pushing you further, deeper, until you’re crying out, nails clawing at his back. “You feel that?” he taunts, low and mocking. “No one else is ever gonna fuck you like this. You’re all mine.” He bends your legs up, pushing your knees to your chest, fucking you open for him, letting the whole garage see what you look like ruined and wanting, your moans bouncing off the walls. You barely notice when he spits on your chest, rubbing the mess over your nipples, making you arch up and beg for his mouth.
He flips you, hauls you up, and shoves you against the nearest wall. The cement is icy against your cheek, but his body is all heat behind you, his cock splitting you open as he slams back in. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one hand, the other wrapped tight around your throat, thumb stroking your jaw. “Count for me,” he rasps, hips pistoning into you, every thrust making your bones rattle. “Every time you cum, I want you to say my name.” You lose track, the orgasms rolling through you, wringing you out until you’re boneless, your voice cracking from screaming his name over and over. He bites your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise, leaving his mark where no one but you will ever see.
You collapse to your knees, dizzy and half-laughing, half-weeping, your face pressed to the wall. He drops down with you, drags you over to the bike, props you up against the seat so your back arches and your ass is on display. He kneels behind you, spreads you wide, and eats you out again, rough and messy, spit and cum smeared everywhere. “You taste like heaven,” he groans, tongue working you until you’re begging for mercy, thighs shaking, his fingers fucking you open while his tongue torments your clit. You sob, grab his hair, ride his mouth until you’re shaking, your body wrung out and dripping. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you down, just keeps going until you push him away, gasping for air.
He stands and pulls you up, kissing you hard, shoving you back over the bike’s gas tank, your hips pinned by the curve of metal. “Hold on,” he commands, and you grip the handlebars for dear life as he thrusts into you from behind, the bike swaying under the force of his fucking. He grabs your hair, jerks your head back so you have to look him in the eye in the reflection of the chrome, his voice low and taunting. “Look at yourself. Look how desperate you are. Fuck, you’re so perfect like this.” The engine clicks, the seat creaks, your bodies thrum with every bounce, your moans muffled by the roar of your own need. He slaps your ass, tells you you’re his filthy girl, his perfect rider, the only one who can take him this deep.
He pulls out, grabs your jaw, spits in your mouth, kisses you with it, lets you lick his tongue, then flips you onto your back again, fucking into you hard, deep, slow now, torturing you with the drag, making you beg for every inch. “Do you want it fast or slow?” he asks, voice thick with satisfaction. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
You beg, plead, every word a confession, every moan a demand. He gives you both, fast, then slow, mixing it up, never letting you settle, never letting you know what comes next, until you’re so dizzy with it you don’t know if you’re cumming or crying or both. His hand is on your throat again, his teeth on your lips, his cock dragging you open, making you his over and over.
The last time, he takes you on the cold floor again, one hand under your knee, the other pinning your wrists above your head, fucking you until you go silent, pleasure sharp as a knife. He whispers all the filth in your ear, how he wants you, how he’ll never get enough, how he wants you to ruin him and let him ruin you. When you finally go limp, trembling and leaking and bruised and perfect, he collapses on top of you, breath coming hard, kissing you soft and slow, the world outside the garage fading to nothing.
He barely lets you catch your breath, dragging you off the bike by your hips, his mouth already finding your tits, tongue laving over one nipple, then the other, sucking hard and desperate, leaving each peak wet and stinging. “You taste so fucking sweet,” he mutters against your skin, teeth grazing, biting down just enough to make you arch, your hands fisting in his hair, gasping for air. He sucks, circles, bites, makes you moan and whimper and beg, switching sides, mouth frantic and greedy like he’s been starved for years. “Let me hear you, baby,” he growls, tongue flicking, sucking so hard your whole body tingles, nipples red and swollen and aching. You tug him closer, whimpering, not caring about anything but the way his mouth makes you burn.
Before you know it, he spins you, palms rough on your waist, pressing you up against the cold garage wall. His hands are everywhere—one squeezing your breast, thumb rolling your nipple, the other yanking your ass back so your hips jut out for him. You feel his cock, hot and leaking, pressing between your cheeks, still slippery with your slick and his spit. He bends low, licks up your spine, then nips the back of your neck, makes you shiver, makes you whimper, so needy for more. “Hold on,” he commands, voice gone jagged. “Don’t let go.”
You brace your palms flat against the wall, eyes fluttering closed, pulse hammering as he lines up, cock heavy and throbbing. Without warning, he pushes in, fucking you deep, all the way to the hilt, a brutal, perfect stretch that makes you sob. His fingers slide up, find your mouth, slip between your lips, two, then three, pressing down on your tongue, holding your jaw open as he fucks you. “Suck,” he orders, voice dark, possessive, and you do, tasting yourself, moaning around his fingers, drooling, wild with how filthy it is. He thrusts harder, hips slapping your ass, the garage echoing with every desperate, messy movement.
The wall is cold, your skin is hot, sweat sliding down your back, your knees shaking with every punishing snap of his hips. He’s relentless, fucking you deeper, harder, never slowing, every thrust a filthy promise that you’re his for the night. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down to rub your clit, circles rough and fast, making you squirm, making you wail. “You look so good like this, fucked out and messy, dripping down my cock,” he grunts, voice pure sex and hunger. “You like being used, don’t you? You want everyone to know who ruined you?”
Your mind shatters, white noise and pleasure and Sunghoon’s voice, Sunghoon’s hands, Sunghoon’s cock driving you wild. You cry out, clenching around him, trembling on the edge until you break, coming hard, body convulsing, walls fluttering, so sensitive you can barely breathe. He follows with a growl, slamming deep one last time, spilling inside you, biting down on your shoulder as he grinds through his orgasm, hands holding you so tight you’ll wear his fingerprints for days.
He doesn’t pull out right away, just leans over you, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your neck, cock still buried inside. “Fuck,” he rasps, almost laughing, still high on the aftershocks, “I can’t believe you’re real.” He’s shaking, you’re shaking, the world gone blurry with heat and exhaustion and that wild, raw thrill that nothing will ever feel like this again.
You slide to the floor together, tangled and gasping, your head against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, both of you too spent to move, your bodies sticky and sore and blissed out. The garage is quiet, just the soft tick of the bike’s engine cooling, your mingled breaths, the pounding echo of your hearts. Sunghoon presses lazy kisses to your temple, still tasting salt and sweat, his mouth gentle where it was ravenous before. “You’re fucking insane,” he whispers, a crooked grin in his voice, “and I want you all night.” Neither of you want to move. You just hold each other, ruined and new, high on everything that’s just happened, the bike, the risk, the wildness, the pure fucking insanity of this night. You’re both fucked dumb for each other, bodies humming with aftershocks, every touch lingering, every whisper a secret. You know you’ll never look at him—or yourself—the same way again.
𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
It’s barely afternoon, sunlight slanting through the half-open blinds of Sunghoon’s apartment, his apartment, now just as much yours, though most people would only see the way your bra is dangling from his bedroom doorknob, the way your perfume and his cologne have become a single scent. You’re straddling his hips, thighs bracketing his, still sticky and a little raw from where he’s kept you for days, weeks, a whole month now spent learning how many ways you can lose yourself with him inside you. The sheets are a ruined, tangled mess, there’s never been a morning they weren’t. Your knees ache from all the different angles he’s bent you; your voice is rough from begging, from whispering his name, from laughing when he fucked you through sunrise and started again at noon. The air tastes like sweat, old sex, and something so sweet it hurts your teeth. He’s looking up at you like there’s no world outside this bed, arms folded behind his head, mouth parted, jaw dark with stubble you feel everywhere, on your collarbones, between your thighs, where he’s marked you again and again.
Your hands splay over his chest, mapping every new bruise, every old scratch, every memory you made with your body tangled around his. His cock is thick and hard beneath you, slick with both of you, and your hips roll slow and deep, not because you’re in a hurry, but because you both know there’s no rush anymore. This isn’t the wild, desperate fucking of that first night, though you’ve had more than your share of that too. Now it’s a marathon, an experiment, every thrust a new way to say “don’t stop,” every moan a promise you’ll never be done learning each other.
Your head tips back as you ride him, sun painting gold across your skin, and he’s transfixed, greedy for every detail, every sound you make, every flutter of your lashes when you clench around him just right. If anyone asks what you two have done this month, the honest answer is everything, on the bed, the kitchen counter, the couch, his bike, against the shower wall, even on the floor when you couldn’t make it another step. You’ve forgotten how to say goodbye, how to keep your hands to yourself, how to let a day pass without his fingers inside you, his mouth coaxing you open, his words as filthy and necessary as air. You move for him, slow and deep, a rhythm only you two know, hips rolling until his hands slide up to grip your waist, bruising, claiming, promising another hour, another night, another week of this endless wanting. You’re drunk on it, dizzy with it, every nerve ending still raw and electric from all the ways you’ve loved him in the last month and all the ways you plan to keep going.
You bounce gently, letting him fill you over and over, your bodies sticky and soft, clinging together like the world’s shrunk to just this bed and the sound of your shared breath. Sunghoon’s hands finally slide up, cupping your waist, holding you steady as you ride him, his eyes never leaving your face. “You know,” he murmurs, voice rough and so full of honesty it makes you pause, “I noticed you way before the party. I knew who you were before you tried to escape my party and steal my bike.” His thumbs move over your skin, teasing, slow. “You always sit in the third row, two seats from the end. You bite your pencil when you’re thinking and your notes are neater than anyone’s.”
You give him a look, jabbing your heel against his thigh, breathless and grinning, hips rolling harder. “Please. I ride that motorbike better than you ever could, Park.” He barely lets you catch your breath before he’s rolling his hips up again, hungry for more, and you laugh, biting your lip, still bouncing on his cock. “You know, I’ve gotten pretty good at riding, right? Both kinds. All those late-night lessons you give me, you only ever take your hands off to put them somewhere filthier.”
He grins, dark and possessive, hands sliding up your waist as he rocks into you, “Don’t act like you haven’t begged for every lesson. I think you love my bike almost as much as you love my cock.”
You whine, letting your head fall back, hips moving faster, “It’s a close race, Park, but only one of those makes me scream.”
He chuckles, deep and smug, twisting his fingers in your hair to pull you down for a kiss, voice thick with promise. “Yeah? Let’s see which one you want more after we’re done. Might have to take you for another spin after this.” And you moan, losing yourself in the rhythm, in his hands, in the heat, knowing you’ll always say yes, whether it’s leather and engine oil or tangled sheets and nothing but skin, because every ride with him is the only one you ever want to take.
“God, I never knew riding could feel this fucking good, makes me want to climb on and lose myself every damn night, on your bike or your cock. Just need you under me, begging me to go faster, baby.”
He grins back, cocky and gorgeous, dark hair falling over his eyes, letting you take him all the way in. “Yeah? I know what you ride the best, though,” he fires back, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you down hard on his cock, making you gasp.
You moan, grinding harder, shameless, the bedsprings squeaking under you. “Yeah, baby, say it. Tell me what I’m best at.” You bounce on him, hair flying, eyes locked on his, drunk on how he never stops wanting you.
He groans, low and desperate, thrusting up into you, rough and perfect. “You—fuck—bounce on my cock like you were born for it. You make me lose my mind every time, every fucking time.” And you laugh, wild, head thrown back, riding him faster, the sound filling the room and the sunlight and everything you’ve been together all month, just the two of you, always wanting more.
You pull back, breathless, lips brushing his as you coo, “Really, baby? You noticed me before the party?” The word boyfriend tastes sweet and new on your tongue, makes you smile into his mouth. He nods, hands warm on your hips, eyes shining as he draws you down into another kiss. You blink, pulse stumbling, every part of you clenching around him. “You, you noticed me?” Your voice is half a gasp, half a smile, shy and so fucking vulnerable.
His answer is a low groan, hips rocking up, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen, but still hungry for all of you. “I did. Every time I walked in, I checked if you were there. You never look up, but I could always feel you in the room. I like how quiet you are, how you actually listen, how you laugh at the stupidest jokes the professors make even when no one else does. I like the way you write little notes to yourself in the margins—little hearts, sometimes, or just dumb reminders.” He squeezes your waist, grounding you to him, every word a gentle claim. “You’re different. You made me want to be different, too. I had my eye on you way before the party, that’s why I’m happy Mira dragged you there. My whole worldview shifted the second I caught a gorgeous little witch in thigh highs loitering next to my bike, looking like she might hex me if I got too close or maybe ride off with the whole damn thing.”
Your hips slow, almost stopping, your eyes stinging with something bright and full, his confession winding through your chest. “I thought you never even saw me. I thought I was invisible to you.” It comes out soft, almost embarrassed.
He only laughs, warm and disbelieving, pulling you closer, pressing his lips to your cheek as if to erase the very idea. “You could never be invisible to me, sweetheart. Not in a million years. “Couldn’t stop seeing you if I tried,” he whispers, thumb tracing your jaw. “That’s why when I saw you leave the party, I couldn’t let you go. I was scared you’d slip away before I ever got the chance to know you for real.” His voice drops, darker, more vulnerable. “You have no idea how glad I am that I saw you trying to leave, that I convinced to stay with me and taught you how to ride. That I got to show you what you do to me.”
You flush deeper, arching into him, riding him a little harder now, your hair falling over your face, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Sunghoon,” you murmur, breathless and grinning, “you could’ve had this all along.” He groans, hands flexing on your waist, hips driving up into you with more intent, both of you chasing something deeper than just pleasure.
For the first time you feel incandescent, like a midnight-carved jack-o’-lantern finally lit from within, every razor-thin slice of loneliness flooded with heat as Sunghoon’s gaze holds you open; it’s liberating, obscene, a revelation that shudders through your bones and pools between your legs, because being wanted this hungrily turns invisibility into costume at last discarded, the shy girl unmasked beneath the October moon and claimed in candle-bright sparks of pleasure; you ride him with desperation and awe, tasting sweat and pumpkin-spiced air, understanding in every slick, echoing slap of skin that the right lover doesn’t just see you, he burns your outline into constellations, teaches your body the gospel of being noticed, worshipped, devoured, until the old you is nothing but a ghost story whispered outside party windows while you come alive, trembling and greedy, in the lantern-glow of his hands.
Your rhythm gets rougher, more desperate, your body lit up everywhere he touches. He drags you down for a kiss, mouths crashing, tongues tangled, his hands sliding over your back, pulling you flush to his chest as he thrusts up, cock hitting just right, making you gasp. He grins against your mouth, wicked and open, “I want you every day. I want you every way.” You ride him faster, the bed shaking, your moans melting into his name, the world reduced to sweat and skin and the hungry, tangled ache between you. You come together, bodies pressed tight, his arms wrapped around you so close you can barely tell where you end and he begins. You bury your face in his neck, both of you shaking, breathless, his hands stroking your spine, whispering soft, filthy nothings that make you laugh and shiver and cling to him all at once. There’s nothing frantic in it, just the soft, raw certainty that you’ve both been waiting for someone to look at you like this, to touch you like this, to finally let yourself want and be wanted.
When it’s over, you collapse beside him, tangled up in his sheets, legs still draped over his, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. He looks at you, eyes warm and content and just a little wild, and says, “You wrecked me, you know that?” And you can’t help but smile, because you know exactly how he feels, ruined and remade and so goddamn glad you let yourself be seen.
Outside, October sunlight spills across the blinds like leftover jack-oʼ-lantern glow, but inside this room feels enchanted, two midnight runaways who outraced the witching hour and woke up in their own fairy tale. The bed is your pumpkin carriage at dawn, sheets rumpled into silver clouds, his heartbeat drumming beneath your palm like the last notes of a spell, and every bruise you share glitters like star-dust proof that you both survived the haunted woods. You lie there, skin warm against skin, tasting cinnamon on his smile, certain that the universe bent its crooked spine, just once, to scribble a sweeter epilogue: every morning after this, you’ll keep choosing one another, the quiet girl and the campus legend, rewriting Halloween into happily-ever-after as long as you both feel the magic humming under your ribs.
asks, reblogs, comments much appreciated, don’t be a silent reader !!
have an out of control bratty girlfriend? call 1-800-hoon and snag a limited time deal for a minimum of $1000 per hour for every taming session provided by yours truly or…. jay’s girlfriend is out of control and he goes to the only person he knows can help, his own best friend, sunghoon
pairing ˗ˏˋ brat tamer!sunghoon x bsf’s spoiled girlfriend fem!reader ˎˊ˗
genre: smut minors do not interact, brat tamer au, p with no plot, jay is fed up with his girlfriend so he ask his best friend for the biggest favor
word count: 10.8k
content warnings: profanity, jay is reader’s rich bf and sunghoon’s best friend, everything is consented, unprotected sex, mean hard dom brat tamer!sunghoon, he is also incredibly hung (big dick!hoon), use of toys, oral (m rec.), degradation, orgasm denial, fingering, spit, headlocking, consented recording, dacryphilia, creampie, overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, face fucking, petnames (brat, bad girl, good girl, sweetheart, princess, slut)
Being self aware of a power you hold is revolutionary. But it’s an even greater feeling seeing your bank account balance go up each time you put a brat in her place. Ask Sunghoon, he’d know better than anyone.
While you should never ask a person how or where they get their money from, people never seem to listen and it wasn’t long until people realized the magical touch of Sunghoon’s hands that took care of those bratty attitudes from snarky girls—taken by relationships or not.
Sunghoon has more of an interesting business per se than most people do at his age. It all started with a one time favor for a friend and receiving said friend’s small payment for his 'service' made him realize this could be something big.
Then when another call came in with an even larger payment offering for his service after being referred to him. It spiraled from there on out that he couldn't keep track anymore of the incoming calls and money being deposited into his account.
It was only then that he realized life was finally starting to look up for his money struggling self to the point that if anyone had a bratty girlfriend with an attitude out of this world, send them to Sunghoon and he would be more than happy to help.
That was until he hit a stump when Jay called late at night declaring a frantic code white.
He doesn’t even know how to begin to react now that his very own best friend was in dire need of his ‘service' for you, Jay's very much pampered girlfriend.
It wasn’t rocket science to know what had to be done in order to put you in your place. All it takes is fuck you the way you want to be fucked— which is like the spoiled rich brat and all should be done.
Well, it was easier said than done.
Having Jay calling him dead of night repeating the sacred protocol was quick to snap him off the drowsy high horse and with a gruff voice could only mutter, “Bring her over” before cutting the call off with no room for argument
At first Sunghoon wondered how his best friend would get you to come to his place so late but you weren’t his problem. You will be Jay’s up until you’re standing in front of him instead, kneeling to the floor, looking up at him with wet eyes and a quivering lip as you beg for him.
There was no rule against his books of helping out with his best friend’s girlfriend but, there was just one rule that he won’t ever cross.
He will never sleep with any of his clients. No exceptions to this policy.
Until now that you become the one anomaly in his clean streak.
It took less than 30 minutes before his best friend stumbled through his door with you trailing behind him with folded arms and a reluctant huff.
“A knock would’ve been okay” Sunghoon is startled out of his room, almost falling back asleep when he hears the ruckus in his living room
“Sorry. It’s just that… This is urgent” Jay whispers as he peeks behind his shoulder, seeing you plop yourself to the couch while you scroll through your phone with a cheerful smile after adding another item to the online cart
“So I heard” Sunghoon takes a look to see you laying on your stomach on his coach like you lived here, “You used our special code for this” You’ve only been over his place a handful of times so you definitely don’t have the comfortability of acting like you pay the bills
“Mind filling me with what happened?” That question alone made the vein pop from Jay’s neck as he sucked in a sharp breath and took a lap around in a circle, “Or not? I don’t want you popping a vessel, blood will be such a hassle to get out of the floor”
“She spent nearly 20 grand. Two zero fucking thousand dollars on my card today just like that” Jay snapped his finger in a scoff, “Can you believe that?”
“Did she buy herself a car?” Sunghoon blinked harshly with a hushed response making sure you didn’t hear their conversation
“I don’t even want to know- I haven’t even checked, that’s how bad it is. All I know is that the payment won’t go through without my authorization” His best friend rubbed his tensed forehead and Sunghoon almost felt sorry for him
Emphasis on the word almost, “You do know this is because of your doing right?” Jay snapped his gaze towards him at the brutal slap to the face but not once did Sunghoon flinch at the hard glare from his friend
“Look what I mean is, you’ve spoiled her badly ever since you guys started dating. Even before that you were pampering her like a doll”
He could see his best friend not having his words. He sighed heavily and put his hands up in defeat. “All I’m saying are two things. One, I very much told you so, from the start Jay” Sunghoon points towards his friend who’s attention drifted away in guilt, “Now it’s coming to bite you back in the ass and there’s nothing you can do about it”
“And the second thing?” Jay gruffed through gritted teeth because if there was anymore he hated than being wrong, it was being proven wrong by Sunghoon
“What’s my limit?”
There was silence. Jay knew what the question meant. The permission of how far his best friend could go with you.
Many thoughts crossed his mind but one thing for certain was that you wouldn’t mind letting Sunghoon have his way with you. The only thing was that you wouldn’t know what you were getting into until it was too late.
“Anything that stops her from acting out like this anymore”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched when he heard his best friend’s words. “Do you know what that means? Because I can promise you, I have a clear idea how to deal with this but you might not like it”
“How much do I owe you Sunghoon?” Jay was already taking out his wallet and flipping through cards before pushing one out to the other who shook his head instantly
“I have a deal going on where the helpless cases are free of charge, you being my first and last customer on that deal” Sunghoon pushed the card back, “Plus are you even sure you can cover it if I did charge you?”
Putting his card away with a smug smirk and pocketing the wallet, Jay looks back up at Sunghoon with a laugh, “Oh please her careless expenses barely put a dent into my pocket”
“Maybe you should look into becoming a deadbeat to save your money and the hassle of being put through this again” Jay shakes his head as he walks past his friend towards you who looks up with sparkling eyes
“Seongie! Look! They have this cute new set I think you will like a lot” You pushed the phone in his face but frown when he pushes it down and places a soft kiss to your forehead
“Doll, I need to do a few things and I’ll come back and get you in the morning” The pads of his finger crease your cheek but you tilt your head to the side to shake him off, “Oh love don’t be like that”
“Why are you leaving? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“I know you haven’t, it’s just that Hoon here is going to have a talk with you is all” But you’re already shaking your head no at your boyfriend in rejection
“Go ahead Jay. I can take it from here” Sunghoon interjects with a hand on his shoulder to make his friend reluctantly pull from you
“This is unfair, I didn’t even waste a lot of money! You make that back in a day” There was a moment of confliction flickering over Jay’s eyes and with the only chance Sunghoon had, he kicked Jay out of his place
The other male took one last glance at you who still refused to look at him now when the door closed shut. Jay sighs heavily and could only hope this means the end of your bratty attitude.
“Sunghoon, bring him back here right now” You kick the couch but don’t even attempt to chase after your boyfriend
“Now that’s not a nice way to ask me” Sunghoon rubbed his eyes to wake himself up before running a finger over his thick eyebrows
“Well good thing I’m not asking you” The roll of your eyes made Sunghoon’s hands twitch at his side instantly, “I’m telling you to get him”
“You’re cute if you think this is how it’s going to work” The dark chuckle leaving past the rosy plush lips made you hold back but failed when he took a large stride over until he was right in front of you
His face is closer to you than any other time you’ve been within the same vicinity as him, “I’m not your boyfriend who you can just order around”
Your face burns under your skin as your frown grows, “Good thing you aren’t. I wouldn’t want you as my boyfriend anyway” You point a finger to his chest and try to ignore the firmness of it, “You wouldn’t know how to handle me”
Watching the corners of his lips tug upwards into a smirk, his hand hovering over your skin softly now harshly grabbed your jaw making you squeal and he let out a rumbling laugh. “Please your own boyfriend can’t even handle you”
The pads of his thumb softly crease your cheek as he stares at your lips before looking up to catch your wavering eyes, “I’m the only one that can take so much of your bullshit”
You grunt when you push his chest to break free from the hold but it is futile when he grips harder at your chin. Your gaze flickers around and you finally take notice of his outfit. A fitted black tee that every crevice of his muscles popped through, some form of gray sweatpants, slightly tussled bed hair and his sleepy eyes replaced with a burning gaze.
“What did you waste it on?”
“Waste what?” The words slurred between your squished cheeks as he held you
“Jay’s money. Nearly 20 thousand dollars in what?” Sunghoon’s smirk grew wider when you stayed silent at first, you avoided his lingering gaze and he knew he already had you, “Was it worth it?”
“Screw you, I just needed to buy a few things” Your anger taking over you, “Jay doesn’t complain when he sees what I’m buying”
This makes him laugh out loud, you frown at the hard laughter bouncing off the walls. “So you waste Jay’s money in what? Bras? Lingerie sets that he’s going to rip off you either way”
As you try to hide the warmth under your cheeks, Sunghoon digs his fingers into the hollowness of your sucked face. His eyes no longer warm and welcome like how they usually were.
He managed to see right through you that there was no point in denying the obvious.
“Alright let’s see them”
“What?” You stare at him in shock when he lets go of your face to walk away
“I’m asking to see what the big fuss is about” Sunghoon motions with a finger towards your still figure, “These panties better be covered in some exotic lace with gold embroidered into them”
You laugh in his face after trying to hold it in from the moment he opened his mouth. Which was very clear he didn’t appreciate that—not in the slightest.
“Why would I give the luxury of showing you?” Your tone of voice growing more confident and sure you had the upper hand
“I knew it” Sunghoon’s brows crease in confusion when you point at him again, “You have the hots for me”
The preplanned words die on your tongue when you finally catch Sunghoon’s glare straight on you. He took a seat on the couch, his back leaned back to the cushion as an arm extended on top of the leather and a leg kicked over his knee with a sly smirk.
“You sure you want to keep going?” He groaned and your thighs unconsciously squished together watching him pushing out his hips, legs spreading out where you unmistakenly notice something you definitely shouldn’t have
However, you saw the way he looked at you now, such an unexplainable shimmer. “How messy of you to look at me that way Hoonie” Your grown confidence was thrown out the window just like how you were thrown over his lap in a blink of an eye.
“Don’t go around throwing out that nickname if you aren’t ready for the consequences- Oh wait! Consequences don’t count to you, right princess?” Sprawled over his lap, you were rigid. The instinct fight or flight response diminished into nothing when you felt his hand ghost over your shoulders
The warmth radiating off of Sunghoon’s hand trailing over your back made goosebumps rise everywhere. It was daunting the way he hasn’t even laid a single finger on you, yet, somehow manages to burn you.
“You can run, you know” He whispers softly just enough for you to hear, “Jay will be bursting down my door if you call” You on the other hand don’t make any attempt
Oh. Oh.
He says it with no ill intent but has a revelation when you stay silent.
“Guess you’re out of luck today” His tone of voice drops lower as his hands finally land on your lower back
Sunghoon’s slender fingers trail over your waistband in a teasing manner, you tense up over his lap when he applies pressure of his finger to slip under the elastic but never fully doing it.
Shaking your lower half didn’t achieve the outcome you wanted when he pulled his fingers away to hook under your chin. Met with his devilish grin, that looks like he can do all the wrong in the world, “You keep moving sweetheart, scared?”
Flickering your eyes to the side just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the corner of your eyes to him looming over you. “Do I have to be?” Your voice became meek and soft in that instant
He didn’t reply but instead tapped the side of your cheek with his index finger, craning your neck just a bit more to have you facing him. Eyes narrowed at you with a certain glint and a permanent smirk that never seemed to leave.
“Can I?” The question was imposing where his fingers lightly trace at the start of your pants, slightly pulling up to reveal the tag of them and hooking his finger there to tug on
“Hoon-”
“What did I say about the nicknames? Don’t use them if you aren’t ready for the consequences” Sunghoon cuts you off making you thin out your lips out to keep quiet
His thumb softly creases the exposed skin from your shirt riding up and allows you to pull your head away to watch you dip it right in between your shoulders, away from his gaze.
“Hoonie” Sunghoon raised a brow when you called him a foreign nickname, he let go of the pants’ tag and it aligned itself back to where it was before, nestled into your lower back
You bury your head further down and hide away from the burning glare but his presence grew more ominous when you felt his breath graze the side of your face to your ear. “Don’t worry there sweetheart… Jay gave me permission”
“Now do you?”
“Yes! Yes!” Your shriveled cry accompanied by your rapid nodding filled his chest with an unexplained pride
Hooking his finger to gather every inch of fabric on your lower body and yank it down without much of your help, quickly exposing you.
Listening to his silent hiss as he traces the lace of your panties was what filled you with pride.“This is what the big fuss is about?” Sunghoon pulls at the side and allows it to smack against your skin when he lets go. your pride was snapped away instantly. “They’re cute I guess”
“Excuse me?” A wave of distastefulness from his comment made you mad, “They’re way better than just cute. And you were the one so desperate to see them either way” You tried to inch off his lap and onto the couch to face him but didn't manage to move an inch as he plunged his fingers into your flesh
The tight grip on your hips burned as he tugged you back to him, forcing your body harder on his lap to keep you in place while adjusting his own position. The crinkling sounds of the couch under your moving bodies faded away when a slap echoed off in the living room instead.
“Ah!” You screech while your legs flail behind, unable to escape from the palm of his hand at your middle back pushing you down, “Sunghoon-”
“Count” His strict tone cut you off that didn’t leave any room for arguing
Having to swallow down the nerves from showing, you didn’t want to test Sunghoon’s patience. There was no saying he wouldn’t think twice of calling Jay to come pick you up. Which shouldn’t sound so bad right? He was the one that left you here.
Another slap directly to the other cheek of your ass made you squeal loudly, “I said count” He sneered to remind you that you were in territory that wouldn’t take your shenanigans
“2” Your voice cracks but another slap to the opposite side made a strained cry slip through your lips
“Wrong, it’s one” He runs a palm to soothe to ache for a second, “Anytime you miss a number, we restart”
“That’s unfair” You tried to perch yourself off him but roughly he pushed your head back down to the cold leather with a flat hand
“Now life is unfair because you aren’t getting what you want?” He chuckled causing you to tense up, “I knew you acted out but damn I didn’t know how much of a brat you are”
“I’m not a brat!” You deflect but when another slap directly to your burning skin, you instantly bit harshly down on your bottom lip and screwed your eyes shut, “O-one” The way your voice cracks satisfies him enough
Sunghoon doesn’t say another word. The corners of his lips twitch upwards as he softly runs another hand over both ends of the burning skin. “Uh huh keep telling yourself that” He breathlessly laughs
Unable to defend yourself for even a second, Sunghoon strikes your right cheek watching the recoil of where his hand and the ends of your ass met, “Two” The strained reply overjoyed him
Letting his eyes roam over where he was spanking to notice the small discoloration from how hard he was hitting. Instead of being worried, he grins before drawing back his hand and landing a slap in the same place from before.
Your head pushed further into the leather, mouth hanging wide open as a faint whimper fell from your quivering lips. He tilts his head in order to drink in the appearance right before him. Slightly parted legs, the lace panties riding up in the middle, your upper body squished on his couch as you looked at him with wet eyes.
His grin suddenly falters seeing the whitening claw marks on his leather couch, it wasn’t some cheap leatherette he had, it was real leather imported from Italy.
“Now don’t be a bad girl and ruin my leather sweetheart” Sunghoon says while simultaneously peeling his hand from the back of your head to slide it under your clawed one, “Wouldn’t want to spend your money- well technically Jay’s money on fixing it now would we”
He runs a rough pad of thumb on the back of your hand before tightening his grasp to the point where his nails were digging into your knuckles just enough to not hurt you, but just enough to warn you
“Stop messing around” You grit through clenched teeth in annoyance
This caused Sunghoon to laugh abruptly, “Hah you’re telling me? Oh no that’s not how this is going to work” He pulls your arms behind your back and pins it against the middle, his freehand after letting you go of your hand smacks against your flesh harshly enough for it to echo off the living room walls
“3” Your strained answer couldn’t be any less of the truth, it was clear, you swallow down the lump in your throat, “It’s already burnin- 4!” He snickered, not wasting another second to send another slap towards your ass
Another smack, then another followed by another, then one more which was supposed to be the last until 3 more followed after. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you received in the past 5 minutes.
All you did know was your bottom was sore and burning to the point that you were subdued to small whines having Sunghoon laughing at your state.
“Sunghoon” You whimpered when his calloused hand ran over the sore skin teasingly
With a careful persona, Sunghoon slightly adjusted your panties over your burning skin. He brings them to their original state that barely covers anything. The lace beautifully against the sensitive flesh that any touch to it had you shivering.
“Use your words”
“Hoonie” The same nickname used with the hint of desperation in your breath now made Sunghoon tighten his hand on your arm and hummed softly in response
“Now” His stern voice made it clear what he was aiming for. He knew what he wanted from you and you knew exactly what you had to give to make it stop.
“Do something” You spat in a grimace which happened to be far from the right response. In a flash you can feel his finger running down the slit of the thin undergarment and ripping it easily in a second
You scream in shock, “What the fuck?!” Peering over your shoulder to look at the male who hasn’t looked away the moment he caught your gaze, “You just ripped my underwear!” The last word fell into a gasped moaned when Sunghoon grazed a finger between your slicken slit
“You’re dripping” His finger twirled past the perfectly ripped center enough to expose your wet heat, “Didn’t know Jay also had a slut as a girlfriend"
“I’m not a slut” Sunghoon wasn’t amazed with this retort but instead was impressed how you managed to soak right through your underwear
He dug two fingers dead center of the small tear in your underwear to rip it open even more, “You’re going to pay for that” You try to come off stern but fail when Sunghoon doesn’t even respond
With the pad of his thumb, he runs it over your swollen bud, Figures eights against your clit causing you to melt into his touch.
He had that type of power that was unimaginable until now.
“No I’m not” He chuckles before spreading your folds open and teasing the muscles with the tips of his fingers, “Looks at this… practically begging for me”
“Shut up-” The words died on your mouth when you feel his finger teasing your entrance before finally sliding through
Sunghoon painfully drags his finger in and out with a gentle pump, settling on a slow pace that wouldn’t satisfy anyone and surely not you. “Sure about that?” He spoke when you clench around him the moment he curls up into the gummy walls
“Hoon, Not-” Your sentence cut short when you feel him pull out fully only to quickly push back in, “Enough” Wrenching the end of your sentence made him smile
Your hands attempt from behind to grab his wrist but he rips his finger out of you to send another harsh smack against your already burning skin.
“Ungrateful and impatient?” Emphasis on the ‘and’ made the burn on your cheeks match the burn on your lower body, “How does Jay even put up with it?”
“By putting up with it” Sunghoon laughs at your sneer, he shakes his head with the laughter dying down
He pulls you off his lap to the side without discard leaving you confused, stingy and vibrating with a need that he purposefully started that you very much needed him to end.
“Yeah not for long princess” His tone was almost playful but much so more mocking than not
Peering behind, you watch Sunghoon dusting off his clothes from the remnants of you. The corners of your lips tugging down when you see him walking off without even looking back at you.
“Where are you going?!” You readjust yourself to sit up on his couch, not caring if you were dampening the leather. You weren’t used to being left behind, especially when you were so needy
It didn’t matter where it would be, if you were needy, you were always taken care of.
“Be a good girl and stay there” He didn’t even bother to fully look at you only merely looking behind his shoulder to the side until he rounded the corner and disappeared
You scoffed in disbelief because there was no way you would stay, especially not by the word of Sunghoon.
With hurried steps, you stand up with weak knees that you almost fall over. You grumble under your breath silently and put a hand against the burning skin behind in hopes to ease the pain after each step you take.
It was up until then when you saw the slightly ajar door that stood out from the rest of closed doors. Your body didn’t hesitate to drag you down that path and carefully walked into the dark room.
Each hesitant step after the other, you looked side to side just to see a closet and bed against the wall with a nightstand off to the side. Knitting your brows and inching closer to the bed with an extended hand but nearly jumped out of your skin when the door slammed shut.
“I thought I told you to stay” Sunghoon’s voice sinister and menacing loomed in the shadows making your skin crawl
It was a test. To see if you would stay and follow his words but he knew you wouldn’t and he stands corrected.
It was time for the plan he never prepared physically but always mentally for when the day came.
“I-I” There were no words applicable enough to defend your case so, you face him and stand your ground, “No. I wasn’t going to just stay there because you said so” You snapped back
For a second, you believed you got him when he didn’t respond, so you continue the tangent. “Listen, it’s one thing to slap my ass but it’s another to stick a fucking finger in me and not finish what you started”
“Is that why you didn’t even bother to put your pants back on?” Sunghoon took a stride towards you, his step filled with purpose until he was in front of you, “Because you need me to fuck you like a slut to make you happy?”
His eyes burned through you that it felt like he could head every waking thought you had. You squirmed under his gaze and was the first to break eye contact making him lazily smile. “Not using your words?” He asked but was met with no response again
Abruptly his hand flew to your neck and held it, “Good girls use their words” His eyes roam over your body as if to examine your state. With a smack against his teeth, he shakes his head, “Don’t know why I expect you to know”
“Clearly you have no shame”
In a flash, you grab his wrist holding you and dig your nails into his flesh. You believe it would have done something but nothing. Sunghoon laughs in your face when his freehand grabs your hand and with one hard squeeze, immediately makes you unwillingly let go.
“Now let’s try this again” Sunghoon lowly hums and brings your face closer to the point where his breath fans over, “Want to use your words properly or are you still going to keep making noise to get what you want”
“Fuck you Sunghoon”
“Atta’ girl” He smirks and with each step he takes, you take a step back until the end of the bed hits the back on your knees forcing you to sit down on at the edge
You look up at Sunghoon and he moves his hand from your throat to cup your jaw and run the pad of his thumb over your cheek with a growing gentle smile.
As his gaze focuses on your bottom lip, he runs a thumb over it to wipe all moisture from it.
Without second guessing, he slips in his creasing thumb and pressing flat on your tongue. Unable to stop the small gagging noise from it, he encouraged it more when he pressed harder down.
Instead of pushing him away like he anticipated, you fully wrap your lips around it and sucked on his thumb softly. Sunghoon watched how your eyes flutter close, a soft hum rumbling out as the crack of a smile on your face.
“He spoils you way too much” He breathlessly says out loud under his breath when he realizes Jay must do this often with you
You peek open your eyes and bash them when you look up to the male in front of you, his thumb pressing down on your tongue loosened and you messily run all over the flesh in your mouth easily.
A dark cloud casts over his eyes but not enough to dim the sparkle in them as he watches you. He doesn’t even try anything to stop you. The corners of your lips twitch up to the side and he could tell you’re growing confident again.
“Hoonie” Your slurred speech was like a bucket of cold water drowning him, he snapped out of the moment and yanked his hand away
“Careful there princess” Sunghoon leans your head back while simultaneously stretching out your mouth with his index and thumb, “You’ll catch something in that mouth of yours you might not want” Your brows crease in confusion when he hovers over your tilted head
With what took perfect calculation to align his head above yours, the glob of spit trickling down from him to your jared mouth. Inching out your tongue out to receive it, he squeezes your cheeks with a stern grip, “Swallow” And without hesitation as he closed your mouth for you making a low hum rumble out of your chest
“You liked that?” He asked once realizing the loopy smile you on and the dazed nod you gave, “Such a nasty girl”
“And if I admit I am?” You fluttered your eyes up at him who was already looking down at you with a narrowed gaze of lust
“Then we’re finally making progress” He says before he letting go of the deadweight you became in his hand and pushes you on the bed
You squeal when your back meets the mattress, not expecting him to walk over to the closet instead of climbing onto you.
“I really hate being kept waiting you know” You push yourself up on elbows to look at his back with a frown. Each time he moved, the fitted shirt moved, the back muscles you’ve seen from afar but never up close shifting every time he moved even a little
You tilt your head to the side as you rake over his body, “And I don’t really like to be gawked at but here we are” He sharply turns around instantly catching you off guard, “Guess we don’t get what we want”
Fully turning around, he held a container that made his biceps flex through the short sleeve which caught all of your attention. All to forget to see what’s inside of it and only hear the clattering mess inside of it.
Without even a word uttered, just Sunghoon’s presence in front of you made a dwell of embarrassment arise and you fall back and cover your body to the best of your ability.
“No don’t do that” He switches the box into one arm while the freehand grasped your wrist and bounded them over your head
Instinctively licking your lips when catching sight of his muscles again that bulged through the fabric, perfectly filling in the sleeves with each flex.
You swallow down the lump and turn your head to the side when what he was carrying plopped beside you. Hearing clutter spilling out and a sudden poke to your side, you peek down at the sight of the silicone toys scattered at your side.
“What the…” Words died on your tongue as your mouth fell agape when he grabbed a random one and pressed it against your cheek
“Let’s play a game” He smirks wickedly leaving you frozen in place, he shooed away most of the toys to the floor with a cringy sound
His nails dig into your wrist, the fake tip teasingly dragging around your cheek before trailing down your neck, “Don’t make a single sound and you get a prize. If you do then you get punished, easy right?”
“And what type of punishment would it be if I don't follow your little rules?” There is a sleaze to your words, somehow you were still prideful and you were proud of that
“Let’s find out” Not even given a chance to retort, in a split second the toy by your cheek was soon pushing past your glistening hole and you mewled once it plunged right into entrance through the ripped opening
You loudly gasped when Sunghoon immediately began thrusting the toy in and out without a missed beat or even letting you adjust to the stretch. You flailed your body to break from his hold and instead only made it grow tighter.
“I thought we agreed on no sound” He darkly snickered watching your withering body each time he pulled out, leaving you empty, just to shove it back into you, “I want to be able to hear you”
Sunghoon didn’t actually mean you. He wanted to hear the squelching noises from where you and the toy met messily.
It didn’t stop there. With the perfect positioning of the toy, each time he pushes it inside of you, it will lightly graze the swollen bundle of nerves that crumbled you in a blink of an eye.
Biting down on your bottom lip to silence the sounds daring to slip out to follow through with the rules. You weakly shake your head, not really sure what you were denying but it must have meant something since Sunghoon actually stopped with the toy deep inside of you.
He looked down to catch your teary gaze, quivering lips as you tried to keep quiet. Menacingly the corner of his lip twitched up, it was a sight he didn’t realize he would ever experience.
“What’s wrong? Cats got your tongue princess?” He leans and presses forehead to forehead making you pull back the moment his breath grazes yours
“Fucking move the dildo better” You snapped with malice in your voice making him heartily chuckle which only enraged you more, “What are you laughing at? There’s nothing funny about this”
“No you’re right” The hold on your wrist fell to be replaced with a tight grip at your jaw keeping you still for him as his hands to unravel you. “This is fucking hilarious”
“You humor me when you actually think I’ll listen to you” You feel the drag of the slicken toy slip out with a plop once it’s fully out, an abrupt groan fell through your swollen lips at the emptiness, “So a brat that doesn’t listen to me will get someone who won’t listen to her”
“And who gives you that power to do so?” Sunghoon didn’t flinch when you snapped back, instead he yawned as if he were used to this, “Are you yawning right now? What is your problem?!”
Yet, instead of answering, he just pushes back the toy into your fluttering hole with an unphased expression. The air in your lungs gets caught in your throat from how quickly it fills you up, a strained gasp ripped from your chest when he set a brutal pace. It was fast and abrupt, no longer the familiar slow and weak one.
Your head was thrown back, chest heaving when the tip of the toy was poking into your gummy walls but nevertheless still unfulfilling for your desire. “Sunghoo-Hoon” With the way you yearned his name, he knew you didn’t want more, you needed it
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with a soft moan leaving your swollen lips, “Hoonie-” You were cut off the moment something firm and plastic-like ran over your licked lips before forcing itself into your mouth
Hastily looking down to your parted lips around another variation of a toy he had laying around. You gagged around the fake shaft when he pressed further down your throat, muting your sounds to nothing but loud gargles and chokes.
One slipped out of a wet hole, another would slip into the other and vice versa until you were muted to nothing. Only the sounds of your pussy squelching around the toy and your vibrating cries around the fake shaft were bouncing off the walls.
“See isn’t it just so much better when you’re quiet and not running that mouth of yours” Sunghoon was tailoring to you with false sweetness when there was no way of being able to respond. There were no tender touches, it was brutal and rough. Sunghoon was making a statement.
You wailed around the silicon lodged into your throat, you put your hands on his shoulder as support, not to move him off you like he expected. You were leaving him there to watch and listen how you took everything he was pushing into you.
Trailing his eyes down your body from the tears slipping each time you squeezed your eyes shut, your legs spreading even wider giving him perfect sight of your stretched pussy. He examined closer for a precision to brush your clit simultaneously ripping a loud moan out of you.
Your nails dug into his shoulders blade when the pace grew faster, each thrust led to a teasing nudge something in you that only Jay has ever touched and now his best friend found it too.
He kissed the roof of his mouth realizing that was your sweet spot from how much sobbed on the toy.
It was amusing how never once Sunghoon missed a beat in any of his shoves into your holes. Lathering the dildo into your mouth, with accumulated spit that seeped from the corner of your lips and dribbling down your chin.
The toy was almost lightweight on your tongue when it moved to peak inside the tighter confinement of your throat. You tried to suck on it the only you knew how to. Weakly bobbing around the moving shaft to meet Sunghoon’s shoves into your throat.
It was messy, it was nasty, it was straight filth with all kinds of bodily fluids leaking out of you and it still somehow became Sunghoon’s greatest motivation.
He could see it in your eyes that you were conflicted with something, the way you avoided his gaze to keep them trained on the ceiling.
“What’s wrong? Mhm?” His tone taunting that through the haze you scratched over the shirt enough to leave marks later on, “Going to come?”
“Sunghoon” Your broken wails were almost ineligible making him go harder. Every single time, the toy would slip fully out before being pushed right back in to it’s highest point hilt within the warm wet heaven of you
It was right there that you could almost taste the pleasure past the plastic gliding in your throat. Up until it was all ripped away from you with loud pops.
“Sunghoon” You whined in a loud breath once you gained a somewhat stable breathing
“Bad girls don’t get to come sweetheart” A loud huff and wiggle of your body, trying to deny his reasoning but a smack to your thighs made you stop
“Not a bad girl” You swallowed down harshly knowing he preferred when you spoke instead of relying on just sound
You felt Sunghoon’s smooth hands running up the back of your thigh like he was admiring you, “What was that?” Sunghoon tilted his head and shrugged off your arms from his neck making them fall to your side
A tingling sensation burns your lips from how long they were parted for, you bring up your hand to wipe the droll basically covering you. You knew you looked like a mess but Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pins it down before you wipe anything away, “I asked you something”
“I’m not a bad girl” You blabbed, not fully comprehending how your body was being contorted to his liking. It was only then you realized how your head leaned back and off the bed with how it bobbed, “You’re so mean Hoonie. I didn’t even get to come”
The male scoffs in amusement, “When is it going to stick that your actions will have consequences?” He buzzed when you finally raised your eyes up to the eye level bulge in front of your face, “Girls who misbehave get punished”
Even upside down, it was obvious how it begged to be free from its restraint. “You look pretty big” You point out trying to reach out and touch but he stops you with a gentle grab, “Seeing me like this gets you that hard?” He lets out an airy laugh at the dazed question
“You’re never going to learn are you?”
You lull your head to the side and giggle frantically while shaking your head with a bitten lip, “What’s the fun in that?” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue in annoyance watching how there is a mischievous glimmer in your eye
Your tease left unanswered from the sound of him fiddling with his sweats but not in the way you expected. Sunghoon didn’t even bother to pull them down instead he was slipping out the clear hard-on through the small opening of the pants, “And never explain” You murmur the imprint on the center of his sweats before being met with the hang of his shaft before your eyes
“You’re really big” You stated in assurement, he was hung that it was mind blowing he was hiding all of this underneath. The slight curve from the weight holding him down
You pursued your lips out and softly pecked the leaking tip, having him jerk back from your tease. You smirk and look up at him through eyelashes to see his unamused face.
Sunghoon grabbed himself and slowly stroke to cover his length with the precum that leaked, “Hoon” You called out again which he ignored
He gripped your chin, forcing your mouth open as he leaned down enough that he could let the accumulated spit spill from his to land into yours. You lightly choked when the hand holding you slipped down to your throat and tightened, making your gasp just enough for Sunghoon to guide himself in.
Nothing could have prepared you for the wider, heavier, wet and warm stretch to your mouth. Instantly the moment the tip slipped through, you coughed loudly as it slipped past further down your throat.
“Only way to shut you up” Sunghoon groans when you instinctively attached your lips around him to keep him in you
With one swift motion, he filled your mouth up where you could feel him teasing the down back of your throat just by his tip alone. You weakly pressed your hand behind for support but he roughly gathered your wrist and binded them with his own and held them to your chest.
“Don’t try to speak with your mouth full” He laughed when his cock vibrates from your weak blabs, “You can get hurt like that if you aren’t careful enough” Not even fully bottomed out in your throat, he holds himself from simply ramming into the warm confinement
Through the ineligible whimpers ripping from the small crevices that weren’t full of him which wasn’t much to begin with, he managed to string them together to the best of his ability. You forget the hand around your throat until it squeezes tighter, lightly constricting the air in your body.
A lightheaded feel flooded your head with a wail just as Sunghoon pushed the entirety of his cock into your mouth. He lets out small groans each time you gagged at him being lodged right in the tight captivity.
Thus without sparing a moment, he drags himself out leaving only his tip resting against your lips, giving you the chance to suck in a harsh breath until he shoves himself back into you. From the small time your head and the way Sunghoon fucks your mouth just like how he did with the toy, hard, uncaring and somehow pleasuring.
The blood rushed to your head even faster. Unable to run your tongue over any surface from how fast Sunghoon was rutting into your mouth, you could only stay in that position. Each drag in and out of your mouth managed to make you feel how his cock bulged out of your throat each time he thrusted up.
The length and tip outlining out of your throat and into his followed with your full mouth. He squeezes his hand around your neck to make it tighter around him. Wet lewd sounds fell through swollen lips as you could only take what was being given to you.
Droplets accumulated in the corners of your eyes as you screwed them shut each time you felt the poke down your throat and into his hand. Forced to claw at your shirt for support, you gargled unimaginable sounds.
“That’s better isn’t it” He grunts when he feels you trying to suck around his cock, he pushes himself against your face for a split second before pulling out fully with a loud pop
You choked on air as you tried to accumulate any type of form of coherency. However, you weren’t quick enough to respond to Sunghoon. He lets go of your wrist and pries open your legs to the side and slaps dead center on your pussy.
You squeal loudly but not loud enough to block the lewd slap to your wet core. “I asked you, isn't it better when you aren’t talking nonsense?” You mewl weakly, hands uncontrollably shaking as your mouths open and closes failing to reply, “Answer me”
“Yes” Your response was hoarse and wet, you gulped down to clear your throat but couldn’t when your mouth was flushed open again with his cock filling your mouth in one swift thrust
“Good girl” Your head grows full of the first ever praise of the night, he sends another slap and then another onto your sensitive core, the uncleaned arousal spilling around and ruining the sheets under you
The male hovers over your entire body, one of his arms holding himself up, while the other one never lets go of your throat. He thrust into your mouth without a care, his only mission is to stop you from speaking nonsense anymore.
Head aligned perfectly with your entrance that he spits directly onto your clit and watches how it slides down the slit, slightly mixing with your arousal coating your folds. You squirm underneath him and try to reach a hand down to run over the bundle of nerves for extra stimulation.
Each time he slapped himself into your mouth, the tighter his grip became around your throat. His hand gripped the sheets in support as he could feel his abdomen clenching, his thrust growing unrhythmic and the sounds he tried to hold back couldn’t be contained.
Your face met with his pelvis each time he was making you take him deeper and deeper until every breath became of him. Screaming his name with a full mouth was impossible to understand when your fingers found the right pace running over your clit
“You get off on that?” He spat through gritted teeth, “When I use your mouth? Finally shutting you up mhm?” All the response he got were your weak gargles and fluttering eyes rolling to back of your head
Your back arching off the bed and withering each second that passed by. You were moaning uncontrollably around his cock as though blurred vision, all that was burned into your mind was the words ‘And never explain’.
“Hoon. Hoon. Hoon” Was all that could leave your filled mouth, you were chanting his name like a prayer that disarmed you into nothing to be put back together by your savior, “Sunghoon!” You gargled thinking this would be it
However, as quick as your orgasm was about to come, the faster it was to be ripped away from you again for the second time tonight. With a swift motion, you regained your obstructed breath when he let you go.
Grabbing your moving wrist that you couldn’t put much of a fight into when your mind was so muddled and dizzy. Dazingly you’re heaving trying to regain your breath, it was a blur of pleasure that was breaking you bit by bit. Through wet eyes, you catch Sunghoon looming over you, his eyes darkened and a smirk that couldn’t be wiped off.
His hand reaches up to crease your face, he smooths out his palm carefully. Uneven blinks are what he receives and unable to do anything but smile at it, he leaves you there to walk to the opposite side.
Rolling your back head to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon over your shoulder before he is climbing onto the bed himself. You pushed your arms out to peel your body off the mattress but instead your head is pushed back down to the mattress.
“Sunghoon” Your sentence incomplete when two fingers slid right back into the wet confinement of your heat making you squeal and claw at the sheets
“Yeah?” The smug of his tone bleeding off and seeping through the cracks of your just right where he was all you could ever think of, “You were just so empty, was just begging to be filled up”
You weakly try to reach behind and grab him to fasten the pace but even trying to grapple with him was a loss as he bends your arm and presses it into your back.
“Uh-Uh. You know better now or do I still need to engrave it into your head?” He stops all movement completely and you lightly flailed your legs in annoyance
“Just do something! I’m sick of this!” You squealed as you tried to chase after the pleasure with every wither of your body
Sunghoon couldn’t help but laugh at your attempts, deciding that sticking in another finger would be better. You loudly gasp at the bigger intrusion, Sunghoon slowly pumps out the squished three fingers and then right back in.
Burying your head into the plush of the comforter as your mouth hangs open to spill out the accumulated muffled sounds. His thumb rubbing near your clit makes you see stars.
However, it only lasts at least three or four pumps or even more, you’re not sure since you’ve lost count when he rips away yet another orgasm from you right when it was about to come.
“Sunghoon” Your voice cracks when you call his name, “Shunghoon!” Yet, this time you’re squealing his name for another reason when a slap to your pussy tingles all of your senses
You grip the edge of the bed when your core twitches by even the smallest breeze. Then, when you feel a sticky substance smacking against your own slicken core, you crumble instantly.
The lewd sound bounces off when his own length hits against you in a repeated manner. How much each splat flew when skin on skin met was unclear, the liquids you’re not even sure came from was ruining the sheets but it didn’t matter.
With the choice to coat his cock but glides it in between your slit, each time his tip would protrude your entrance only to slip out. He was giving you a taste until you couldn’t take it anymore.
Your patience snapped the moment more than just his tip was pushing into you, “Hoon- Hoonie please! I need it. Need you” You whimpered
Even though you couldn’t see his face, the sheer cockiness was getting omitted from him. He leaned down and pressed his chest to your back, while there was no direct contact, you still felt his warmth.
“What’s wrong sweetheart? What do you need?” He slurs in the shell of your ear, “Tell me”
“Need me to fuck you straight?” At his lowly chuckle, you’re quick to nod your head in response, not caring if you needed to beg on your knees
“Anything” You rasped out making Sunghoon chuckle, his body on top of your was the least suffocating thing
“Aww why didn’t you just say so” Without a moment to spare, your eyes roll to back of your head when Sunghoon finally breaches through in a swift motion
“S-Sunghoon!” The wail melted into a sucked breath as he pushed through your gaped hole
“Shhhh it’s okay princess. You’ll get what you deserve” He whispers, your contracting walls attempting to get adjusted to the large intrusion
You breathed heavily through your nose and mouth trying to even it out as he slowly glides himself out just a little before pushing back into you.
Instantly you feel the emptiness seeping away from every inch you were being filled by from Sunghoon. He couldn’t keep himself from pushing himself further to stop once you met with the base.
Nestled right into the welcoming confinement, he weakly laughed and shook his head as he stared at where you two connected. “You’re taking me well sweetheart… Like you were made for this”
“Were you? To be shut up like a brat and fucked like a slut?” He murmured directly into your ear with a grin when you didn’t respond
“Mhm? Not answering me?” Your were too dazed out but it was only when a bulging sensation wrapped around your throat were you brought back to your senses, “Use your words” He threatened once your head was up from his yanking it up by his biceps
You knew what it meant and behind the facade, he had already broken you, “Y-yes! I am! Please just move! Let me come” You sniffled as your head craned back from his biceps crushing under your chin
Constricting the airways again still managed to have every sense full of him. It felt like you were being split into half, normally how you felt with Jay, but this time it was different.
There was no extensive care and love. Sunghoon was on a mission and that was to straighten you out.
Your body jolted forward from the first actual thrust. Gripping onto the crumbled sheets harder as you didn’t even attempt to minimize your noise.
“Hoon. Hoon” You’re chanting his name when his thrust becomes frequent and repetitive. A concentrated force that is drilled into your body
Moving his hips in long, hard and calculated thrust, it was easy to get lost in the sense of you. He tried shaking his head from the clouding daze but with the way you wrapped around him—took him in like nothing, it was addictive.
Every precise move always left you empty only to be full the next second. His tip cut into your g-spot once he found it, the noises growing louder as you begged for your ultimate victory.
Gargled and squeezed breaths escaped your lips and your head in his arms felt like you were soaring through a cloud. Your ears rang and felt like you were submerged into a wave of Sunghoon and you relished in that.
“What happened to that attitude of yours mhm?” Your arms ran up to his arms and scratched them—easily marking them up with red streaks in its wake but it didn’t phase him, “What’s in your mind now sweetheart?”
“Let me come please! I’ll be good. Promise. Please” Your broken pleas somehow managed to make Sunghoon ram into you, his thrust growing rougher each time
Every thrust melted your further into the mattress, feeling you clamp around him was more of a reward than what you would be getting. “Let me hear you princess” He chuckles lowly
The screeching of the bed squeaked in synchronization with your own. Sunghoon felt fulfilled with the state he has you in, every breath you took consisted of broken wails of need. Anytime he asked you something, you responded well.
Like something had been easily rewired in your brain by his own hands. Slowing down his own pace so that you could feel everything that he could touch anything and everything imaginable in you.
Sunghoon peered down to see the recoil of where you two met. Watching how you sucked him in, how beautifully you wrapped around him. It made him dizzy once a desire in him flickered hot.
“You’re going to take it right? Be a good girl for me and take it?” Sunghoon grunted and jerked your head up to look at him
He stopped his thrust completely to admire the unfocused eyes, droll trickling down the corners of your lip down your chin, blown out pupil, you were gone and high off the adrenaline. “Answer”
“Yes”
He let go of your neck, dropping it back to the mattress and you gasped loudly. The waft of his smell filled your head that every crevice in you was full of him.
Sunghoon held the ends of your hips with a death grip and picked up the slow pace into something almost carnal. Obscene noises only grew louder the harder he was chasing after you in his bed.
As much as he tried to conceal his own sounds, there was no escaping the small groans he let out when you clenched around him just right.
“Good fucking girl” He grumbled under his breath when there was no way that you could form any coherent sentence or even thought
All you could let out were moans and whines when his tip would tease inside your gummy walls and repeatedly hit your g-spot that shattered you.
Sunghoon snaps his hips against your back, his triceps flexing from his grip and strength holding him up. The more you clamped around him, the more impossible it felt that you would let go of him and drag out his first orgasm of the night.
“Isn’t your mind at rest now that you aren’t thinking so much?” He questioned knowing he wouldn’t get a proper response but he managed to string together what you were blabbing about, “Oh you’re happy now?” He laughs out loud
His thrust became erratic and unrhythmic as he was chasing his high. However, when he could feel the familiar clench around him, he drags himself out of you with a plop and a loud whine when you don't come around his cock.
“Sunghoon” You mewled breathlessly when you’re flipped onto your back and the wind gets knocked out of you as your legs are pushed up to your chest
“Messy Messy slut” Lifting his hand to slap your exposed self making you shriek
“Hoon” You gulped the lump in your throat as your grip on the sheets never faltered, “Please”
“Please what?” He slowly runs his shaft over the slicken crevice but never pushing in
“I’ll be good. I won’t act up. Not anymore. Promise. Just please” Your sentences was broken up while trying to catch your breath that he couldn’t barely understand
“Speak up properly” He stops once he was aligned at your entrance
“Please make me come” Slowly shaking his head, grabbing the base of his cock and dragging apart your folds and stroking himself to his liking
“I thought it would make sense to you that… You aren’t getting what you want” He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Brats don’t get rewards”
You wiggle your body in an attempt to chase after the fulfillment Sunghoon gave you but he pressed down on your body to stop you. He lets out low groans and his eyes never move away from where he rested.
“Ah- Take it. Fucking take it” He groans loudly, watching at your gaped hole and how his tip nearly could slip in if he moved an centimeter more
His hand was cramping but he didn’t care, he continued to coat your essence all over to not leave a single trace empty of you.
“Hoonie” You turned your head to the side, an acceptance casting of you that you would never get what you wanted, at least not tonight and definitely not from Sunghoon
Your mouth fell open in awe when a warmth splat all over your entrance and Sunghoon shook above you. His chest rose up and down as he tried to catch his breath, his cum seeping all over, some even falling inside of the cavern and sliding into you.
Letting go of his semi-hard cock and watching how it hangs and pokes your clit making you jolt slightly at the slight stimulation.
While he believes that he doesn’t make a lot of mistakes or regrets, this one must’ve been his worst one when he looks up to your face and sees it masked in an unsatisfied afterglow.
Your mouth hanging open and forming a small frown, your own body rising and falling, eyes clouded with dripping tears, saliva dried and wet from the corner of your mouth.
Bring his attention back down to where he made a mess on you. His cum seeping and falling through even crevices and crack, some falling to the bed and some inside of you.
Sunghoon chuckled as he reached over to his phone in the room and opened the camera and began recording with the flash of your state. He zooms in the area he knows Jay would love to see.
He spreads your folds apart to show the white surrounding it and slightly pushes some of it into your hole. In the background your whine is heard but looking past it to focus on your swollen bud.
Running a thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you wither over and crinkle the sheets even more, body slightly arching off but he softly pushes you back down and you comply.
He trails the flash all the way up to your face and chuckles at the squinted eyes as a whimper falls through your raw lips from how much you kept nibbling at them.
“You’re on video” Your eyes fell close in a loud huff at Sunghoon’s taunt, “Smile for the camera”
Instead of disobeying, you weakly flash a weak smile at the rolling video before it ultimately cuts just like your attitude the moment you walked through this door where it remains left behind.
ᯓ★
As you loudly huff, you plop onto the couch with folded arms and roll of your eyes. Jay trailing behind you with a loud gruff, “Baby. I already told you why we can’t go out this weekend”
“No I don’t want to hear it Jay. It’s whatever. I don’t care. Focus on your oh so important job more” You crossed your legs over and ignored the presence of your boyfriend who was beyond fed up
Jay runs a hand through his hair, tussling its usual slick back with a heavy sight, “Don’t make me call sunghoon again” The sentence held a heavy weight to it now— no longer feeling the way it used to feel
Instantly, you fixed your act and sat straight up. Your cheeks burning under your skin because you’re supposed to be afraid— not soaking through your panties right now at the thought.
You didn’t even come and you couldn’t go through the torture but the problem was, you wanted to.
“I dare you” You sneered through chattering teeth without thinking and a sick smirk plastered on Jay’s face as he laughs and nods his with a poke of his tongue to his inner cheek
“You asked for it” He sternly said before picking up his phone and dialing the number meant for out of control girlfriends
Unable to control the corners of your lips inching upwards realizing that everything was going according to plan because to you, it would certainly take more than one session to get rid of that entitlement.
And it somehow seems like it would take more than just Sunghoon to get it out of you because once a brat, always a brat.
So call 1-800-HOON and get the attitude fucked out of your girl today at a pricing deal of free only limited to his best friend’s girlfriend.
——
for @bambiihee who gave this idea to feed the brat tamer hoon agenda
ִֶָ ࣪˖ ִֶָENHYPEN AS CLICHE PORN PLOTS MASTERLIST࿐
pairing.. enhypen ot7 x reader
synopsis.. enhypen as cliche porn plots
a/n.. this was marinating in my drafts since the beginning of march. im glad i brought myself to start writing it, it was so much fun i really hope you enjoy reading. also thank you for the 300 followers it means a lot to me <3 SLOW UPDATES
mdni 18+
masterlist
⌞PIZZA DELIVERY GUY HEESEUNG⌝
synopsis…. giving head to the hot delivery guy in exchange for pizza
── ﹙✧﹚Heeseung - f.reader, hard sex, dorm sex, dirty talk, p in v, no-com, public setting (it's in Enhypen's group dorm with them around), suppressed, dom! Heeseung, smut, mdni.
Having the dorm room to themselves made Heeseung more than needy, but… what happens when it’s no longer just the two of you there? That moment when silence becomes impossible, and all you both want is to keep going, even if it means risking getting caught.
The "no" you'd decisively said earlier was gone. Your will was completely shattered the moment his body pinned yours against the mattress, and soon both of your clothes were tangled up on the floor, discarded as if nothing had happened. And there you were: one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, while the other gripped your thigh, holding it wide open so he could thrust as deep as possible.
The first thrust drew a broken moan from you that filled the empty room, and the dull thud of the headboard against the wall marked the rhythm of his thrusts. The bed creaked beneath you, and the air was thick with the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaking cunt.
"Damn, this is heaven~" His deep voice cracked against your ear, feeling your walls squeeze him tighter each time he thrust deep into you. His pelvis ground into yours hard, bouncing you off the mattress while his fingers dug into your thigh held you still to receive him all the way. You threw your head back, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and his breathing quicken against your neck. Your moans, already shamelessly loud, mingled with his gasps and the rhythmic pounding of his body against yours.
"Just like this, princess, you feel too good wrapping around my cock," he growled, burying himself to the base and holding you there for a few seconds, feeling the heat and pressure enveloping him. "You're so wet, you take it all the way without any problem."
The friction was brutal. Each thrust made the mattress sink, the headboard thump with a steady clack, and the hot liquid gushing from you stained his thighs and the sheets. The entire room smelled of sex, thick and raw. Heeseung couldn't take his eyes off your face, fascinated by every gesture his relentless rhythm elicited: your mouth open gasping for air, your eyelids half-closed, the trembling of your legs trying to close around him, only for him to force them open with that possessive hand.
When he leaned his torso toward you, he captured your lips in a kiss so hungry you could barely keep up as he continued fucking you hard, making it harder and harder to hold back. There was no need to: the others weren't there yet, and he wanted to hear you.
"Harder, love, please." you whispered against his mouth, and that was all he needed to redouble his force, for the mattress to shake with each blow and your moans to shatter into small cries of pleasure that echoed around the room. Heeseung didn't let up for a second. His mouth sought yours with wet, desperate kisses, then moved down to your neck to mark you with the same eagerness with which he thrust. His hips slammed into you with that deep, fleshy sound that melted you, feeling the base of his cock hit your pussy again and again, that perfect touch that drew increasingly broken moans from you.
Inside you, the sensation was devastating: Heeseung's glans sank deep, hitting your cervix with cruel precision, and the taut veins of his cock brushed against every inner fold, making you feel every inch, every throb, every thrust that left you trembling. The heat, the stretch, the wetness that enveloped everything… mingled with the way he looked at you, as if there was nothing else in the world but to fuck you like this.
Your legs trembled, spread from the pressure of his hand, your wrists still trapped above your head, and each thrust left you more lost, deeper in that dirty, addictive pleasure that only he could give you. You were so wrapped up in your own world that you didn't realize it until the bubble burst. Suddenly, Heeseung stopped. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes, dark and alert, were fixed on the door. He didn't leave you, and the heat of his throbbing cock was still buried deep inside you when you both heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening... and, immediately after, the voices of the others filling the room.
He looked at you, and the tension of the situation filtered through his features, but there was no sign of stopping. He moved again, slower at first, as if he wanted to regain control, but the first problem immediately arrived: the headboard hit the wall with an all-too-obvious clack.
"Shit..." he whispered, stopping again, though he was still buried inside you. He looked down, his lips brushing your ear. "Let's continue on the floor."
There was no time to reply. Without removing his cock from you, he took you by the waist and with measured movements lowered you to the floor next to the bed. The change in position made you feel him move inside you, that wet, tight slide that drew a gasp from you that you had to bite back to keep from escaping.
He left you lying on there, and as soon as he settled over you, he thrust again, filling you again in one swift motion. The rhythm returned almost immediately: fast, deep, merciless, the kind of thrusts that left you breathless. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as the friction intensified and the air filled with the raw sound of sweaty skin against skin. The first moan that escaped you was too loud, and he reacted instantly, covering your mouth with a large, hot, and squeezing hand.
"Shhh~ you have to be quiet, baby girl. We don't want the boys to hear, do we?" His voice was a deep growl, his breath hitting your face. You nodded, your eyes wide and burning, feeling his firm hand sealing your lips as he continued to pump into you relentlessly. Every thrust pushed you back against the floor, every crash of his pelvis against yours made your legs spread wider, inviting him to plunge even deeper.
The way he looked at you while he did it… God. His eyes dropped to your face, the fluttering of your eyelids, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, and returned to your coated lips, watching you try to moan against his palm. The pleasure was eating you alive, and it excited him to the limit to see you like this, subdued in silence, receiving him completely, your body arching and your thighs tightening around him. There was no way he could control himself much longer. His pace became wilder, his thrusts deeper, and his fingers on your face closed in a little more, holding you captive as his cock slid relentlessly, soaked and throbbing, inside you.
Trying to keep you quiet only turned him on more. He could feel your trembling, the tension in your body trapping his cock, the way your eyes rolled back every time he thrust and found that exact spot inside you that made you lose track of everything. And seeing you like that, with his fingers firmly over your mouth and a trickle of saliva leaking from the corner, was too much for him. A low moan escaped him, vibrating against your skin, and he didn't try to suppress it. His hips kept moving, pounding mercilessly, and the hot wetness between you grew more obscene with each thrust. The pressure of your pussy squeezing his shaft, the feel of your walls stretching around every taut vein in his cock, had him on the verge of collapse.
He roughly removed his hand from your mouth, and in the same movement, he captured you in a hungry, breathless kiss, as if he wanted to devour you. The mixture of saliva, gasps, and heat multiplied the urgency. Outside, the boys' voices drifted around the room, laughing, making comments, and you knew there was no way those muffled sounds of flesh against flesh wouldn't filter back to them. Maybe they'd already heard everything.
That thought, far from scaring him, brought a crooked smile to his lips. And then he stopped pretending to want silence.
He held your throat, squeezing just enough for you to feel his dominance, and with his other hand, he moved down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circles as he continued to fill you deep, faster and faster. His cock filled you completely, hitting the bottom of your pussy at a perfect angle, and the pressure of his fingers on your clit made it impossible for you to remain silent.
"I want you to tell me who you belong to, baby. Make it clear and loud. Let everyone know who's fucking you this good." he continued, squeezing your neck a little tighter and thrusting hard until the base of his cock hit you with a wet smack. Heat surged through your abdomen like an electric current, your legs opened wider and wider to receive him, and your voice came out shaky but loud, muffled between moans and gasps:
"Heeseung!" And he groaned, that response turning him on even more.
"Again…"he demanded, rubbing your clit relentlessly as he continued to bury himself entirely, until the internal pressure was unbearable. "I want to hear it as you come undone for me". And you did, moaning his name as the orgasm shook you, your walls contracting around him, swallowing him deeper, making it clear to him that there was no way anyone else could fuck you like this.
However, the feeling of your pussy tightening, swallowing him every last inch, was the trigger that erased any remaining self-control. Heeseung groaned against your mouth, pulling away just enough to look at you, and what he saw drove him completely crazy: your face flushed, lips parted, tears in the corners of your eyes from the excess of pleasure, and your body still convulsing with orgasm.
"Fuck, that feels so good~" he blurted out, his rhythm becoming erratic, faster, harder, as if he wanted to bury himself inside you forever. The sound of skin against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their increasingly loud gasps. Outside, the members' voices seemed closer, and yet he didn't stop. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pushing you against him so you could feel him deep, so that every throb, every pulse of his hard cock would be etched in your memory. "I want your eyes on me, gorgeous..." he ordered, his voice breaking, leaning over you and capturing your chin to force you to hold his gaze. You obeyed, and that was it.
His breath hitched, his jaw tensed, and with a deep, filthy groan, he came inside you, his hot cum spilling out, filling you to the brim. His thrusts became slower but no less deep, wanting you to feel him emptying himself completely, so there would be no doubt that you were his. He remained on top of you for a few seconds, panting, beads of sweat running down his neck and falling onto your chest. Outside, laughter, footsteps, and a door closing could still be heard, but at that moment, for him, everything was silent.
He didn't leave you. He just lowered his face, placing a slow, wet kiss on your lips, and murmured in a low but firm voice: "I don't care if they heard us. Let them get used to it."
Someone made me rethink my dynamics and decisions, and I'm thinking : how necessary is it to make a masterlist?... 😵💫 I mean, I only have few posts and not many followers or audience. 🙃
down bad!bully!park sunghoon x nerd!reader | enemies-to-lovers | teasing → in love | slow burn | rom-com with emotional depth | size difference | mutual pining | filthy smut| shy but smart reader | possessive, whipped male lead |
summary: You’re a shy, pretty, and inexperienced nerd with a habit of reading smut and wearing skirts a little too short for your own safety. Sunghoon, the tall boy who won’t leave you alone, bullies you — but only because he’s completely in love. What starts as teasing slowly burns into something deeper and more dangerous. You were never clueless. He was never playing. And once your thigh highs come out… so does the truth.
warning: sexual tension, explicit smut, degradation kink, praise kink, non-harmful bully x nerd dynamics, obsessive behavior, voyeuristic undertones, emotional vulnerability, inexperience themes, filthy language during smut, possessive male lead.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ
You always sit in the same spot.
Far left corner. Second floor. Behind the dusty encyclopedia shelves no one touches anymore.
You have your own little universe up here: a corner chair with a sun-warmed armrest, a power socket you guard with your life, and your annotated copy of Modern Chemistry: Foundations and Applications resting in your lap, pages marked with violet flags and smudged with highlighter. Your dark lipstick is freshly applied, a glassy wine-red sheen against your otherwise plain, focused expression. You’re the kind of girl that makes people nervous — pretty, but quiet. Reserved. Always looking like you’re about to ace the exam you didn’t even know was happening.
It’s not that you like being alone. You’ve just learned how to be very good at it.
But peace is a fragile thing.
Especially when Park Sunghoon finds it amusing to ruin yours.
“Wow.” His voice drops behind you, a smooth mix of mock surprise and low amusement. “Didn’t think nerds came in high definition.”
You don’t jump. But your fingers tighten around your pen.
He leans against the bookshelf beside you — tall, broad, arms crossed like he owns the place. Which, socially speaking, he kind of does. He’s one of those boys: the effortless popular kind, sharp jaw, smug smirk, and a voice you hate how well you recognize. Every word he says to you is laced with that same I-know-I’m-hot venom that makes your chest buzz in a way you can’t stand.
“Let me guess.” He nudges your book with the tip of his knuckle, voice dripping with mockery. “Reading ahead for a test no one cares about?”
You keep your eyes on the page. “I care.”
“Aww.” He drops into the chair beside you like he has any right to. His leg knocks into yours — long, warm, uninvited. You freeze. “That’s cute.”
You stare at your book harder. You don’t respond. You know how this goes. The moment you give him attention, he triples the chaos. He’s not a traditional bully — he doesn’t push you into lockers or throw things at you. But what he does do is worse: he whispers things in class to make you blush, calls you Professor Tits behind your back loud enough that it echoes, and steals your pens only to leave them on your desk the next day with hearts drawn on them in black sharpie.
And now? He’s in your library chair. With his freakishly long legs brushing yours every time he shifts.
You tuck your skirt more tightly around your thighs.
Sunghoon notices.
“Mm.” He hums, eyes glinting as he tilts his head. “You always wear those skirts, huh? No shame for a nerd.”
You snap your gaze up.
He grins at your flushed expression. He’s so tall, even while slouching, his frame dwarfing the little space between you. You hate how your stomach turns, not with fear — but something stupid and fluttery and hormonal.
“I’m not ashamed,” you mumble.
“Oh, I know,” he teases. “You love attention. Don’t pretend you don’t. Always sitting like that, all innocent, pretending you’re just here to study when you know every guy in the building wants to bend you over that desk.”
You gasp, scandalized — cheeks burning. “Sunghoon—!”
“What?” He says your name like it’s a joke. “Am I wrong?”
You try to push your chair back, but he stops you — one long leg swinging casually over yours, boxing you in.
“Relax.” His voice softens. Too close. Too smug. “You’re just fun to mess with. You make the best faces.”
“Go away.”
“Make me.”
You narrow your eyes, lips parted in disbelief. “You’re such a child.”
He leans in a little — face tilting down to meet your height, his mouth just slightly crooked.
“And you’re such a virgin.”
Your brain short-circuits.
He doesn’t say it like an insult. He says it like he knows — like he’s been thinking about it. A lot.
“I—” You stammer, but nothing coherent comes out.
Sunghoon watches you fumble with your pen, your breath catching, your hands trembling slightly, and something shifts in his face. He looks… satisfied. Like he’s won something. Not the conversation, but something deeper. Something that sinks into your skin and makes your heart race.
“I’m right,” he says lowly.
You want to slap him. You want to vanish. You want to throw him off the building. But most of all, you want to understand why your heart is hammering in your ears like this. Why your thighs are clenched and your mouth is dry and your brain is filled with the memory of the way he looked at you just now — like you were some kind of puzzle he’s dying to tear apart.
Instead, you grab your bag.
“I’m going to class.”
“Class isn’t for twenty minutes.”
You shoot him a glare. “I need to study.”
He lets you go. Doesn’t stop you. But his eyes trail down your legs — slow, lingering — and when you walk away, you feel his gaze, thick and unrelenting.
⸻
Elsewhere on campus, your best friend Yunjin is waiting under the shade tree by the courtyard steps, arms folded and eyebrows raised.
“You have that face again.”
You adjust your bag. “What face?”
“The Sunghoon harassed me again but I don’t want to admit it made my stomach flutter face.”
You sputter. “That is not a real face.”
“It is when you wear it every day.”
You groan and flop beside her. Jake walks by with a protein bar in his mouth, shooting you both a casual nod. Sunoo is sitting backwards in a chair nearby, eavesdropping like it’s his job.
“Did he quote one of your smut books again?” Sunoo asks.
You freeze.
Yunjin leans forward, scandalized. “Wait, did he?”
You bite your lip. “…He might have.”
Sunoo squeals. “Girl, you need to stop reading those in public. That man is waiting for you to drop a page so he can sniff it.”
“He’s just an asshole,” you grumble.
“He’s a hot asshole,” Yunjin corrects.
“I don’t care.”
They both snort. Because they know you care. You just won’t admit it.
And neither will he.
Not yet.
_________
It starts as a normal day.
As normal as it can be, anyway, when you wake up with your heart already pounding from a dream you don’t want to talk about. Not even to yourself. Not even to your pillow.
It was about him again.
Not that anything happened. Not really. Just flashes — long legs brushing yours under the library desk. That smug mouth curling as he whispered something filthy in your ear. The heat of his hand almost, almost resting on your knee. The dream didn’t even go further than that. It didn’t need to. You woke up hot and bothered, thighs pressed together, breath coming in short little bursts like a broken whisper.
You hate that he gets under your skin like this. Sunghoon. The tall, annoying, gorgeous bane of your academic existence. You hate his jokes. His smirks. His stupid boy perfume that lingers behind every time he walks past your locker.
And you especially hate that the dreams started around the same time he found out you read romance novels.
You’d been so careful. You read on your tablet in class, the screen tinted to look like a textbook. You marked your place with clean little sticky notes that matched the color scheme of your physics binder. You never highlighted the dirty lines.
But last week, somehow, he found one of your paperbacks in your bag. It was just sitting there when you returned from the bathroom, pages slightly open, your highlighter tucked inside.
He hadn’t said anything then. Just raised his brows at you like he’d unlocked a cheat code.
You’d prayed he forgot.
He did not forget.
⸻
The next day, after class—
You’re minding your own business in the campus courtyard, tucked under a tree with a book in your lap — a different one this time. Something safer. Something classic. Jane Eyre. Which, to be fair, still has some intense longing scenes, but at least it doesn’t have phrases like “his tongue mapped the inside of her soul”.
You turn a page, ink-smudged fingers tucked under your chin, knees drawn up under your skirt — when a shadow falls over you.
“Didn’t peg you for a Brontë girl,” a voice drawls.
You close your eyes. Breathe in. Try to remain calm.
“Go away, Sunghoon.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he drops down beside you on the grass, legs sprawled out carelessly, like this patch of campus is his kingdom. His uniform is slightly rumpled — tie loosened, sleeves pushed up to reveal tan forearms that look entirely too smug for a Tuesday.
“What, no sexy warlocks today?” he teases, eyeing the cover. “No vampires with six-packs? No ‘his length twitched at the sight of her’? Or did you leave that one in your bra again?”
Your entire soul exits your body.
“You went through my bag?”
“You left it wide open,” he shrugs. “I was doing you a favor. What if someone else found out you read fanfic with plot?”
You slam the book shut, face burning. “It’s not fanfic.”
He leans closer. “So you admit you read it.”
“Sunghoon,” you say warningly.
He reaches out and tugs your book away, ignoring your gasp. You lunge to grab it, but he’s holding it way above your reach. Which is criminal, really. Freakishly tall bastard.
You scramble to your knees, trying to claw it back. “Give it!”
“Nope.” He grins, flipping through the pages. “Let’s see where Professor Tits left off…”
You gasp. “Don’t call me that!”
He flips to a bookmarked page and clears his throat.
“‘She whimpered as he pinned her hands above her head, his mouth devouring her neck with possessive hunger, whispering filth into her ear she’d never heard before.’”
Your entire soul evaporates into steam.
“SUNGHOO—”
“‘Her skirt bunched around her hips—’” he reads, eyes flicking to your actual skirt for one shameless second, “—‘his hands branding her skin like fire.’”
You lunge for him, tackling him in the grass, trying to snatch the book back with a strangled yell. But he’s stronger than you. And obnoxiously amused. You’re half on top of him now, your hands clawing at the spine while he just laughs, breath warm against your cheek as he reads:
“‘Please,’ she begged, ‘I can’t—’”
“‘You will,’ he growled—’”
You yank the book from his grip, flush a shade of crimson not even found in nature, and scramble back into your spot, face hidden behind your knees.
Sunghoon props himself up on his elbows, still lying in the grass, watching you with a boyish smirk.
“You know,” he says lazily, “you don’t need a book for that kind of thing.”
You slowly peek at him through your fingers. “What?”
He shrugs, lashes low over those sharp eyes. “Someone like you? Pretty. Shy. Always sitting with your legs crossed like a good little girl. You don’t think some guy’s dying to—”
“Stop talking.”
He sits up, amused. “Why? I thought you liked dirty talk. You highlight the good parts.”
You fling a leaf at him.
Sunghoon dodges it with ease, smirk growing. “You’re lucky I like nerds.”
“No, I’m lucky you have no shame.”
He clutches his chest like he’s wounded. “Ouch.”
You glare at him, trying not to laugh. Trying.
He pushes up from the grass with an easy, languid stretch, the hem of his shirt lifting just enough for you to catch a glimpse of sharp hip bones. You look away instantly. Too late.
He notices.
“See you tomorrow, Professor.”
You don’t answer.
You just flip open your book again — to a very different page — and pretend he didn’t just make your thighs ache for reasons you’ll never say out loud.
⸻
Later that evening—
You’re studying with Yunjin and Sunoo in your room. The usual setup: flashcards, open laptops, snacks you’ll regret, and Yunjin’s playlist of girl group bangers in the background.
“He read your book?” Yunjin shrieks.
Sunoo nearly chokes on a gummy worm. “Out loud? In public?! Oh, he wants you. He wants you so bad it’s illegal.”
You groan into your pillow.
“It’s not like that,” you mumble.
Yunjin snorts. “Babe, he has a whole sexual harassment arc planned out in his head. The slow burn? The enemies to lovers? He’s living your smut fantasy.”
“He’s annoying.”
“He’s obsessed.”
Sunoo hums. “You should ask yourself why you’re not, like, really mad about it.”
You go quiet.
Because that’s the problem. You should be mad. You should hate how he always corners you, always flusters you, always finds the one button to press and presses it until you break.
But a small, stupid part of you…
Wants him to keep pushing.
_______
It starts with your name on the projector.
Not in a good way.
You’re sitting front row, highlighter poised, when your chemistry professor clears her throat and says, “Alright, we’re pairing off for the next lab cycle. Each of you will work with your designated partner for the next two weeks. Names are on the board. No switches.”
Your eyes flick up.
You scan the list. Fast. Already mentally preparing to work with someone quiet, maybe even someone you can control a little — because group work, for you, is like handing a toddler your thesis.
Then you see it.
Your name.
Next to his.
Y/N L/N × Park Sunghoon
Your soul leaves your body.
You blink once. Twice.
Surely there’s been a mistake. The universe wouldn’t be this cruel. You’ve done nothing to deserve this. You recycle. You use turn signals. You highlight with restraint.
But there it is. Burning bright on the projector like a death sentence.
You barely hear the professor’s next sentence. Something about goggles. Safety. Don’t blow up the lab. Whatever.
Because behind you, a voice says low and delighted:
“Well, well, well. Look who finally has to play nice.”
You squeeze your pen so hard the cap snaps.
⸻
Ten minutes later, at your lab table—
Sunghoon strolls over like he’s auditioning for a fragrance commercial. He smells like clean soap and something boyish and warm that makes your stomach do inappropriate things. His lab coat is open, his ID badge hanging crookedly from the collar, and he leans on the counter with both arms like it’s his personal modeling platform.
You pretend to be invested in the periodic table.
“Don’t worry, nerd,” he murmurs, dipping close. “I’m great with chemistry.”
You grit your teeth. “Don’t touch anything.”
He grins. “Yes, Professor.”
You hate him. You hate him.
Mostly because he’s so tall that he has to bend way down to look you in the eye. And when he does, your whole body reacts like it’s being dragged across a live wire.
“I mean it,” you say, elbowing him lightly. “This is my GPA. Don’t ruin it.”
He leans in even closer — just enough to make your breath catch.
“Would never ruin you,” he murmurs, too soft, too intimate.
Your heart stutters.
You look at him. He’s not smiling now. Not really. His expression is unreadable — some strange mix of amusement and something heavier, darker. Something… unfamiliar.
You shove the reaction away.
“I’ll take the measurements,” you say quickly, pulling the graduated cylinder toward you. “You just… don’t get in the way.”
“Whatever you say,” he drawls, shifting behind you.
And then he’s right there — standing behind your shoulder as you pour, his body heat brushing yours, his breath disturbingly close to your ear.
You fumble.
A few drops spill over the edge of the cylinder.
“Careful, nerd,” he says. “You’re trembling.”
You are. Just slightly. But it’s not because you’re scared. It’s because his voice is low and thick and way too close, and his chest brushes your back when he leans forward to glance at the beaker.
And because for some reason…
You don’t move away.
⸻
Half an hour later—
The lab smells like antiseptic, alcohol, and the faint tang of lemon cleaner. The experiment is simple: titration. Measure. Pour. Record. Repeat.
And yet somehow, this is the hardest hour of your life.
Because Sunghoon won’t. Stop. Hovering.
Every time you shift, he shifts too — close enough that his thigh bumps yours, his arm brushes your elbow, his breath tickles your neck.
And every time you ask him to “stop doing that,” he just says “doing what?” in the smuggest voice known to man.
It’s a miracle you haven’t broken a glass.
“Write down the value,” you mumble, pushing the log sheet toward him.
He leans over, his shoulder nudging yours, pen scrawling across the paper in lazy, cocky handwriting.
You try to ignore how broad his chest is. How his fingers are ink-stained and long and stupidly hot. How your knees are practically touching now.
And then he drops the pen.
Right between your feet.
You freeze.
He crouches, slowly, almost dramatically — his head disappearing under the desk as he reaches for it. And when he rises back up, something shifts. His eyes. His smirk. His voice.
“Nice panties.”
You whip around, eyes wide.
“What?!”
He smiles. “Lace, huh? Classy.”
You want the ground to eat you alive.
“I’m—” You stutter, mortified. “I’m wearing shorts under my skirt!”
“Sure you are.” He grins, tossing the pen onto the desk. “Didn’t say I saw skin. Just said I liked the color.”
You die inside.
He chuckles, picking up your notes.
“And here I thought you were innocent.”
You blink. Your voice is quiet now. Honest. “I am.”
He glances at you. Stops.
For one beat, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just looks at you.
You expect him to make fun of you. But he doesn’t.
He just says, quieter than before: “…Yeah. I know.”
And then the teasing glint returns.
“But I bet your books aren’t.”
You groan, shoving your face into your arm.
Sunghoon laughs — really laughs — the sound of it echoing off the sterile walls like sunshine cracking through the ceiling. You kind of hate that it sounds good. You kind of hate that it makes you want to laugh.
But most of all…
You hate that your hand is still tingling from when his accidentally brushed yours.
⸻
After class—
Jake is waiting for you outside the science building.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking over your flushed face.
You nod too fast. “Fine. Lab stuff.”
“Did he mess with you?”
You hesitate. “Not really. Just being… him.”
Jake narrows his eyes. “You sure?”
You nod again. “Yeah.”
He walks you to the café without another word.
But behind you, across the lawn, Sunghoon is leaning against the stair rail. His hands are in his pockets. His hair is messy. His smirk is gone.
He’s watching you.
And he doesn’t look amused anymore.
____________
Your locker is always clean.
Not obsessively, but neatly — like everything in your life, it’s arranged to keep people out. Pencil cases stacked by color. Books lined up in subject order. A lavender air freshener clipped to the top shelf. Even your emergency snacks are sealed in Ziploc bags, labeled with sticky notes like Don’t Touch (Yunjin) and Mine (Still Yunjin, don’t lie).
You don’t trust easily.
You especially don’t trust people like Sunghoon.
Which is why the moment you see your locker door slightly ajar after third period, your stomach drops like a stone.
You stop walking.
Yunjin keeps going — then pauses and doubles back, noticing your frozen stance.
“What’s wrong?”
You don’t answer. You just reach out and pull your locker open.
The inside looks… the same. Sort of.
But your notebook — your private notebook — the one you use for doodles and little diary entries and the occasional steamy paragraph you don’t want to admit you wrote — it’s not where it should be. It’s not under your folders. It’s not behind your lab manual.
You blink once. Twice.
Panic prickles under your skin.
“Oh no,” you whisper.
Yunjin leans over. “Wait—what’s missing?”
You don’t answer.
Because that’s the thing. You know what’s missing. You just don’t want to say it out loud.
⸻
Two hours later—
You find him in the art wing.
Sunghoon’s sitting alone in the back row of the photography lab, long legs stretched under the desk, flipping through something that definitely doesn’t belong to him.
Your notebook.
Your fucking notebook.
You march in before you even think it through, yanking it from his hands so fast he lets out a low, surprised laugh.
“Easy, nerd. Might tear a page.”
You hold it to your chest, face burning. “You broke into my locker?”
“Wasn’t locked.”
“That’s not the point!”
He tilts his head, annoyingly calm. “You dropped your schedule the other day. I figured you’d come here to yell.”
You gape. “You planned this?”
He shrugs.
“I—what the hell is wrong with you?” Your voice is high now, trembling with embarrassment. “That’s private, Sunghoon. That’s my notebook. There’s—there’s—”
“Scenes?” he says casually. “Plots? A character who definitely isn’t based on me?”
You freeze.
Oh no.
He read that part.
The scene you wrote during math last week. The one you swore you’d delete. The one where a tall, smug male lead corners the innocent bookworm in the school stairwell and says something along the lines of “Tell me how many times you touched yourself thinking about me.”
Your soul detonates.
“You weren’t supposed to see that—”
He stands.
Slowly. Deliberately.
You instinctively take a step back. He doesn’t touch you — doesn’t have to. He just moves into your space with the kind of lazy confidence that should be illegal.
“So you have thought about me,” he says, eyes dark and unreadable.
You clutch the notebook tighter. “That was fiction.”
He smirks. “Was it?”
“Obviously,” you snap. “You’re not even nice to me!”
He tilts his head. “You think I’d be nice if I got you alone?”
Your throat tightens.
You hate him. You hate that he has this effect on you. That you’re still standing here. That your fingers are shaking. That you want to kiss him just to shut him up.
“I’m not… I don’t…” You swallow hard. “I don’t do stuff like that.”
He studies you.
Not like he’s judging you — but like he’s learning you. Filing away every detail.
“I know.”
You blink.
“I know you don’t,” he says again, this time softer. “You blush when someone touches your hand. You flinch when someone calls you pretty. You get scared when people ask if you’ve dated. I know.”
Your breath catches.
And for a second — a split second — you think he might say something real. Something honest. Something that would shatter the stupid rhythm of your days.
But then his smirk returns.
He steps back. “But you write like someone who wants to.”
You burn.
He walks out.
You stand alone, clutching your notebook, your heart pounding in your throat.
⸻
Later that night—
Yunjin and Sunoo are sitting on your bed, watching you pace.
“He read it?” Sunoo gasps. “Like really read it?”
You nod, dying slowly.
“And then quoted it back to you?”
You nod again, collapsing into your blanket.
Yunjin’s jaw is on the floor. “Babe. That is not normal bully behavior.”
Sunoo raises a brow. “That’s ‘I have a secret folder of pictures of you’ behavior.”
You bury your face in a pillow. “I want to vanish.”
“But like,” Yunjin leans closer, “was he mean about it?”
You hesitate.
“No,” you admit. “Just… smug.”
“So,” Sunoo concludes. “He’s into it.”
“I’m going to die.”
Yunjin hums. “No, babe. You’re going to wear a short skirt next week and finish him off.”
You laugh — just a little.
Because you’re not ready for that.
Not yet.
But soon?
Maybe.
_________
The day you wear the short skirt is just a regular Thursday.
At least for you.
You didn’t mean to cause anything. You didn’t plan a thing. You’re wearing the same style of outfit you always do — a black pleated skirt, mid-thigh, soft cotton; thigh-high socks with lace trim; and a fitted cardigan buttoned up to your collarbone. Hair tied with a little black ribbon. Gloss dark and shiny. You’re still you.
Just a little cuter than usual.
Maybe you were tired of blending in. Maybe you needed a confidence boost. Or maybe you just liked how the outfit made you feel — pretty, in a way that was yours and yours alone.
You walk into the library, as always, twenty minutes before your study group meets. You take the back corner chair again. You plug in your tablet. You open your book.
Everything is normal.
Until you hear the scrape of a chair behind you.
You don’t even have to turn around.
“…Sunghoon.”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
You glance back.
He’s standing just far enough to look casual. But something’s… different.
His expression is unreadable. His usual smirk? Gone. In its place is something still. Quiet. Controlled.
Too controlled.
You tilt your head. “What?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his eyes drift — deliberately — down your legs. Your skirt. The sliver of bare skin between your thigh-highs and the hem of the fabric.
And they stay there.
For a second too long.
You shift uncomfortably, crossing your legs. “What?”
Still, he doesn’t speak. He just exhales — slow, quiet, a sound that barely escapes his chest — and then he drops into the seat beside you.
But this time, he doesn’t sprawl like usual. Doesn’t lean in close to tease. Doesn’t say anything at all.
You peek at him.
His jaw is tight.
His fingers are tapping once, twice, then curling into his palm like he needs to stop.
You blink.
“You okay?”
Sunghoon turns slowly to look at you. Eyes heavy. Face unreadable.
“You wore that on purpose.”
Your breath hitches. “Excuse me?”
“That skirt.” His voice is low. “Those socks.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie.”
You sit straighter. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
The intensity in his voice makes you shiver.
“Sunghoon, I dress like this all the time.”
“Not like this.”
You stare at him.
He looks… wrecked.
His fingers twitch on his thigh. His knee bounces. His teeth grind against the inside of his cheek like he’s fighting a war with himself.
“You’re acting crazy,” you whisper.
He laughs. But it’s not funny. It’s hollow. Pained.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
You feel your cheeks go hot.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know you didn’t,” he snaps. Then softer, more raw: “That’s the worst part.”
You blink, startled.
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice comes quieter now, not directed at you — more like a confession to the floor.
“I’ve spent months trying not to touch you. Not to lose it. I thought it was funny at first — teasing the nerd. Getting a reaction. Watching you get all shy and breathless.”
Your throat tightens.
“But then I started wondering what your lips tasted like. Wondering if you’d cry if I kissed you. Wondering if you’d let me ruin you if I was just a little nicer.”
You don’t move.
“I’d close my eyes and see you. Skirts riding up. Little notes with hearts. The way you lick your gloss off when you’re thinking.”
He laughs again — a sharp, miserable thing.
“I thought I was just horny. I thought it would pass.”
You swallow. “And did it?”
He looks at you.
And the look in his eyes answers the question before he even speaks.
“No.”
Your breath catches.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he says softly. “I think about you all the time. In class. In the shower. In my fucking sleep. I can’t stop.”
You feel like the world has tilted.
“I didn’t mean to make you—”
He cuts you off, sharp. “Don’t apologize.”
Silence settles between you like ash.
You’re not sure what to do. What to say. You’re still the shy girl. Still inexperienced. Still figuring out what it means when someone looks at you like they want to set the world on fire just to keep you warm.
And Sunghoon?
He’s not teasing anymore.
He’s unraveling.
“You should go,” he mutters suddenly, standing too fast. “Before I do something I won’t come back from.”
“Like what?”
He looks down at you.
And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — he looks scared.
“Like fall in love with you.”
_________
It starts with silence.
You don’t see him for two days.
Not in the hallway. Not in class. Not even during free period when he usually appears behind you like a bad idea dressed in perfect skin.
Just—nothing.
At first, you tell yourself it’s a relief.
You can finally think straight. Finally read without blushing. Finally open your locker without wondering if something’s missing — or added. You tell yourself it’s better this way. Clean. Quiet.
You almost believe it.
Until the third day.
⸻
Thursday. Late afternoon.
You’re walking down the old north stairwell — the one behind the drama wing, tucked between forgotten bulletin boards and scratched-up banisters. You only ever use it when you want to avoid crowds. It’s usually silent. Deserted.
Today, it isn’t.
Because at the bottom of the landing — leaning against the railing like he’s been waiting for hours — is Sunghoon.
He doesn’t look smug.
He looks like he hasn’t slept.
Hair a mess. Tie loose. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping the stair rail like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this hallway.
Your stomach flips.
You slow down. Carefully. Eyes locked on his.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say, trying to keep your voice level.
His jaw clenches. “I had to.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
You descend the last few steps — slow, cautious. The moment you reach the bottom, he straightens up.
And then — very quietly — he says:
“You wore those socks again.”
Your breath catches.
He takes a step toward you. Then another.
You don’t move. Can’t.
“They drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs.
Your back hits the wall. He’s close now. Not touching you, but there — his heat pressing into your space, eyes low and dark and dangerous in a way that isn’t scary, but devastating.
“I asked myself why you’d wear them again,” he says, tilting his head. “If you meant to.”
“I didn’t.”
“Didn’t you?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Didn’t you want me to lose control a little?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
He leans in.
“You think I don’t notice every little thing about you? The way your thighs squeeze when I sit too close. The way you flinch when I say something dirty but never really tell me to stop.”
Your legs tremble.
“I don’t mean to—”
“Yes, you do.” His voice is low and raw. “And that’s what kills me. Because I want to ruin you so badly it hurts. But I know you’re not ready.”
His fingers lift. Hover. They don’t touch you. Just trace the air beside your cheek like he’s memorizing your shape.
“But you will be,” he whispers. “Soon.”
You shiver.
“You want to know what I did when you left the library the other day?”
Your eyes dart up to his.
He smiles — soft, broken, almost bitter.
“I went home and lost my mind.”
You swallow.
“I kept thinking about how your skirt slid up when you sat down. How the top of your sock curled right above your thigh like a fucking invitation.”
He’s breathing heavier now, close enough that your lashes flutter with each exhale.
“I locked my door,” he says. “Tore my belt open. And I came so hard thinking about the way you looked at me when I said I was in love with you.”
You gasp.
He grins — slow, dangerous.
“You thought I was lying?”
You can’t speak.
“You think this is just lust?” He laughs — dark and quiet. “No, baby. Lust would’ve faded. Lust wouldn’t make me go insane when another guy so much as looks at you.”
Your knees nearly give out.
“Sunghoon…”
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he breathes. “Trying to be patient. But every time I see you like this — pretty little skirt, those shy eyes, lips glossy like you want me to kiss you — I lose it a little more.”
His hand lifts again — and this time, he does touch you.
Just a finger under your chin.
He tilts your face up. Your pulse skitters.
“I’ve been waiting for the moment you ask me to stop.”
You don’t.
You just look up at him, trembling.
And he smiles like a man who’s finally found something holy.
“I knew it,” he whispers.
_________
You don’t go to class after that.
You sit in the old stairwell for ten full minutes after he leaves — heart in your throat, knees shaking, hand pressed against your chest like you can stop the echo of his voice still ringing in your bones.
“I came so hard thinking about the way you looked at me…”
“You think this is just lust?”
“I’ve been trying to be good.”
You can’t breathe.
Not because you’re scared — but because every single thing he said was real. And it’s the realness that messes you up.
You thought he just liked teasing. That maybe he thought you were hot in a condescending, look-at-the-nerd-with-nice-legs kind of way. But this? This was deeper. Unfiltered. Borderline feral.
And underneath all that hunger…
You saw something else.
Worship.
⸻
The next day
You sit at your desk in homeroom, trying to focus on your notes.
You fail.
Mostly because Sunghoon hasn’t looked at you once. Not even when he walked in. Not even when your pen fell to the floor and you reached down to grab it, thigh-highs on display like a death sentence.
He’s silent. Still.
Too still.
You glance over.
He’s doodling on his paper — eyes dark, jaw clenched, hair falling into his lashes. You almost think he doesn’t care anymore. Until he shifts just slightly and you see it.
His hands.
Fists.
Trembling.
He’s not calm. He’s trying to stay calm.
You bite your lip.
And then you do something that surprises even you.
You write something on your sticky note.
Just a few words. Neat handwriting. One line.
“What would you do if I said I don’t want you to be good anymore?”
You slide it across the desk.
He reads it.
Still doesn’t look at you.
But his chest moves — sharp and sudden, like someone just punched the air out of him.
You wait.
One beat. Two.
Then he writes something back and slides it to you.
“I’d ask if you meant it.”
You stare at the words.
Then — heart pounding — you scribble your reply:
“I don’t write things I don’t mean.”
When he reads that, he closes his eyes.
Like he’s praying.
Or begging himself not to get up and ruin you in the middle of class.
⸻
Later that day—
You’re in the hallway after seventh period when it happens.
You’re walking to your locker. Yunjin and Sunoo are behind you, bickering over something dumb — whether Sana from class C has extensions or not — when a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you behind the science building.
You gasp.
“Sunghoon?!”
He doesn’t say anything at first.
He just cages you against the wall, breath shaky, hands gripping the bricks beside your head.
“You really meant it?” he asks, voice wrecked.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I meant it.”
“Say you want me.”
Your eyes flutter shut.
“I want you.”
He exhales — like he’s been holding that breath for weeks.
“You have no idea what that does to me,” he whispers.
“Then tell me.”
He blinks.
You tilt your head. “You act like I’m the only one losing my mind. But you’re the one jerking off to the way I looked at you. You’re the one memorizing my skirts. You’re the one quoting my fake smut like it’s a Bible.”
He lets out a short laugh — half turned on, half stunned.
You step closer.
Braver now. Still nervous, still innocent, but not fragile.
“I’m not as clueless as you think,” you whisper. “I just didn’t know you liked me that much.”
He stares at you. Really stares.
And then he says it.
The one thing that makes your entire body flush with heat and something dangerously close to affection.
“I’ve liked you since the day you corrected the teacher and didn’t even realize you were being a show-off.”
Your lips part.
Sunghoon leans in.
“Since the day you wore that tight black sweater and glared at me for calling you ’Professor Tits.’”
You choke.
“And every day since,” he breathes. “Even the days I hated myself for it.”
Silence.
You meet his eyes.
There’s a weight to them now. Not just lust. Not just teasing.
Longing.
You don’t kiss him.
Not yet.
But you step close enough that your chest brushes his — that he feels the way you tremble.
“Then stop hating yourself,” you say quietly.
“Because I’m starting to think I’ve liked you this whole time too.”
_______
It’s past sunset when it happens.
The campus library is nearly empty — just the buzz of overhead lights and the soft click of a librarian’s keyboard echoing in the silence. You sit alone in your usual corner, tucked beneath the frosted glass window, your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your book.
You’re not reading it.
You haven’t turned a page in the last ten minutes.
Your heart’s too loud.
Because you know he’s coming.
You texted him two words: “Come here.”
And he answered with only one: “Okay.”
You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t plan it. But now you’re sitting in the spot where he first called you “Professor,” wearing that same gloss on your lips and a soft black cardigan that buttons at the top and opens just enough at the bottom to tease the shape of your skirt.
You hear the footsteps before you see him.
Sharp. Measured. Deliberate.
And then Sunghoon rounds the corner — all long legs and loose sleeves and unreadable eyes. His hair is still messy. His tie is gone. His mouth is set in a line that betrays none of the fire you saw in him before.
He stops in front of your table.
Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t speak.
You stare up at him.
The silence feels like it stretches forever.
Then you ask, barely a whisper:
“…Are you going to kiss me?”
His jaw ticks.
“I shouldn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just walks around the table. Slowly. Carefully. Like a hunter circling prey he doesn’t want to startle.
You turn in your chair to face him.
Your knees touch his thighs.
Your breath trembles.
Sunghoon lowers to his knees in front of you — not teasing, not dramatic. Just soft. Grounded. Like he’s doing something sacred.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
His fingers come up — tentative — and hover near your cheek, barely brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
You lean into it.
That’s all he needs.
He leans in slowly, one hand still cradling your jaw, the other braced on your thigh like an anchor.
And when he kisses you — finally, finally — it’s nothing like what you expected.
It’s not wild. Not fast. Not filthy.
It’s gentle.
His lips press to yours like a secret. Like a question. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he kisses too hard.
You melt.
Your hands curl into his sleeves, your mouth parting instinctively. He doesn’t take advantage. He just stays there — lips soft, breath warm, fingers trembling slightly against your jaw like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.
He pulls back. Just enough to speak.
His voice breaks.
“…Been dreaming of that.”
You open your eyes slowly.
“You’re shaking,” you whisper.
He lets out a breathless laugh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“Baby, if I touch you the way I want to—”
You lean in.
“Then touch me.”
He exhales — like he’s been waiting for that.
________
His breath is already hot against your cheek when you whisper it—
“Then touch me.”
It breaks him.
Sunghoon’s hand trembles where it rests on your thigh, fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to grab, to grip, to mark. His other hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. You’re still sitting in the library chair, but he’s on his knees between your legs now, eye-level with your mouth, and something about the position—him below you, both of you breathless—makes your stomach twist.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispers.
“I do.”
His eyes search yours.
Still waiting for you to back out. Still waiting for this to be a dream.
And then you part your lips, slowly, dragging your tongue over your gloss and whisper:
“Touch me like you dream about it.”
His head drops—chin to chest, exhale rough and ragged, like he’s been holding it in for months. You feel his breath on your thigh and shiver.
When he looks up again, his eyes are gone—glassy, dark, the pupils blown wide with something between reverence and hunger.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
And then he’s kissing you again—harder now, no more hesitation.
His mouth devours yours, warm and slick and open, tongue stroking past your lips in a desperate, wet slide. His hand tightens on your thigh—really grabs now, fingers spreading wide, pulling your leg apart so he can fit closer between them.
You gasp into his mouth.
That sound—your sharp, high breath—makes him groan, low and filthy in the back of his throat like he’s starving.
“Keep making that noise,” he pants against your lips. “I swear to God—”
He kisses you again—sloppier this time, breath hotter, grip firmer.
Your fingers are buried in his hair now, tugging. He moans into your mouth when you do—moans, like it does something to him, like he likes it messy, likes being grabbed, needed.
“You’re so soft,” he breathes, kissing down your cheek, your jaw. “So fucking soft, baby. I can’t think when I’m near you.”
You whimper when he kisses under your ear, and his hand immediately slides up your thigh in response, like a reward.
“Shit,” he gasps. “Say it again. Let me hear you.”
You try to muffle the sound. He doesn’t let you.
His hand grabs your chin, not rough, but firm—tilting your face so you’re looking right into his eyes.
“I want to hear what I do to you,” he whispers.
You’re panting now, chest rising and falling fast. He can see it—the way your cardigan pulls at the buttons with every breath, how your thighs twitch under his grip. He watches you fall apart like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Then he leans in—presses a kiss just above your collarbone, lips lingering there, breathing you in.
“You smell like fucking vanilla and library pages,” he groans.
You laugh breathlessly. “That’s not a real—”
“Yes it is.” He kisses you again. “It’s you. It’s driving me insane.”
His hand slides higher—over your skirt, thumb dragging across the top of your thigh-high sock. He’s still on his knees. Still between your legs. Still gripping the edge of your chair like if he lets go, he’ll do something unholy.
“Can I?” he asks. “Can I touch you here?”
You nod—shaky, unsure—but your hips shift forward on their own, and his jaw drops.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
He palms your thigh slowly, dragging his hand up until it brushes under the hem of your skirt, and he moans—visibly, eyes fluttering shut like your skin hurts to touch.
“You’re so warm,” he pants. “So fucking warm and perfect—how are you real?”
You gasp when he mouths at your neck again, lips dragging down until he finds your pulse—and sucks. Not hard enough to mark. Not yet. But the intent is there.
You clench around nothing.
He pulls back, breathing hard now.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“So are you.”
His eyes find yours again—glassy, red at the corners, pupils massive, breath completely gone.
“I’ve never wanted anything like I want you,” he admits. “Not once. Not ever.”
_________
You’re not sure who breathes louder—him or you.
But your thighs are trembling.
And his hands haven’t even done what they’re desperate to do yet.
Still kneeling, Sunghoon stares up at you like he’s praying to something. His hair’s falling into his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen and damp from how hard he kissed you. And then there’s his eyes—those glazed-over, black-hole pupils swallowing the soft brown whole.
“I need to see you,” he whispers. “Right fucking now.”
Your breath skips. “What—what do you—”
His hands slide under your skirt.
No warning this time. No hesitation.
And when his fingers meet the soft cotton of your panties, he groans. Loudly.
“Fuck, baby—”
You arch.
He hasn’t even touched you properly yet. Just his palm over your underwear. But he feels everything—the heat, the softness, the way you twitch under him.
He leans forward and moans into your thigh.
“You’re so wet, and I’ve barely even done anything. You’re shaking for me already?” His voice cracks, trembling at the edge of his restraint. “You don’t know what that does to me.”
You gasp when he presses his whole hand against your pussy through the fabric—fingers spread, applying pressure like he wants to memorize the shape of you.
His eyes roll back slightly. He bites his lip.
“Ohhh, my God—” he growls. “I’ve thought about this. Every. Fucking. Night.”
You can barely breathe. Your head tips back against the chair, legs falling wider apart without you realizing, and he notices.
“Oh my fucking god, baby,” he groans, voice desperate. “You’re opening up for me.”
You try to speak—say something smart, something sexy—but then his thumb rubs you in a slow, firm circle over your panties and you gasp, loud and sharp, legs jerking.
“There she is,” he pants. “That’s my girl.”
You whimper.
His hand flexes—his other one gripping your thigh, thumb dragging over the skin where your sock ends like he’s about to lose it over the lace trim alone.
“I’m not gonna finger you yet,” he mutters. “Not here. Not until I can take my time. You deserve more than two fingers in a library.”
You moan softly.
“But I’m gonna get you close, baby. I’m gonna make you fucking drip for me.”
He presses harder.
You’re soaking through your panties now—you know it, because you feel it, and from the way his jaw drops when he cups you again?
He feels it too.
“Jesus fuck,” he whispers. “You’re soaked. Fuck, fuck—you’re gonna be the death of me.”
You’re writhing now.
Tiny, helpless gasps leave your mouth with every motion—your eyes fluttering, your head rolling slightly to the side, hands gripping the armrests of the chair like they’re the only things keeping you from floating away.
And then he leans up.
Still between your legs. Still palming your pussy with one hand. But now he brings his mouth to your ear and whispers:
“Do you want me to grind on you, baby? You want me to fuck against your pretty little panties like a pathetic virgin?”
You moan—sharp, high, helpless.
And that destroys him.
He practically growls. “Yeah? That get you off? You want to feel how fucking hard I am just from watching you squirm?”
You nod frantically. “Yes—please—Sunghoon—”
He stands.
His hands go to his belt.
You watch—frozen—as he undoes it fast, the click of metal loud and vulgar in the quiet library. Then he’s shoving his pants down just enough, groaning softly when the pressure eases, and—
Fuck.
He’s huge.
Thick. Red at the tip. Leaking.
You choke.
He strokes himself once—twice—then looks at you like he’s about to eat you alive.
“Pull your panties to the side.”
Your hands shake.
“Let me see you,” he adds, quieter. “Just a little. Please.”
And the “please” wrecks you.
You do it.
Panties tugged gently aside, your thighs trembling, your whole body flushed and aching. You can’t look him in the eye.
But he can’t look anywhere else.
“Oh, my fucking god.”
He strokes himself slowly, lining up with your folds—not pushing in, just grinding against you, head dragging up your slit as he holds your hips steady with both hands.
You cry out.
He moans—deep and raw—like the sound of you is something holy.
“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s what you do to me. You made me this hard. You’re gonna make me come just from fucking against your soaked little cunt.”
You grip the chair tighter, eyes wide, mouth open—because he’s grinding now, slow and filthy, his cock sliding up and down your folds, teasing your clit every pass, his head catching just slightly on your entrance each time he rocks forward.
You’re not even being fucked.
But it feels like it.
Every time his tip drags up your clit, you shake. Your moans are getting louder—higher—your body twitching beneath him.
“You gonna come like this?” he growls. “You gonna come just from me humping your little pussy like a fucking pervert?”
You nod desperately.
And then he moans, forehead pressed to yours, sweat building on his temples.
“I’m gonna make you come, baby,” he pants. “And then I’m gonna ruin you for real.”
_________
Sunghoon’s hips are grinding into you now—slow, desperate thrusts that drag the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, catching on your clit with every pass. The friction is filthy—wet and hot and perfect, the head of his cock gliding against your slickness like he was meant to be there.
And the sounds he makes?
Devastating.
Every rock of his hips earns a moan—guttural, shattered, like he’s falling apart just from being this close to you.
“You feel that?” he pants against your ear. “You feel how hard I am for you, baby?”
You nod frantically, fingers clutching his shoulders, legs trembling.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “I’m not even inside you and you’re dripping—Jesus, you’re making a mess.”
You are.
The fabric of your panties is soaked, your thighs sticky, your whole body trembling like you’re about to break.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m gonna come just from rubbing against you—oh my god, what the fuck are you doing to me?”
He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and erratic.
“I can’t—fuck—I can’t stop—”
His thrusts get faster, more frantic.
Each grind rubs right over your clit, dragging the swollen head of his cock across the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. You’re whining now—sharp, high sounds that make his rhythm stutter.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me hear you. Let me fucking hear you—”
You moan louder.
And his whole body jerks.
“Oh my god, I’m so fucking close—”
You are too.
Your hips twitch against his, meeting each thrust, chasing the friction that’s making your stomach coil tighter and tighter.
“Come for me,” he gasps. “Come on my cock, baby. Please—please, I need to feel it.”
You cry out.
Your orgasm hits like a wave—sharp, blinding, a full-body tremble that makes your legs lock around his waist, your back arch, your nails dig into his skin.
“Ohhh fuck—baby—yes, that’s it—fuck, fuck—”
He loses it.
His hips jerk once, twice—and then he moans, loudly, voice wrecked as he comes. Hard. The hot, wet pulse of it spilling against your soaked folds as he ruts through it like he can’t stand to stop.
His whole body shakes.
His mouth is open, eyes squeezed shut, breath shattered as he gasps through it.
“Holy fuck,” he moans. “You just made me come so fucking hard—fuck, baby—”
You hold him.
And he doesn’t pull away.
⸻
The Aftermath
You’re both still trembling.
His head is buried in your neck, his breath sticky against your skin, his hands gripping the back of your chair like if he lets go, he’ll fall to pieces. Your skirt is hiked up. His pants are open. You’re sticky. Sweaty. Spent.
And neither of you moves.
For a long, breathless moment, it’s just… quiet.
Then, slowly, Sunghoon exhales.
He lifts his head.
And when he looks at you?
His eyes are glassy.
Not just from pleasure. Not just from lust. But something else—something softer. Something terrifyingly tender.
He reaches up and brushes your hair from your face.
“You okay?” he whispers.
You nod, breath catching.
He leans in—kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then the corner of your mouth.
“I’ve never,” he murmurs, “ever… felt anything like that.”
You bite your lip.
“I liked it,” you whisper.
He smiles, small and stunned.
Then he bends down and presses his forehead to your chest, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s never letting go.
“You’re mine now,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”
You nod.
And you let him hold you.
Because in this moment—sweaty, messy, heart still pounding—you’ve never felt more wanted.
Or more safe.
_____
You don’t know how long you sit there with him.
His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Your legs still parted over his hips. The library’s overhead lights hum softly above you, casting a pale glow over his messy hair, his swollen mouth, the pink flush still dusting his cheekbones.
And for once—just once—he isn’t teasing. Isn’t cocky. Isn’t even speaking.
He’s holding.
He’s breathing you in.
As if this moment is something sacred.
You card your fingers through his hair, gentle and slow, and he sighs like it’s the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the air.
“You okay?” you whisper.
He nods, but doesn’t let go.
You glance down and realize his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against your chest. And you swear—swear—he looks like a boy who just found peace for the first time.
Eventually, he murmurs into your skin:
“You make me feel like I don’t have to be the asshole anymore.”
Your heart clenches.
You press your lips to his forehead and whisper:
“You never were. You were just scared.”
He laughs softly. Choked. Like that truth finally freed him.
And you know, in that moment, whatever comes next—he’s yours.
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