╰┈➤ you and sunghoon are going through a divorce but then finds out your pregnant.
✴ husband!sunghoon x preg!reader ✴ Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, divorce, marriage in crisis, arguments, emotional turmoil, secret pregnancy, morning sickness, crying, guilt, miscommunication, reconciliation.
The divorce papers had been sitting untouched on the dining table for six days. Every morning, you walked past the cream-colored envelope with your eyes fixed anywhere but there, convincing yourself that if you ignored it long enough, maybe the end of your marriage would disappear with it. It never did. The signatures waited patiently beneath the flap, yours written with trembling hands, his clean and effortless, just like everything Park Sunghoon ever did. Five years of marriage had somehow been reduced to ink on paper, and neither of you had found the courage to send them to the lawyers. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was denial. Or perhaps, deep down, neither of you was ready to admit that the love you had fought so hard for was slipping through your fingers.
Sunghoon hadn't always been this distant. Before becoming the CEO of PARK Group, he had been the kind of husband who insisted on driving you everywhere because he claimed the roads were "full of idiots."
He'd leave little sticky notes inside your handbag just to make you smile during work, surprise you with late-night convenience store dates after exhausting weeks, and hold your hand whenever the two of you crossed the street, even though you constantly teased him for it. Somewhere between endless board meetings, overseas investors, and the pressure of keeping a billion-dollar company alive, those little gestures disappeared.
At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Then weeks became months, and months became years, until the silence between the two of you became louder than any argument you'd ever had.
The front door unlocked just after eleven that night. You heard the familiar click of expensive leather shoes against the marble floor before his coat landed over the back of a chair.
"You're still awake?" he asked quietly, surprised to find the television still glowing in the dark living room.
You looked up from the untouched mug of tea in your hands and forced a tired smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I couldn't sleep."
He nodded as if he understood, although the truth was neither of you understood each other anymore. He loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders with a wince. "The meeting ran longer than expected. I tried calling."
A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You always have a meeting, Sunghoon." His expression hardened ever so slightly. "I'm doing this for us."
"No," you whispered, standing from the couch. "You keep saying that, but somewhere along the way, there stopped being an 'us.' It's just you... and your company."
The argument didn't explode all at once. It built slowly, quietly, through years of missed dinners, forgotten anniversaries, and conversations cut short by another ringing phone. You couldn't even remember what had started this one. Maybe it was the fact that he'd canceled yet another weekend away because an investor had flown in unexpectedly. Maybe it was because he'd answered three work calls while you were trying to tell him about your day. Or maybe it was because you were simply exhausted from feeling like you came second to a company that would still exist long after the two of you had fallen apart.
"I don't even recognize you anymore," you said, your voice trembling despite your attempts to stay composed. "Do you know what the worst part is? I don't think you recognize yourself either."
Sunghoon stood across the kitchen island, still dressed in his tailored charcoal suit. He looked just as tired as you felt, his tie hanging loose around his neck and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his forearms. He opened his mouth to respond before closing it again, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.
"You think this is easy for me?" he asked quietly. "Do you think I enjoy leaving before you're awake and coming home after you've gone to bed? I'm trying to keep everything together."
"And what about us?" you whispered. "Who's keeping us together?"
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
The next morning, the divorce papers were drafted.
Neither of you cried when the lawyers handed them over.
Neither of you protested.
It almost scared you how calm everything had become.
The screaming had stopped.
The tears had stopped.
It felt like your marriage had simply... run out of emotion.
For the next week, the penthouse became nothing more than a place the two of you happened to share. Sunghoon slept in the guest room. You stayed in the master bedroom. Meals were eaten separately. Conversations were reduced to polite questions that sounded more appropriate between strangers than husband and wife.
"Have you seen my watch?"
"It's on your desk."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
That was it.
No warmth.
No affection.
Just silence.
Then the nausea started.
The first morning, you barely thought anything of it. Stress could make people sick. Anyone going through a divorce would feel exhausted. But when you found yourself gagging at the smell of breakfast three days in a row, a tiny voice in the back of your mind began whispering something you refused to believe.
Standing in the pharmacy after work, you stared at the pregnancy tests for what felt like forever. Your fingers hovered over the shelf before finally grabbing one and shoving it into your basket as quickly as possible. You prayed nobody you knew would see you.
The drive home felt endless.
Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.
You locked yourself inside the bathroom before finally opening the small box, reading the instructions three separate times because the words refused to register. The timer on your phone counted down three agonizing minutes while you paced back and forth across the marble floor.
One line.
Relief flooded your body.
Then...
A second line appeared so faintly you almost convinced yourself you were imagining it.
You blinked.
It grew darker.
Your heart stopped.
"...No."
You picked up the test with trembling fingers, staring at it as if it might somehow change if you looked hard enough.
Positive.
The room spun.
You slowly slid down against the bathroom wall until you were sitting on the cold floor, your knees pulled tightly against your chest.
Pregnant.
You were pregnant.
A sob escaped before you could stop it.
It wasn't because you didn't want the baby.
It was because the timing felt impossibly cruel.
Only a week ago, you and Sunghoon had agreed your marriage couldn't be saved.
Now there was another heartbeat growing inside you.
One that belonged to both of you.
Tears blurred your vision as you instinctively rested a hand against your stomach. It was too early to feel anything. Too early to even look pregnant. Yet knowing that your child was there made everything feel different.
A sharp knock at the bathroom door made you jump.
"Y/N?"
Sunghoon's voice was muffled through the wood.
"You've been in there for a while."
Your heart leaped into your throat.
Quickly wrapping the test in tissues, you hid it beneath spare towels inside the cabinet before splashing cold water across your face.
"I'm okay," you called back, though your voice cracked.
The door opened as soon as you unlocked it.
Sunghoon frowned the second he saw you.
Your eyes were red.
Your cheeks were damp.
"You've been crying."
You immediately shook your head. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
He took a hesitant step toward you, his usual guarded expression replaced by genuine concern. Carefully, almost instinctively, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch caught you off guard. He hadn't touched you like that in months.
"You don't look well," he murmured. "You've barely eaten this week, and every morning I hear you getting sick."
"It's just stress."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I know."
His brows knitted together. "Maybe we should go to the hospital."
"No."
The answer came far too quickly.
His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering across his face.
"...Why not?"
You forced a smile that felt painfully fake.
"I just need some rest."
For several long seconds, he simply looked at you.
Then he sighed softly.
"If you start feeling worse..." His voice was quieter now. "...please tell me."
You nodded even though you had no intention of doing that.
As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway without looking back.
"I know things between us are... complicated right now."
Your chest tightened.
"But that doesn't mean I stop caring about you."
The bedroom fell silent after he walked away.
The tears you'd been desperately holding back finally spilled over again.
Because hearing those words only made your secret feel heavier.
And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines...
You wondered how long you could keep it from him.
The following morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. A dull ache settled behind your eyes while another wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, forcing you to sit up abruptly. You barely made it to the bathroom before gripping the edge of the sink, your breathing uneven as you waited for the feeling to pass.
When it finally did, you leaned against the cool marble countertop, staring at your reflection. You looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath your eyes had become impossible to hide, and your cheeks had noticeably lost their color. You quietly opened the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out the pregnancy test one last time before slipping it into your pocket. A few hours later, you found yourself sitting alone in your obstetrician's office, nervously twisting the sleeve of your sweater while waiting for your name to be called.
"Mrs. Park?" the nurse smiled warmly.
You stood, following her into the examination room. Everything happened so quickly after that—blood tests, questions about your health, and finally the ultrasound. You hadn't expected to cry, yet the moment the tiny image appeared on the monitor, your vision blurred.
"There," the doctor said gently, pointing toward the screen. "It's still very early, but everything looks healthy."
Healthy.
The word echoed in your ears.
Your hand instinctively rested against your stomach as tears silently rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't stop staring at the tiny flicker on the monitor. It didn't look like much to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.
The doctor handed you a small black-and-white ultrasound photo before smiling kindly. "Congratulations. Judging by the measurements, you're just over eight weeks pregnant. Morning sickness and fatigue are completely normal. Try not to skip meals, even if eating feels difficult. If your symptoms become worse, give us a call."
You nodded absentmindedly, clutching the ultrasound picture so carefully it felt as though it might disappear if you held it too tightly.
On the drive home, your eyes drifted toward the passenger seat where the envelope rested. You couldn't stop imagining what would happen if Sunghoon saw it.
Would he smile?
Would he cry?
Or would he stay...
Only because he felt obligated?
That question had haunted you since the moment you found out.
You knew your husband better than anyone.
Park Sunghoon never walked away from responsibility.
If he learned about the baby now, he'd tear up the divorce papers without a second thought.
Not because the two of you had fixed your marriage.
Not because the hurt had magically disappeared.
Because he would convince himself that staying was the right thing to do.
You refused to let your child become the reason someone stayed in a loveless marriage.
You wanted your baby to grow up in a home filled with love, not guilt.
By the time you reached the penthouse, you'd made up your mind.
The pregnancy would remain your secret.
At least for now.
When you stepped inside, the house was unusually quiet.
Sunghoon's shoes were by the front door, meaning he'd gotten home before you for once. You slipped the ultrasound into your handbag before walking farther inside.
The smell of food drifted from the kitchen.
You froze.
Sunghoon stood at the stove wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His suit jacket was tossed over one of the dining chairs, and an apron—one you'd bought him years ago as a joke because he insisted he was a "great cook"—was tied around his waist.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard you.
"You're home."
You blinked in surprise.
"...What are you doing?"
He glanced back at the pan.
"Cooking."
"You hate cooking."
"I know."
A small, awkward smile appeared on his face.
"But you haven't been eating."
Your heart squeezed painfully.
"I thought... maybe soup would be easier."
You didn't know what to say.
For months, you'd begged him to come home before dinner.
Now, when your marriage was already hanging by a thread, he was standing in the kitchen making soup because he was worried about you.
The irony hurt more than it comforted.
"I didn't ask you to do this," you said quietly.
"I know."
He turned the stove off before facing you completely.
"I wanted to."
Silence settled between the two of you.
His eyes slowly wandered across your face, lingering on the exhaustion you could no longer hide.
"You look pale."
"I'm alright."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I'm just tired."
He walked closer until only a few feet separated you.
"You've barely eaten."
"I'll eat later."
"You've been getting sick every morning."
"It's stress."
His brows furrowed.
"Did you at least go to the doctor?"
Your heart skipped.
"...Yeah."
"What did they say?"
You looked down at the floor.
"They said I need more rest."
Technically...
It wasn't a lie.
Sunghoon let out a quiet sigh before reaching for your handbag.
"I'll carry—"
"No!"
The word escaped much louder than you intended.
Both of you froze.
His hand stopped midair.
Confusion immediately crossed his face.
"...I was just going to put it on the table."
"I..."
You tightened your grip around the strap.
"I'm sorry."
"I just... have something important inside."
He slowly lowered his hand.
"I'm not trying to invade your privacy."
"I know."
Another silence followed.
This one heavier than the last.
Finally, he gave you a small nod.
"The soup's ready whenever you're hungry."
He turned away, pretending not to notice the tears gathering in your eyes.
The moment he disappeared into his office, you rushed upstairs.
Locking yourself inside the bedroom, you pulled the ultrasound from your bag before carefully sliding it into the back of your bedside drawer beneath a stack of old photographs from your honeymoon.
Your fingers lingered on the picture.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't sure whether you were apologizing to your baby...
Or to the man sleeping only a few rooms away.
The days that followed settled into a strange routine. The arguments had disappeared, but they hadn't been replaced with happiness. Instead, there was a quiet understanding between the two of you, as though you were both too exhausted to keep hurting each other. Sunghoon still left for work early, though not as early as before. Some mornings, you'd find a glass of water and your vitamins sitting on the kitchen counter without a word. Other days, he'd send a simple text asking if you'd eaten lunch. They were such small gestures—ones that would've seemed insignificant months ago—but now they only made your chest ache. He was trying. It was simply too late.
Morning sickness, however, wasn't nearly as forgiving.
You had barely managed two spoonfuls of breakfast before the familiar wave of nausea forced you to excuse yourself. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before you were kneeling on the cold tile floor, one hand gripping the edge of the bathtub while the other instinctively rested against your stomach. By the time the nausea finally settled, your eyes were watery and your breathing uneven.
A gentle knock echoed through the room.
"Y/N?"
It was Sunghoon.
His voice was careful, almost hesitant.
"You've been in there for almost twenty minutes."
You quickly splashed cold water over your face before unlocking the door.
He frowned immediately.
"You look awful."
A small laugh escaped you despite yourself.
"Thanks."
"You know I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
His eyes searched your face, lingering on the redness around your eyes.
"You've been getting sick every morning for weeks."
"I'm just... run down."
"You've lost weight."
"I'm trying to eat."
"I can see that."
He sighed quietly before reaching out. His hand hovered near your cheek for a second, silently asking permission before gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was so familiar that it almost broke you.
"I hate seeing you like this," he admitted softly. "I know we're... where we are right now, but that doesn't mean I stop worrying."
Your throat tightened.
"I'll be okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I don't know what else to say."
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, to your surprise, he opened his arms ever so slightly.
"Can I...?"
You stared at him.
He hadn't hugged you in months.
When you didn't pull away, he slowly wrapped his arms around you, careful and gentle, as if he were afraid you'd disappear if he held you too tightly.
It was warm.
Comforting.
Painful.
You closed your eyes for just a second, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.
"I've missed this," he whispered.
Your heart shattered.
Because so had you.
But missing someone wasn't always enough to save a marriage.
That evening, the two of you sat together in the living room for the first time in weeks. The television played quietly in the background, though neither of you was paying attention. Sunghoon had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, his laptop balanced on his knees while he answered a few emails.
You were reading a book you hadn't turned a page of in almost fifteen minutes.
The silence wasn't awkward anymore.
It was... peaceful.
"I spoke to the lawyer today," Sunghoon suddenly said, closing his laptop.
Your fingers tightened around your book.
"Oh."
"He asked if we'd decided on a date."
You nodded slowly.
"I told him..."
He paused.
"...that I wanted to wait."
You looked up.
His gaze stayed fixed on the coffee table.
"I don't know if waiting changes anything."
"It might not."
"But rushing into it doesn't feel right either."
Your eyes softened.
"Why?"
He let out a tired laugh.
"Because despite everything..."
He looked at you.
"...I still come home looking for you."
The confession stole the air from your lungs.
"I still wonder whether you've eaten."
"I still catch myself reaching for my phone whenever something funny happens because you're the first person I want to tell."
His smile was bittersweet.
"I don't think people stop loving each other overnight."
A lump formed in your throat.
"They just get lost."
Tears threatened to spill, but you forced them back.
"I don't know if I know how to find us again."
He nodded.
"I don't know either."
For the first time in months, there were no raised voices.
No accusations.
Just two people admitting that neither of them knew how to repair what they'd broken.
At that exact moment, your stomach lurched.
You shot to your feet so quickly that your book fell to the floor.
"Y/N?"
"I'll... I'll be right back."
You hurried upstairs, pressing a hand over your mouth before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sunghoon watched you go, worry etched across his face.
A few seconds later, the sound of retching echoed faintly through the hallway.
He immediately stood.
His first instinct was to go after you.
Instead, he stopped outside the bathroom door, resting a hand against the wood.
"...I'm here if you need me."
You squeezed your eyes shut on the other side, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.
"I know," you whispered so quietly he couldn't hear.
Outside, your phone began ringing from where you'd accidentally left it on the coffee table downstairs.
Neither of you noticed.
The screen lit up with a familiar name.
Dr. Han.
His stomach tightened.
You'd told him you'd seen a doctor because of stress. Seeing your doctor call twice in less than a minute made him wonder if something was wrong.
He answered.
"Hello?"
There was a brief pause before a warm voice spoke on the other end.
"Good evening, Mrs. Park. This is Dr. Han calling from Evergreen Women's Clinic. I wanted to follow up regarding the symptoms you mentioned during your appointment. Have the morning sickness and dizziness improved at all?"
Sunghoon frowned.
"...I'm sorry?"
Another pause.
"Oh... am I speaking to Mr. Park?"
"...Yes."
"I'm terribly sorry. I assumed Mrs. Park had already told you."
His grip around the phone tightened.
"Told me... what?"
The doctor fell silent for a second, clearly realizing she'd made a mistake.
"It's regarding her pregnancy," she answered carefully. "Considering she's approaching her ninth week, nausea, fatigue, and food aversions are perfectly normal. We were also hoping to schedule her next prenatal appointment before the end of next week."
Everything around him seem to disappear, except you.
Sunghoon couldn't take his eyes off you.
The words from the phone call echoed endlessly inside his head.
Morning sickness... nine weeks... prenatal appointment... both mother and baby are healthy.
His hand was still wrapped around your phone, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping it. You stood frozen at the foot of the staircase, every bit of color draining from your face the moment you realized he knew.
Neither of you spoke.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
"You were pregnant..." he whispered, his voice so quiet it barely reached you. "This whole time."
You swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eye. "...Yes."
A hollow laugh escaped him, though there wasn't an ounce of humor behind it. He looked away for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tried to compose himself, but the hurt was written all over his face.
"So every morning..." he began, "when I heard you getting sick... when I kept asking if you were okay... when I asked if you wanted me to take you to the hospital..." He looked back at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You already knew."
You nodded weakly.
"I found out after we agreed to the divorce."
"And you decided not to tell me."
"It wasn't that simple."
"It feels pretty simple to me."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make your chest tighten.
"You looked me in the eye every single day and lied."
"I wasn't lying."
"No?" His eyebrows pulled together. "You told me it was stress. You told me you were fine. You let me think something was wrong, and every time I asked, you pushed me away."
"I didn't know what else to do!"
The words escaped before you could stop them.
Sunghoon fell silent.
Your breathing grew uneven as tears blurred your vision. "What was I supposed to say? 'By the way, I'm carrying your baby while we're signing divorce papers?'"
"I deserved to know."
"I know you did!"
Your voice cracked.
"I know that!"
The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"I thought about telling you every single day."
You covered your mouth, trying to steady your breathing.
"I even picked up my phone so many times..." you admitted through sobs. "I wrote messages... I deleted them... I practiced what I'd say if you came home early... but every time I looked at the divorce papers, I couldn't do it."
Sunghoon's expression softened for only a second before the hurt returned.
"So you chose for both of us."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
He shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"You decided I didn't deserve to know I was going to be a father."
"I decided I didn't want you to stay because you pitied me!"
The room fell silent.
Your words hung heavily between you.
"I know you, Sunghoon," you whispered, wiping your cheeks. "You would've canceled everything. You would've torn up those divorce papers before I even finished speaking."
"Of course I would've."
"Exactly!"
His answer caught you off guard.
"You just proved my point."
"No." He stepped closer, stopping a few feet away. "I would've torn them up because my wife had been carrying something this huge all by herself."
"You would've stayed because of the baby."
"I would've stayed because I still love you!"
His voice cracked for the first time.
The confession echoed through the house.
Neither of you moved.
Sunghoon looked away, taking a shaky breath before speaking again, this time much quieter.
"Do you really think I've spent these past few weeks sleeping in the guest room because I stopped loving you?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I slept there because every time I looked at you, I was reminded that I'd failed you. I convinced myself that maybe you'd be happier without me."
Your heart clenched.
"I never stopped loving you either," you admitted. "But loving someone isn't always enough when all you do is hurt each other."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
Another long silence settled between you.
It wasn't angry anymore.
It was heartbreaking.
Sunghoon glanced at the phone still sitting on the coffee table before quietly placing it down. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red.
"I missed everything."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The first doctor's appointment."
"You hearing our baby's heartbeat."
"You finding out."
He swallowed hard.
"And I wasn't there."
A fresh wave of guilt crashed over you.
"I didn't want to do it alone."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I was scared."
Your shoulders shook as another sob escaped.
"I was scared that if I told you, I'd never know whether you stayed because you loved me... or because you felt responsible."
Sunghoon closed the distance between you, but he didn't touch you.
Not yet.
"I can't change the mistakes I've already made," he said quietly. "I can't take back the nights I chose work over you or the arguments that pushed us here."
His voice trembled.
"But don't ever believe that our child would be a burden to me."
He paused, fighting back tears of his own.
"Or that loving you was ever an obligation."
Your eyes met his.
For the first time in months, neither of you was pretending to be okay.
There were no walls left.
Just two broken people standing in the middle of the home they'd built together, finally admitting how deeply they'd hurt each other.
The divorce papers were still waiting on the dining table.
Neither of you looked at them.
Not because everything had suddenly been fixed.
But because, for the first time in a very long while, they no longer felt like the only possible ending.
this isn't even 0.1% of what i've been receiving. i can't even show the majority of them because they're so horrifying that tumblr will genuinely flag my ahh 🙏
i will never understand what drives people to spew so much hate and disgust for another person. all over fan FICTION by the way. how immature and sensitive do you have to be to get so pressed about fiction and send hate, slut shaming comments and death/r*pe threats to another person? the terrifying and disturbing type of hate that has been subjected to female writers on here is insane.
i've been getting these for a while now, and i never thought i would address this until one of my other moots told me to. so this is the first and last time, PLEASE STOP SENDING HATE TO THIS EXTENT TO ANYONE. there's a human being, a minor, behind the screen. no I don't give a fuck if you feel angry about something i wrote. scroll past it. i've never made any man hating comments. idk what you're on about 🙏😭
also, my seonghyeon work 'good riddance' is FICTION. it doesn't depict @autumnbellflower 's life. she isn't the one in the fic. i've merely shown her boyfriend's personality through seonghyeon. stop hating on her in the comments.
please be mindful of what you speak for someone. the majority of us are minors here. it's easy to say things like this while being anonymous. if you have such strong opinions come from your real accounts.
Hi guys I wanted to come on here and talk about user @/coshercoer
They are using their platform to sexualize minors on and off of tumblr they also have a tiktok here
Not only are they sexualizing the barely legal adults in the group but also minors who are only 17 along with Louis from lngshot who is freshly 16 years old.
This behavior is disturbing and also ILLEGAL.
It does not matter if you are younger or the same age as them making nsfw content and posting the content to a broad audience gives adults and predators content to consume and get off to. It’s also dehumanizing and harmful.
The boys themselves are often on social media as well do you really want them seeing all this shit about them?
Keep your perverted thoughts to yourself and away from kids.
synopsis: when you make the mistake of telling your best friend that you’ve never reached an orgasm, he makes it his personal mission to make sure you get there.
wc: 7.5k
warnings: park sunghoon x fem!reader, sexual content, mdni, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, blindfold (hello), sensory deprivation, fingering, dry humping, oral f!receiving, lowkey kind of corruption kink, condescending hoon, praise kink, hoon is a secret yearner, pet names (baby, pretty/good/sweet girl, sweetheart), not proofread
roses thoughts… i’m ovulating #sorry
playlist: morning dew - beyoncé // human nature - madonna // cinnamon girl - lana del rey
The party’s been going on so long that the air has turned moist and the alcohol has begun to taste more like water instead of something dangerous.
Yunjins laughing at something next to you, her eyes half lidded and her limbs moving languidly. If it’s from the weed or the sheer gallons of vodka you’re sure she’s consumed tonight you aren’t entirely sure. What you are sure of though, is that you have definitely far surpassed the thin line between tipsy and black out drunk.
The weed makes your thoughts jumble together like some weird jigsaw puzzle, and every word that you manage to punch out takes way more effort then it probably should.
“But, seriously,” Jungwon starts, his words languid and low, “sex is kind of transactional. At least in this day and age.”
Yunjin attempts to smack his arm but instead she misses him completely and her hand lands between the couch cushions. She doesn’t bother moving it.
“That is sooo not true,” she drags out. “Sex is, like, sacred. Your body is a temple and all that bullshit.”
Jungwon laughs. “Maybe for other women, but I’m not sure if your body could be considered sacred anymore, Yunjin.”
She scoffs, her eyebrows furrowing in what might look like offense, but you know deep down she enjoys the easy banter her and Jungwon always seem to have. “Says the one who sticks his dick into anything that has a pulse!”
You are perfectly content to just listen to their conversation, as it would seem is Sunghoon.
You’d met Sunghoon your freshman year of university when you were still a small town girl in a city that felt way too big for you. He’d sat next to you in your freshman econ class and helped you around the city without so much as a whisper of a complaint, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since.
He’s always been the quiet brooding type, even when you’re around your mutual friends, and that’s become something you’ve found yourself finding comfort in more often than not. His presence is a consistent force in your life, and now that you’re nearing graduation and heading into unknown territory, it’s nice to have something so steady in your life.
That’s why you didn’t argue when he threw his arm around your shoulders and insisted you sit next to him. It’s why you didn’t argue when he offered you the blunt despite knowing you always get way too clingy when you’re high.
Sunghoon is your best friend. You trust him, and you know he feels the same way towards you.
You lean back into his arm, continuing to nurse the beer you’d had for the last hour. It makes your head feel warm and fuzzy in all the right ways, especially after whatever the fuck midterms had been. A disaster would be putting it lightly.
Sunghoon glances at you, his lips still enclosed around the blunt. He takes a drag of it, letting the end glow a bright orange before he pulls it away from his lips and offers it to you.
You accept it graciously, letting the smoke fill your lungs until you’re positive they’ll burst. You’ve never really been a big stoner, not like Ni-ki and Jungwon, but when you do let yourself indulge you always enjoy it.
Sunghoon watches when you exhale, his eyes following the cloud that forces its way from your lips and disperses around the room. For a moment, you think he almost looks impressed.
You laugh, your hand reaching out to shove at his chest gently. “What?” You ask.
He blinks, the movement slow, like he’s working overtime to process that you’d said anything at all. “What?” He echoes.
“You’re looking at me weird,” you mumble, dragging your eyes back to Yunjin and Jungwon. They’re still arguing over whether or not sex is transactional or whatever, and Ni-ki is just watching them like he can’t decide if he’s interested or if he wants them to shut up completely.
Sunghoon chuckles, the sound low and deep. You bring your gaze back up to him and watch as his lips curve up into that same lazy smirk he always seems to wear. Sometimes you wonder if that’s just his natural resting face.
“Was I?” He mumbles, choosing to play dumb.
You’re not in the right headspace to argue with him, so instead you just sigh and let yourself sink further into the curve of his arm. His thigh is right against yours, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin lining on your tights. If it was anyone else, you’d probably feel a little self-conscious at being so close, but this is Sunghoon. He’s never shied away from physical touch, and at some point it just became another factor in your friendship.
The sound of your name forces your thoughts about Sunghoon to fade into the background, and when you look up Yunjin is staring at you like you’ve said something shocking. Which is weird, because you don’t remember saying anything at all.
“Huh?” You manage, your eyebrows furrowing as you try to work through the cloud in your mind.
Yunjin rolls her eyes but repeats herself anyway. “Do you think sex is transactional?” She asks before throwing a fiery glare at Jungwon. “Or is Jungwon just a grade A asshole?”
…Sex? She’s asking you about sex?
Usually you wouldn’t mind indulging in her less than ethical questions, especially when you’ve had a few drinks, but this one feels a little personal.
It’s not that you haven’t had sex, you have! Plenty of times actually, with a plethora of different men. Boyfriends, casual hook ups, one night stands – you’ve really done it all.
There’s just one teeny, tiny problem.
You can’t finish.
You used to blame it on the men you were seeing. They clearly had no idea how to please a woman and thus you were the one suffering for it. But then you’d tried to get yourself off with your hand and, well…nothing happened. So then you tried a toy and still – nothing.
It didn’t take you long to realize that it was clearly just something wrong with you. You’d self-diagnosed yourself as one of those unlucky women that simply couldn’t orgasm, and yeah, it sucked, but it was your life. How could you miss something you’d never even had anyway?
And it’s not like the buildup isn’t enjoyable, because it definitely is. It just never goes where you want it to, and you always end up feeling dissatisfied after. So you’d stopped trying completely after yet another failed attempt last year and that had been that.
You hadn't sworn off sex completely, you just stopped actively searching for it. And it was nice to not have to fake reaching your peak with every man that found his way into your bed, but that didn’t make the subtle jealousy you felt whenever Yunjin talked about her experiences disappear completely. It just made it more bearable.
You choose to just shrug, taking another sip from the bright red solo cup in your hand. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask that question.” You snort.
Yunjin raises a brow, genuine confusion washing over her features, before she seems to finally remember. “Ah,” she breathes, slumping back down into her seat. “Right. I forgot.”
Yunjin is the only person you’d confided in about your problem. She was supportive, of course, but she still sometimes told you that she thought it was all in your head. That you had some kind of mental block when it came to orgasming, but you couldn’t help but feel like that was a little silly. Why would your mind keep you from reaching what most women described as the ultimate pleasure? If it was, then that was just plain cruel.
The conversation starts to move on again, but Sunghoon glances at you and then swiftly brings it back around.
“Hold on,” he starts, eyebrows furrowed. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” Yunjin asks.
He pulls his arm away from your shoulders and uses his now free hand to gesture between you and Yunjin. “That,” he insists. “You asked her her thoughts on sex and then just blew past it.”
Yunjin glances at you, meanwhile your cheeks suddenly feel like they're burning. Why does he even care what your thoughts on sex are? It’s a silly question, one that you’ll probably forget anyone even asked in the morning, and yet he’s choosing to focus on the one minute thing you said in the entire debate.
Which wasn’t even anything ground breaking! You just said you wouldn’t be the right person to ask, that was it.
So why is he taking such an interest in it?
“Um,” Yunjin starts, her gaze finding yours before returning to Sunghoon. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t even falter like you’d expected him to. Instead, he leans back and pulls you closer into his side. “Am I not allowed to be worried for my best friend?”
You swallow and attempt to put some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. If anything, he just pulls you even closer. All the way until you’re sure you can taste the remnants of cologne on his clothes and the weed on his breath.
“Sunghoon,” you laugh, the sound coming out more nervous than anything else. “It’s nothing. Don’t get so worked up about it.”
But he doesn’t seem to like that answer either. “So something happened?”
You shake your head. “No, it’s not that–”
“Then what?”
You pause, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. If you had all your inhibitions in check, you probably would’ve resisted telling him in such an open space. Because even though Jungwon and Ni-ki are trying to make it seem like they aren’t listening, you know they are. At least Yunjin doesn’t try to hide her nosiness.
You know that realistically Sunghoon is just worried for you, he is your best friend after all. You’d be worried for him too if he suddenly got weird when the topic of sex got brought up, but still, you wish you were admitting this to him somewhere with a little more privacy.
You lean back into the cushions, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. Sunghoon, always so in tune with your emotions, immediately reaches a hand over to smooth down your hair.
“What is it, sweet girl?” He asks, his voice lowered so that only you can hear him. “You know you can tell me.”
And that’s the thing, you do know. And it should be easy telling him, because you know it’s not like he’ll judge you. If anything, he’ll probably be more sympathetic towards you then Yunjin is.
But, still. There’s something about telling him that makes shame burn deep in your cheekbones.
You shrug, your fingers toying with the edge of your skirt. “It’s embarrassing.”
He grins, all teeth and crinkled eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re something he has to handle with care. Not like you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions when it comes to her sex life – or lack of one.
“Nothing about you is embarrassing.”
That’s what finally breaks you. You sigh, words slightly jumbled together and voice so quiet you’re shocked he can even hear you. “I can’t,” you gesture with your hand lazily. “You know. Finish, or whatever."
He blinks. One moment passes, and then two. You’re on the verge of thinking you’ve somehow made him uncomfortable when suddenly he’s laughing like you’ve said something hilarious. “What?”
Yunjin tosses a pillow at him, but he just lets it hit him square in the chest and doesn’t spare her a glance. “It’s not funny, Sunghoon!” She defends. “It’s a serious condition.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t have time to focus on her because Sunghoon is quickly invading your senses again. “I’m not making fun of you, baby,” he mumbles, lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s just…cute. That’s all.”
It most definitely is not cute. It’s humiliating, if anything. The one thing you’re supposed to be able to count on your body to do for you, it refuses to. What kind of woman can’t even orgasm?
“No, it's not,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “It’s weird.”
Sunghoon doesn’t say anything to that, but you can tell something in his expression has shifted. He’s eyeing you now like you’re some kind of anomaly he wants to figure out. Like your condition is something that’s piqued his curiosity.
You aren’t entirely sure how you feel about that.
The night continues easily – everybody's too drunk or high to focus on whatever little blip it was you’d had. Even you forget about it after another round of drinks.
But Sunghoon doesn’t. He can’t.
Even when he goes to bed that night, every time he closes his eyes all he can see is you. His pretty little best friend. Sexually frustrated and somehow thinking there's something wrong with you.
To Sunghoon, that’s utterly absurd. Clearly these men you’ve been with don’t know how to handle you, and that’s not your fault! No, what you need is someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who will actually listen to what your body needs and doesn’t just chase his own pleasure.
What you need is…him.
And Sunghoon is a good best friend. He always has been. All he’d be doing is helping you, really. Just a friend helping out a friend.
Nothing more, nothing less.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖༄
The next week passes by just like it normally does. You go to class and try not to think about the fact that you definitely bombed your exams. Everytime you walk into a lecture, fear creeps up your spine at the thought of your teacher handing over a test with your name on it.
Sunghoon is there to help you through the anxiety though. He comes to your dorm every night with a bag of nerds gummy clusters and his laptop.
You always start the night exactly how you plan to. Sunghoon helps you study, you both pretend to give a fuck for an hour or two, and then you end up side by side in your bed watching reruns of your favorite sitcom. It’s a simple routine that you’ve come to cherish, one that you don’t even remember starting. It honestly felt like one day he’d started showing up and then he just…never stopped.
“You know,” you mumble, popping another cluster into your mouth. “I think we’ve watched this show so many times we could probably recite the whole thing.”
Sunghoon shrugs, his glasses hanging off of the bridge of his nose. He reaches up and pushes them back into place without a second thought. “Modern Family is a classic.”
You hum. Modern Family is a classic. “Yeah, true.”
You both lull into silence again after that, your eyes following the screen as one of the characters does something stupid. It makes you laugh despite the fact that you know it’s coming. Sunghoon lets out a huff of breath too, but he seems on edge.
His hand keeps fisting the sheet until his knuckles turn white, and he only does that when something's bothering him. He doesn’t even seem to be paying as much attention to the show as he usually does.
It’s like his thoughts keep wandering and he’s trying to make the stop.
It worries you. The last time you’d seen Sunghoon this anxious was sophomore year, right before he broke up with his girlfriend. He never told you why he did, just that something about the relationship didn’t feel right.
But, last you checked, he doesn’t have any girlfriends he’s wanting to break up with right now, which means something else is bothering him.
You nudge his shoulder gently, your eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” You ask.
He blinks, his eyes glued to the laptop before they slowly slide over to you. “Hm?”
You huff out a laugh. “I said what’s wrong? You’ve been acting off ever since we turned the show on. Did something happen?”
You watch as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. He doesn’t move his gaze from yours, but for some reason you wish he had. He’s looking at you so intensely, eyes searching yours like they hold the answer to the meaning of life.
Sunghoon gets like this sometimes. It’s almost like he’s…holding something back. And whenever you question him on it, he usually just pats your arm and tells you not to worry your pretty little head about it. You stopped questioning it a long time ago.
But he doesn’t do that tonight. Instead, he lets his tongue drag over his lips, and you can’t help the way your eyes flicker down to the movement.
You’re not blind. You know your best friend is ridiculously handsome. You know plenty of girls have gotten jealous and wished that it were them in your place. But your relationship with Sunghoon isn’t like that, he’s just your friend.
Besides, even if you did want him like that, you’d never want to risk your friendship with him.
His lip's part for a moment, and then close, and then part again. “I…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and then starts again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
You raise a brow. When did you say something? You try to rack your brain, but you come up empty. You can’t recall anything you said that would be worth bringing it up again.
“Did I say something?”
His lips break out into a small smile, the curve threatening to reveal the tip of his fangs. “Do you not remember?"
You try to think back to anything you might’ve said, but still, you come up blank. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, expression scrunched in confusion. “Should I?”
Sunghoon is silent at that. He just looks at you, looks back down at his hands, and then straightens himself up so suddenly he feels like he’s towering over you in bed.
“If you don’t remember,” he murmurs, “then I’ll remind you.”
He leans on the tiniest bit closer, and suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked from your lungs. You and Sunghoon have been close plenty of times before, but this feels different. This feels almost…intimate.
You swallow, your eyes widening the tiniest bit as you attempt to scoot closer to the headboard. “Hoon…”
“You told me,” he starts, his voice low in that sultry kind of way. “That you’ve never had an orgasm. That you can’t, actually.”
The memory dawns on you then. The party, the alcohol, the weed. You’d somehow unknowingly buried it all the way to the back of your mind without even realizing, and now you’re dealing with the consequences of your big mouth.
You wince. It’s almost embarrassing to hear the words coming out of Sunghoons mouth. Even though you know it’s true, that doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
“Oh,” you mumble. “I did?”
“You did.”
You clear your throat and attempt to look at least a little unbothered. “Well, it’s true so…you don’t need to bring it up again. It’s already embarrassing enough having my best friend know there’s clearly something wrong with me.”
His eyebrows furrow, and for a split second, he almost looks angry. Like the thought of you thinking there’s something wrong with you enrages him.
“Embarrassing?” He scoffs. “It’s not embarrassing. And there’s nothing wrong with you. You just haven’t been with the right kind of guys.”
You probably would’ve agreed with him if you hadn’t also attempted to get yourself there. You literally just cannot do it. It’s not the guys you’re with or anything like that, it’s just you.
“But that’s the thing!” You insist. Any shyness you might’ve had towards the topic before suddenly disappears. “It’s not just the guys. I can’t…I can’t finish on my own either.”
For what it’s worth, that looks like it genuinely makes Sunghoon pause. His eyes widen the tiniest fraction, his movements pausing before he resumes them.
“You can’t…” He glances down to your hands in your lap.
You roll your eyes, cheeks practically blistering. You’re positive your ears are the same color as a tomato at this point. “No, I can’t. It’s whatever. Can we just finish the show?”
But Sunghoon doesn’t back off. Instead, he reaches behind him and shuts the laptop completely, cutting off whatever noise it was making. He pushes it off of the bed, not even flinching when it clatters violently onto the floor.
“So, let me get this straight,” he starts. You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve never had an orgasm? Like, ever?”
He knows you said at the party that you can’t finish, but he assumed you meant with other guys. Not that you can’t finish at all.
“Yep,” you say, popping the P. Your arms cross over your chest in frustration. You don’t understand why he won’t just let the topic go. Yunjin doesn’t even hound you this much about it! “I’m one of the only girls in the world who can’t finish. Are you done making fun of me now?”
He leans back slightly, his pupils suddenly dilated and his tongue sweeping over his teeth. The tension in the air builds quickly, until it feels like you’re definitely going to choke on it.
Slowly, Sunghoon crawls over until he’s seated right in front of you. He leans back on his heels, studying your face like you’re some kind of expensive art piece. Usually, you don’t mind when he looks at you. In fact, you bask in it. But this feels different. This feels almost hungry.
“You think that there’s something wrong with you?” He asks, voice hushed. Deep.
You swallow, suddenly feeling silly for even admitting that to him. But what other explanation is there outside of you being biologically engineered differently than how you were supposed to? Maybe your mother drank a cup of coffee when she was pregnant and now you’re being forced to suffer for it.
You shrug. “What other explanation is there?”
He brings a hand up to your calf, the tips of his fingers brushing over the skin lightly. The touch feels like ice against your warm skin, and you can’t help the way your breath nearly catches in your throat.
He doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring at him. At the curve of his jaw. The way his bangs fall over his forehead like he styled them to be that perfect. At the freckles dotting his soft skin.
You know your best friend is attractive. You’ve always known.
But this…there’s something about it now that makes your stomach twist with arousal.
His fingers pause at the bottom of your knee, his thumb rubbing soft circles into it. You’re suddenly thankful that you took the time to shave last night.
He shifts, leaning forward just enough that you can smell his cologne. “I think you just…haven’t listened to what your body wants. To what it needs.”
You scoff lightly, but it sounds forced. Honestly, you’re too focused on how his touch feels against your skin to even think about whatever it is he’s saying to you.
“I think I would know what I need.”
He shrugs, tongue flickering out to wet his lips before it slides back into his mouth. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
You pull your legs out of his grip and hug them towards your chest. He doesn’t look shocked when you do it — he just lets his hand land on the bed and looks up at you.
“Why are you bringing this up?” You ask. You hate that you can hear the way your voice sounds so quiet. Shy. You’ve never felt shy around Sunghoon.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Just lets his gaze trail from your eyes down to your chest, to the curve of your hip and all the way back up to the plump of your lips.
He scoots closer slowly, and suddenly his chest is right against your calves. Breathing suddenly feels difficult – like a task instead of something you just do on autopilot. His very presence feels mind consuming.
He’s hesitant for only a moment, something flashing in his eyes, and then he’s tossing it out the window and speaking so clearly you’d almost think there were other people in the room.
“I want to help you.”
You blink. “Help me?”
“Yeah.” He says easily, like those five words hadn’t just changed the trajectory of your friendship in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? Best friends help each other.”
Your cheeks flush at the implication. There’s a line between helping your friend and doing something like that for them. This isn’t just him letting you borrow his notes, this is unexplored territory. This is your body, your pleasure – all of it in his hands.
You’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t excite you.
But Sunghoon is your best friend, you can’t do that with him. It’d be wrong, and it’d change your relationship completely. You don’t know if you’d ever even be able to come back from something like that. The idea in general sounds good, even if you’re positive he’s not going to change anything about your condition, but the consequences are too great. You can’t do it. You can’t.
Right?
“What?” You splutter, a nervous laugh forcing itself from your throat. “I’m sorry, are you telling me you want to help me,” you clear your throat, your voice lowering into a hushed whisper, “...orgasm?”
Sunghoon smirks, his canines on full display like he’s some type of predator. “Yeah, I am.”
You blanch, your eyes wide as you stare at him like he’s grown two heads. At this point, you think an extra extremity would probably be less shocking than the words coming out of his mouth.
“Absolutely not,” you say, arms forming an X across your chest. “That’s…I can’t do that with you. It would change too much. Besides, I already told you, I physically cannot do it. I really doubt you’re going to be the one to change that.”
Sunghoon leans back on his hands, his smirk widening just a fraction. Like he’s taking your words as some kind of challenge. It scares you and makes heat swirl in your abdomen just the same.
“So, you're scared?” He asks, tone light and teasing, but there’s an underlying smoothness to it that makes a chill crawl up your spine. “You’re scared that I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I’m not scared.” You scoff.
Sunghoon just shrugs. “You are, and that’s okay. If you want to go the rest of your life without having an orgasm, then that’s your prerogative."
Your eyes narrow at that. You know he’s just trying to rile you up to get what he wants, but you can’t help falling for it anyway. You aren’t scared of what he’ll show you, you just don’t want to mess up your friendship for something you’re positive isn’t possible. It doesn’t matter how big his fucking ego is.
“I’m not scared,” you repeat. “I just know that you aren't going to miraculously be the guy that suddenly helps me finish.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes.”
His eyes bore into yours – challenging you. Teasing you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how this is going to play out, even if you haven’t fully caught up to it.
He has to bite his cheek to keep his smile from getting any bigger. “Prove it then.”
“What?”
He leans forward again, his hands coming up to rest at the top of your knees. Slowly, he forces them apart and makes space for himself between your legs. He doesn’t move into it, just leaves it there like an unspoken promise. “If you really think I’m just going to end up like every other guy, then prove it to me. Prove me wrong.”
You know what he’s doing. You know he knows how competitive you can get. He’s trying to push you into the direction he wants, to mold you like clay into his hands. And you don’t want to fall for it, you really don’t.
But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you – all smug and so sure of himself. You’ve heard the rumors around campus, you know Sunghoons never shied away from his experience in the bedroom, but experience doesn’t matter for you. It’s just your biology.
And if he wants you to prove him wrong so fucking badly, then you will.
You don’t remember surging forward to kiss him – not until your teeth clash and he lets out the smallest sigh of approval. His hands are everywhere immediately – gripping the flesh of your hip, tracing up the line of your spine.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting for it, like he’s a man starving and you’ve depraved him from any sort of substance. His tongue slides into your mouth easily, and you let out the slightest whine at the feeling.
He groans, his eyes squeezing together tightly. For a moment, you almost think he’s in pain.
“Fuck, that’s right,” he mumbles against your lips. “Prove it to me, baby.”
You kiss him harder, saliva beginning to pool at the corners of your lips. Sunghoon licks it up without a complaint. In fact, you think he’d thank you for it if he could.
His hands under your shirt and onto your hips, rubbing circles into your skin, and then he’s dragging you onto his lap without breaking away from the kiss.
You gasp when you feel his bulge through his sweatpants, the imprint pressing right against your folds. He’s big, you can tell that without even seeing it. The thought of your best friend carrying that around makes butterflies fly somewhere in your stomach.
Sunghoon kisses you deeper, his tongue licking into your mouth. Your mind is spinning from the sensation, and he’s barely touched you outside of kissing. It makes you feel like you’re in high school all over again.
Most men don’t waste their time kissing you like this. They just give you a few pecks and then get right to work using you to chase their own high. It’s become something you’ve learned to expect. But Sunghoon is kissing you like it’s the main event – like he’s been waiting his entire life to do it.
Slowly, he uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his cock, and instant pleasure bursts low in your tummy. The fabric between you does little to dull the feeling of his tip nudging against your clit – if anything, it almost makes it all the more intimate.
“Fuck,” you sigh out, your hands gripping his shirt like you’re trying to ground yourself.
He lets out a chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Hm?” He hums, moving from your lips to your jaw. “You say something, Sweetheart?”
You bite on your lip to keep yourself from spitting some kind of insult at him. Of course he’s enjoying watching you fall apart from a few measly kisses. But that doesn’t mean anything. You still haven’t cum, and you’re positive you aren’t going to.
“Shut up,” you mumble. Your hands slide up from his chest to his hair, gripping his black locks as he sucks at the sensitive skin around your neck.
You can feel him smile against your skin, but he doesn't say anything else about it. Instead, he nips gently at your collarbone and then basks in the whimper it pulls from you.
His hips push up into yours again, and the feeling is enough to force your lips to part in pleasure. Hesitantly, you begin to grind into him on your own, your movements erratic compared to the preciseness of his thrusts.
He clicks his tongue, tightening his grip and forcing your hips to still. You immediately whine – completely forgetting that you’re supposed to be embarrassed – but he just shakes his head.
“Is that what you think pleasure is?” He asks, letting his fingertips drag across the bare skin of your stomach. “No wonder you can’t cum.”
You furrow your brows. You have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” You murmur, the word breathless and whiny. If the entire point of this is to bring you to your peak, you don’t understand why he’s forcing you to stop.
He licks his lips, and you can’t help but notice how red and raw they are. Completely kiss-bitten. It makes you proud that he looks just as wrecked as you’re sure you do.
“You’re not letting yourself get any actual build up,” he explains, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re chasing something that hasn’t even gotten the chance to form yet.”
You part your lips to respond, maybe fight back, but nothing comes out. Because that’s the closest thing you’ve ever got to an explanation as to why you can’t seem to do something everybody else can.
You swallow, your posture turning into a slight slouch. “I don’t understand.” You admit quietly.
You’re half expecting him to judge you – maybe laugh. It’s definitely something other men would do. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pecks you softly on the nose and gently lays you down until your back is flat against the bed.
“You’re thinking too much,” he mumbles, softly tapping your forehead.
You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know how to not think about it without sounding like a complete loser. But, then you remember that this is your best friend. And if tonight has shown you anything, it’s that he won’t judge you. You could say the dumbest thing and he would still look at you like you mean something to him.
“I don’t know how to stop.” You admit shakily, the words feeling like a losing battle as they come out.
But they seem to catch Sunghoon off guard. He’s hovering above you, eyes staring into yours with so much emotion you nearly choke on it.
This is different from the teasing Sunghoon you’d seen earlier. This Sunghoon genuinely wants to help you. He wants you to be able to experience something as trivial as an orgasm just to help you feel normal.
This Sunghoon is your best friend.
He kisses you again, but this time it’s slower. Deeper, somehow. This time it feels like he’s kissing you just because he can, and for some reason, you like that.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, his breath ghosting against your wet lips.
You nod at him without a second thought.
He crawls off of you, and the loss of his body is enough to force a breathless whine from your throat. He just shushes you and disappears out of your room. He’s been in your home enough times to know where everything is, but it still leaves you feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of him looking around your apartment without you. You cleaned yesterday, right? You really hope so.
When he reemerges, he’s holding something long and black. It dangles from his fingers clearly, and the closer you look you realize it’s a piece of black cloth.
“Where’d you find that?” You ask. You probably should be asking what he plans to do with it, but your brain is having trouble processing actual thoughts right now.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he climbs back into bed with you, and ever so carefully presents the fabric to you.
“You said you don’t know how to turn your brain off, right?” He mumbles, bringing a hand to your thigh. His fingertips ghost over the skin, bringing goosebumps in their wake. “Maybe…Maybe this will help.”
You still aren’t understanding, and he seems to be able to tell by the look of genuine confusion on your face. He chuckles and scoots closer, but this time it seems his confidence has faded the tiniest bit. He looks almost nervous, like he’s riding a bike without training wheels for the first time.
“I don’t get it.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. “How is a piece of fabric going to help?”
He balls up the fabric, eyes lingering on it before he finds your gaze again. “Just let me try something?” He asks.
Part of you is screaming at you to say no. You have no idea what’s going through his mind or what strange fantasy he’s planning to play out with you, and you’re terrified to find out.
But the other part of you…the smaller, braver part, wants you to say fuck it. You’ve already come this far with him, what’s a little more push? Besides, what could it hurt?
Slowly, your head nods up and down. Sunghoon, for what it's worth, doesn’t look smug or happy. He just swallows, his adams apple bobbing as he does, and cautiously makes his way so he’s chest to chest with you.
You watch as he brings the piece of fabric towards your head, and then suddenly your vision is cut off completely. You let out a breath of air as he ties the fabric at the back of your skull gently, his fingers working carefully to make sure he doesn’t catch any of your hair.
The vulnerability makes your core ache something awful. The thought of not being able to see him, not being able to know what his next move is…it’s exhilarating.
Your hands clench your sheets from anticipation, knuckles going a vivid white.
You hear Sunghoon chuckle, the sound low and breathy, and then he’s moving somewhere you can’t see. You can feel his hands on your thighs still, like he’s trying to keep you grounded. To reassure you that he’s still here. That he’s not leaving.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs. You feel his hand slowly slide up until he’s reaching the hem of your shorts. He doesn't go under it – just keeps it there. Like he’s teasing you.
You feel yourself flush. “Don’t say things like that.”
His fingers slide up the fabric until he reaches the waistband, and then slowly he slips his fingertips under it and tugs. “Why?” He asks. You can practically feel the smirk that you’re sure is radiating from him. “It’s true.”
You just let out a breath, too focused on the feeling of him dragging your shorts and underwear down the soft skin of your legs. You hear him toss them aside somewhere, and then the room goes very still.
You swallow uncomfortably, legs closing on instinct. You hate that you can’t see him or even try to guess what he’s thinking. Is he disappointed? Does he not want to do this anymore?
Your hands reach for the blindfold to pull it down, but a sudden grip on your wrist stops you.
“Don’t.” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and breathy.
You freeze, arousal begins to pool in your core, and you listen to him. Your hands fall back to your sides and leave you encased in darkness and anticipation.
Ever so slowly, you hear him move. His hands find your knees and push them apart, exposing your glistening folds to him, and you feel him settle between your thighs.
“Poor baby,” he teases, leaving featherlight kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Never been taken care of properly, huh? No wonder this pretty little pussy is practically dripping for me.” He runs the tip of his finger over your slit, and you shiver at the contact.
“Hoon,” you pant, trying to ignore that it sounds more like a beg than anything else. “Just–Just hurry up and touch me so we can get this over with.”
He has the audacity to chuckle, but makes no move to help subside the growing ache in your stomach. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he thinks this entire thing is funny.
“So impatient,” he says, clicking his tongue as he does. “This is why you’ve never cum, princess. You’re rushing things. How’s your pretty pussy supposed to finish if you never let her start in the first place?”
You don’t have a reply for that. If anything, it just irritates you that he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. He totally doesn’t, but still. It’s annoying that he thinks he knows more about your body than you do.
Slowly, he begins to spread your lips, his thumb spreading your arousal. The pad of it catches on your clit for just a split second, but the jolt of pleasure it gives you is enough to force a gasp out of your throat.
He pulls back for just a moment, before finally his mouth is on you fully, licking a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit. Your back arches without warning, a moan pushing its way from your lungs. The suddenness of it forces your brain to go on temporary pause, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his mouth.
He licks you like a man starved, grunts of pleasure falling from his lips as if he's the one being pleasured. “There you go, baby,” he mumbles against you, the noise drowned out by the wet sounds of your sopping pussy. “Feels good, hm?”
You just moan in response, unable to form any actual thoughts. Suddenly you’re almost grateful for the blindfold, because you aren’t sure you’d be able to handle seeing him in between your legs – making a home for himself there as if he always knew he’d end up there.
His hand grips your hip suddenly, fingers digging into the plush skin so hard you’re sure there’ll be marks in the morning. “Tell me,” he gasps, punctuating it by a tug at your clit. “Tell me exactly how good it feels.”
“So–So good,” you manage. “Fuck, it’s good.”
You’ve had men go down on you before, but never like this. Never like it was something they were doing for their own pleasure and not just because they felt obligated.
“I know it is, pretty girl.” He says. You feel his free hand slowly run up your calf and your inner thigh, before his finger is prodding at your entrance and pushing through the tight ring of muscle.
Your head goes fuzzy, hips lifting off the bed and chasing the heat of his mouth and the thrusts of his finger. It’s an overwhelming sensation, one that you’ve never really experienced before. And for one fleeting moment, you think that Sunghoon might have just done the thing he set out to do.
Prove you wrong.
“Fuck,” you whine, your hand searching blindly for his in an attempt to slow him down. “Hoon, slow down–”
He doesn’t listen. Instead, he forces another finger into your hole, stretching you out deliciously and now giving you a moment to breathe.
“I know, baby, I know,” he mumbles, giving your clit another harsh suck. “It’s gonna feel real good here soon.”
Slowly, the coil in your stomach builds and builds. Usually, this would be when you stop, accidentally edging yourself and thinking it was because you just couldn’t orgasm like a normal woman can. But Sunghoon doesn’t. Instead, he works you through it like there’s no place you’d rather be.
You gasp, reaching up and tugging the blindfold off. It falls to the side slowly, and when you look down you see Sunghoon between your legs, his cock in his hand and jerking himself off with slow, languid strokes.
It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a guy do.
“Shit, I’m gonna–oh, fuck–”
Sunghoon doesn’t go faster or harder, he just keeps the same pace, until finally you’re spilling over and releasing all over his face, your hole spasming against his fingers. He drinks your release like it’s his own personal ambrosia, groaning through it.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, voice raising in pitch. “Cum all over my face.”
He finishes shortly after you with a small cry, his cum painting your sheets and his hand a milky white.
When it’s over, you're panting like a dog in heat, thighs twitching and sweat beading across your forehead. You don’t even know what to do or say. Your best friend just made you finish for the first time after you’d spent years thinking it just wasn't possible for you. And not only did he bring you to orgasm, he did it without even using his fucking dick.
You could seriously kill him.
Slowly, he climbs up next to you, his own chest heaving from his own orgasm.
“So?” He murmurs.
You glare at him. “Don’t say it.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” But the smirk on his face says otherwise.
You’re having a lot of thoughts right now. Mostly that you can’t believe you just let your best friend eat you out.
But mostly that you can’t wait for him to do it again.
You took a four-month hiatus to save your career after your breakup with Riki caused a huge scandal. When you finally return, the company has the two of you record a dance video together.
pairing: idol!exbf!riki x idol!reader ⭑
contains: fluff skinship kissing light angst cyber bullying rumors hate comments kpop scandal breakup arguing riki's a flirt 🎧
⊹
@ idolsdaily
🚨 ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught fighting outside HYBE.
The two idols were seen having a heated argument outside the HYBE building today before Y/n appeared to push Ni-ki in the chest. Witnesses say the argument lasted several minutes before they walked away separately.
[🎥 Video attached]
You take a deep breath before pushing open the door of the practice room.
Music hums quietly from the speakers, Riki's phone is charging in the corner, water bottles are scattered across the floor. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Riki looks up.
His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor as he walks straight toward you. One hand drags through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, bracelets sliding down his wrist and clinking softly with every step.
He's dressed exactly how you'd expect him to be, oversized sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a black hoodie with the zipper halfway down over a white tank top, silver jewellery around his neck, on his wrists and in his ears.
A smile spreads across his face before he's even reached you.
"There she is."
Without thinking twice, he opens his arms for a hug.
You hesitate for half a second. Then you step forward just enough to give him a quick side hug, one arm patting his back once before immediately pulling away.
"Hi."
The smile leaves his face almost as quickly as it came.
"...Hey."
You don't linger, you walk past him toward the corner of the room where his black duffel bag is already thrown on the floor. You quietly set yours beside it, unzip it to grab your water bottle, then sit down on the floor, keeping a comfortable amount of distance between the chair he was on and yourself.
Riki slowly walks back too. He drops into the chair with a sigh, legs spread, leaning back so far it almost looks ridiculous. One arm hangs over the backrest while the other absentmindedly taps against his thigh.
The silence feels unfamiliar, there used to be a time when the two of you couldn't stop talking. Now even finding the first sentence feels awkward.
He clears his throat. "So..."
His eyes flick toward you. "How've you been?"
You look up from unscrewing your water bottle. "Good."
"...Good?"
"Yeah ...You?"
"I'm alright."
—
Four months ago, this room would've sounded completely different.
You would've stolen his chair before he got to it. He would've complained while trying to pull you onto his lap anyway. You would've argued over which song to warm up with, flirted your way through practice, shared snacks during breaks, and left to his dorm after.
You had dated for a year.
A year full of arguments about stupid things.
Who forgot to text back, who cancelled plans because of practice, who was too lazy, who didn't listen. The little fights started happening so much they stopped feeling little.
When you finally broke up with him, the company immediately stepped in.
"Due to increasingly busy schedules, the idols have decided to end their relationship by mutual agreement and focus on their personal careers.”
It would've worked if nobody had seen the argument.
Someone had filmed the two of you outside the HYBE building after a rehearsal. The video only lasted twelve seconds, but it changed everything.
You raising your voice, Riki slamming the door in frustration. You giving his chest one small shove to get past him. It wasn't violent, it barely moved him.
But online, rumours and theories spread faster than ever.
"She hit him!"
"He's controlling."
"Ew they're so toxic."
“Get rid of both of them!”
"Enhypen and Replay definitely hate each other."
Every livestream they’d bring it up. Every airport appearance they’d call you out.
Your anxiety got so bad you stopped sleeping.
Eventually, you were completely removed from the schedules by the company. Mostly for your mental health, but it was also to let the scandal die before it dragged down not only you, but Replay, Enhypen, and HYBE itself.
—
For Riki, the past four months had been strange.
Not nearly as hard as they were for you, but nowhere near as easy as they should've been either.
The first few weeks after the breakup, he was just angry. Angry that you'd broken up with him. Angry that one stupid argument had somehow turned into the biggest scandal either of your groups had ever dealt with. Angry that everything had spiraled over something that should've stayed between the two of you.
So he did what every stubborn twenty-year-old guy does when his heart gets broken.
He blocked you. Your number, your private Instagram, he blocked Replay on Spotify and removed you from all your shared playlists. Anything that had your name attached to it disappeared from his phone within minutes.
If someone mentioned your group backstage, he'd quietly leave the conversation. Whenever your name somehow came up during interviews or variety content, he'd pretend not to hear it.
He was convinced the easiest way to get over you was to act like you didn't exist.
It didn't work.
Then the company announced your hiatus.
At first he thought it'd only be for a week or two, maybe until things calmed down online. But you disappeared completely.
During those long, quiet months, his anger slowly started fading. Because the more he replayed that argument in his head, the more he realized he couldn't keep blaming only you.
Yeah, you pushed his chest. Barely.
But he was the one who kept following you outside, he was the one who wouldn't let the argument end. He kept provoking you, throwing little comments your way because he was frustrated and wanted the last word.
Neither of you had noticed someone recording. Neither of you wanted the internet to twist twelve seconds into an entire theory.
It wasn't your fault that someone happened to have their phone pointed at you two. And it definitely wasn't your fault that millions of people decided they knew exactly what your relationship had was like.
The anger turned into guilt quickly. Especially every time he made the mistake of opening comments.
"Kick Y/N out of Replay."
"She pushed him. I don't care if it was 'lightly.'"
"Poor Ni-ki deserves better."
"She's only crying because she got caught."
"Hope her hiatus becomes permanent."
"Blink twice if HYBE is forcing you to defend her."
He hated reading it. One afternoon he'd gotten so frustrated that he marched straight to his manager.
"People need to stop this."
The manager looked up from his laptop. "We're handling it."
"No, you're not. She barely touched me."
"We know."
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because responding will only make the situation bigger."
His jaw clenched. "They're tearing her apart."
"We understand."
The room fell quiet, the manager sighed. "Ni-ki."
He already knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next.
"Do not say anything publicly. Not on Weverse. Not on live. Not during interviews. Nowhere."
He stared at him in disbelief. "She's getting hated every single day."
"And if you speak up, people will start talking again."
"But she doesn't deserve—"
"I know. But the best thing you can do for y/n right now... is let the situation die."
He hated that answer. He wanted to tell everyone that you'd never hurt him and that the fight had been both of your faults.
But all he could do was wait. Wait for the hate to die down, or for the day he'd finally get to see you again, he even wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
Finally, around the third month, something slowly started to change.
People got bored. New scandals happened, new rumors started, people actually began looking back at the original clip instead of just repeating what everyone else had been saying. The comments slowly became less hateful.
"That's the push everyone's talking about? She literally barely touched him."
"We don't even know what happened before."
"Ni-ki was yelling at her too."
"This was obviously just a couple arguing. Why is everyone acting like she's some criminal?
"Y'all ruined a girl's career over THIS?"
Edits started appearing, slowing the video down, circling details people hadn't noticed before.
"Ni-ki’s still walking towards her after she pushes him."
"She looks more upset than angry."
"We judged Y/N way too quickly."
"Bring her back already."
"She served a four month hiatus over a tiny shove??"
"Free Y/N."
"Replay doesn't feel complete without her. We miss our main dancer :("
The company went back and forth behind closed doors.
Managers from met with Riki several times to discuss how contact between you and him should go if you came back.
Emails were constantly being exchanged with Replay’s management. Rules were made. No interviews about the breakup, no public interaction unless approved, no mentioning the scandal. No dating rumors. Just move on.
Four months of no performances, no interviews, no seeing Riki.
And now, only a week after your return, management had decided the best possible way to prove to the public that there were no hard feelings… was to lock the two of you in a dance practice room and have you film a dance collaboration.
"Show the public you two are fine."
—
You walk over to one side of the mirrored wall, setting your phone and water bottle on the floor before sitting down to stretch. One leg folded underneath you while the other extends out, your fingertips reaching toward your shoe.
Then Riki clears his throat. He isn’t looking at you anymore, his elbows rest on his knees as he stares at the floor.
"...I'm really sorry about everything. You didn't deserve any of th-“
You stop stretching for a second and cut him off.
"Don't worry about it."
He looks up. “I’m serious y/n… I wish we h-”
You offer him a small smile. "I'm back now. I'm fine."
"...Mhm." That’s all he manages to say. "Okay."
The silence immediately returns and it feels painfully awkward, so you decide to fill it.
"You changed your hair."
He instinctively runs a hand through it, the bracelets around his wrist softly clinking together.
"Oh." A small grin appeared. "Yeah."
The last time you saw him it was long and blonde, now its shorter and darker, kind of brown-ish.
He ruffles it again before looking back at you and his smile becomes a little more nervous.
"You like it?"
You look at him for a second. Then simply shrug one shoulder and give him a small nod, nothing too much.
"...Yeah."
He smiles. "Thank you."
Before the conversation could awkwardly die again, you push yourself off the floor, dust off your sweatpants and walk towards the center of the practice room. You glance at the huge mirror in front of you before looking over your shoulder at him.
You clapped your hands together once.
"Shall we start?"
The first hour of practice was very quiet. The only thing filling the room was the song over and over. The same thirty seconds replayed until you got every single step perfect.
Neither of you talked unless it was necessary.
"Five, six, seven, eight."
"Again."
"You were half a count late."
"My bad."
"Let's go."
That was it. Just mirrors, sweat, music and counting.
The choreography itself wasn't difficult, it was just precise. Every step had to land at exactly the same moment. You were both main dancers for a reason.
After almost an hour, Riki suddenly stops moving.
"Nah..."
He exhales sharply, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "It's hot as hell in here."
He walks toward the chair in the corner. His hoodie comes off in one smooth motion before he throws it over the backrest, leaving only the black tank top underneath. Silver chains rest against his collarbones, his hair already sticking slightly to his forehead from sweat.
He walks over to the air conditioning unit on the wall and presses the temperature down a few degrees.
"There." He sighed in satisfaction. "Way better."
Walking back toward the speaker, he presses play again and looks at you through the mirror.
"Ready?"
You nod and he counts. "Five... six... seven... eight."
You both move at the exact same time. Your bodies slip into the choreography automatically. Muscle memory, years of training.
You catch your own reflection, then his. Your eyes stay there longer than they should.
It feels strange. Four months without seeing each other, pure silence, convincing yourself everything between you had changed.
Yet somehow, the moment the music starts, your bodies still move together like they always had. Every turn and step matched. The realization made something tighten in your chest.
You miss a count, your eyes still on his reflection instead of your own.
"...Wait."
You stop dancing.
"Can we stop for a sec?"
Riki immediately reaches over and pauses the music.
"What happened?"
You rub the back of your neck.
"This part..." You look at your feet. "I can't get the footwork right."
He looked down for a second before nodding.
"Oh. It's..."
He steps into position and demonstrates it slowly.
"This foot first. And then your weight goes here."
He repeats it again.
"You keep putting your weight on the wrong leg."
You watch carefully. "Oh..."
"See?"
He does it one last time. "It's easier if you don't think about your upper body yet."
You copy him. "...Like this?"
"Almost."
He steps closer and points at your foot. “No, this one.”
You adjust it.
"Yeah." He smiled. "That's it."
“Okay.” You laughed quietly. “Thank you.”
He nods and walks back to his spot.
"Again?"
The music starts. This time you made it a little further. Then—
"Wait. Sorry." You frowned. "Again."
Riki didn't complain. "Okay."
You got through the first half, then stumbled.
"...Stop for a sec."
Click. The music stops.
"My bad."
Again, and again, and again. By the fifth restart, you let out a frustrated groan.
"Can we do it one more time?"
Riki clicks his tongue. "Y/N. You were fine."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I messed up."
"It wasn't noticeable."
"It was to me."
He sighed through his nose. "Just keep going."
"We're filming this."
"I know."
"So I want it right."
"It is right."
You roll your eyes before walking straight past him towards the speaker and stop the music.
Riki closes his eyes for a second, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing the back of his neck.
"...Seriously?"
"I wanna try again."
He looks at you for a long second before letting out another sigh.
"Y/N."
You don't look at him. He lets out a small sigh. "You're stressing yourself out too much."
Your hand stays on the speaker, waiting for him to continue.
"It's just a dance challenge."
The words hit a nerve instantly. You slowly turn around.
"…To you, maybe."
Riki frowns.
You laugh once. "To you, it's just a dance challenge."
"For me?" You gesture around the practice room. "This is my first appearance after disappearing for months. My first time people are gonna see me again."
You shake your head. "If I mess this up once, they'll tear me apart again. They'll say I lost my skills, and that I shouldn't have come back."
You look him straight in the eyes.
"So no, it’s not just a dance challenge. I have to do this perfectly."
Then you quietly add,
"And it doesn't exactly help that they paired me up with you."
His eyebrows pull together immediately.
"...What's that supposed to mean?"
You scoff. "Come on, seriously? You wanna act like nothing happened?"
His jaw tightens. "Oh, i’m not the one acting, y/n."
"No?"
"No." He takes a step closer. "You're the one acting. And a great fucking actress you are."
Your jaw drops and you scoff, ready to fire something back but he cuts you off before you can.
"I literally apologized the second you walked in, but you cut me off. I tried talking about it, you cut me off again."
You fold your arms. "I don't need your apology. It's not like you gave a shit before."
His head snaps up. "Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because it's not true."
You scoff. "You don't know half the shit I've been through these past months."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
"I do." He runs an irritated hand through his hair. "I talked to the managers."
You let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sure."
"I did. They wouldn't let me contact you."
"Oh please. Don’t lie to me. You blocked me on everything!" The words echo through the room.
Riki exhales sharply.
"Come on y/n. I blocked you right after we broke up, i was angry. I know it was childish, but I was pissed."
You shake your head in disbelief. "And after that? You could've unblocked me? You could've texted, you could've asked if I was okay."
"I wasn't allowed."
"Bullshit."
His voice rises. "I argued with management! I told them you didn't deserve the hate, I told them you barely even fucking touched me! They told me to stay out of it because it'd make everything worse!"
You stare at him. You hesitate, then you look away again.
"Whatever, Ni-ki."
His expression changes immediately. "Don't."
You frown. "What?"
"Don't call me that."
His voice is lower now. "It's Riki to you."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"
He says nothing. You give a bitter little smile. "We're coworkers now. You said it yourself."
"This is work. So professionally..." You shrug. "You're Ni-ki."
He clenches his jaw. "I hate it when you call me that."
You give him one last glance. "Let's just get this over with."
Five, six, seven, eight.
You start again. The choreography you've already repeated dozens of times, but everything is off.
Your heart isn't in it anymore. Your mind keeps replaying the argument. The counts blur together, you miss another step, ignore it, keep going.
Riki notices you're a fraction behind, but he doesn't say anything. He just adjusts without thinking, like he always used to.
You reach the chorus. Turn, step— A sharp pain suddenly shoots through your calf.
"Ah!"
You immediately stop moving, grabbing the back of your leg. You sink down onto the wooden floor with a groan.
"Shit..."
The music is off instantly, Riki is already halfway across the room.
"What happened?" He crouches down in front of you. "You okay?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, both hands gripping your calf.
"...Yeah." A pained exhale leaves you. "I'm fine."
Another cramp shoots through the muscle. "...Fuck."
He watches you rubbing desperately at the back of your leg. "I told you you're stressing yourself out too much. We should've taken a break."
You shake your head. "It's just..." You wince again. "...a cramp."
He nods toward your leg. "Can you stand?"
"I think so." You plant one foot on the floor, but the second you put weight on it—
"...Ow." You wince.
Riki immediately reaches toward you. He slips one arm around your back and another underneath your arm. "Lean on me."
You hesitate, then reluctantly let him help you up. The moment your foot touches the floor again, another sting shoots through your calf.
You hiss through your teeth. "I think... I think I strained something."
"Easy." His hand automatically settles against your waist to steady you. "Don't rush."
The two of you slowly make your way toward the corner of the practice room.
He helps you lower yourself onto the floor before sitting beside you with a quiet sigh. You keep kneading your calf with both hands in silence, hoping the muscle will finally relax.
Beside you, Riki twists open his water bottle and the plastic crackles. He takes a long drink before glancing sideways at you.
"...Want me to massage it?"
You don't even look up. "No. It’s just a cramp."
"I know."
"I'll be fine."
He shakes his head and chuckles quietly. "C’mon.. I'm not asking to kiss you or something."
The joke slips out suddenly.
Your hands stop moving and your eyes immediately lift to his. Neither of you says anything, you just look at each other.
You quickly clear your throat and look back at your leg.
"...Fine." A quiet sigh leaves you. "Go ahead."
He puts his water bottle down.
"Give me your leg."
You slide it a little closer. Carefully, he rolls your grey sweatpants up to just below your knee, exposing your calf.
His fingers wrap gently around the muscle. "Tell me if it hurts."
"It already hurts."
Then he starts slowly massaging the tight muscle between both his hands. His hands are warm and soft on your skin, and it feels stupidly familiar.
He continues massaging your calf in silence, the music paused, the only sounds coming from the air conditioner humming above you and Riki's hands slowly working the tension out of your calf.
The pain has already eased a little. You watch his hands for a moment before quietly speaking.
"...I'm sorry."
He looks up. "Hm?"
"For earlier."
You fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. "I kinda snapped at you."
A small, awkward laugh leaves you. "I... didn't know you actually tried talking to the managers."
Riki’s hands don't stop moving. He shakes his head. "It's okay."
He smiles faintly. "You couldn't have known."
He shrugs one shoulder. "I wasn't exactly able to tell you."
You let out a slow breath. "I still shouldn't have said all that."
He looks at you for a second before returning his attention to your calf.
"I said things too."
"Yeah, you did."
"...I’m sorry."
You smile despite yourself and the tension between you eases just a little.
Neither of you notices that his massage has slowly changed. He’s not massaging anymore, his fingertips drift lazily over your leg instead, tracing slow lines against your skin while the conversation continues. He's not even thinking about it, neither are you.
His eyes stay on your leg for a second before quietly saying,
"...I never wanted our relationship to end."
Your smile fades a little.
He lets out a breathy laugh. "You really broke my heart."
He says it almost jokingly, smiling as he looks up at you. You meet his eyes. You smile, but guilt still sneaks onto your face.
"I'm sorry… I think." You look down at your hands with a faint smile.
He watches you for a moment before giving a small shrug.
"Learned our lesson."
You nod slowly. You look at each other for a little, Riki is the first to break the silence.
He gives your leg two light pats.
"There. You good now?"
You gently flex your ankle. The pain is almost gone.
"...Mostly."
You lean back against the mirror with a sigh.
"I wanna sit for another few minutes, okay?"
He nods. "No problem."
Pushing himself up from the floor, he grabs his water bottle and takes another sip.
"I'll keep practicing."
Still smiling to himself, he walks back toward the center of the practice room. You stay seated on the floor when he walks away.
Your calf still aches a little, so you keep absent-mindedly rubbing circles into the muscle while scrolling through your phone with your other hand. Every now and then you take another bite of your protein bar.
The room fills with music again. Your eyes keep drifting away from your phone, to Riki. At first it's just quick glances, checking how far he is into the choreography.
Eventually you stop pretending he’s not all you want to look at. Your phone rests forgotten in your lap, you simply watch him. He hasn't changed, he's still ridiculously good.
Every movement is so clean it looks effortless. His shoulders roll smoothly, the muscles in his arms flex every time he throws them through the air. His footwork is still stupidly precise, and the little expressions he makes while dancing, his brows pulling together, the tiny smirk whenever he nails something, the way he'd mouth the lyrics without realizing it.
You recognize it all. You had just forgotten how much fun he was to watch.
Riki notices just in the corner of his eye. His heart immediately starts beating a little faster.
Without meaning to, He puts more energy into every detail. Because a part of him still wants to impress you, maybe then you’ll remember why you liked him.
When the song finishes, he lets out an exaggerated groan.
"Fuck..."
He bends over dramatically, hands on his knees, breathing way louder than necessary.
"This shit’s exhausting."
You don't even look up from your phone this time.
"Mhm."
He shoots you a look. He sighs like the world is ending before standing back up.
"I'm dying over here."
"You'll survive."
"I don't know..."
He says before grabbing the hem of his tank top.
"So hot."
He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of it, lifting the fabric high enough to reveal toned abs, the dark tattoo stretching along his side… and just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the tiny kiss tattoo, your lips, sitting on his V-line.
You see it. Riki glances down before looking back at you with the tiniest grin.
You grab your empty water bottle.
"You're embarrassing yourself." You say, then you throw the bottle at him.
He catches it against his chest with both hands.
"But you gotta admit…"
He tilts his head.
"…you missed seeing this a little"
You look at him with a stale face for a second before looking back at your phone. You’re not admitting that.
Riki shakes his head to himself, still smiling, before tossing your water bottle into the bin beside the mirror.
"Come on."
He walks over to you with that stupid smug grin that always means he's about to annoy you.
Stopping right in front of where you're sitting, he holds both hands out toward you.
"Ready?"
You glance up at him.
"Last run." He wiggles his fingers. "Let's go."
You stare at his hands for a second before waving them away.
"I can get up myself."
He clicks his tongue. He motions with his fingers again.
You look up at him with the most stubborn expression you can manage. He stares right back. You sigh loudly and place your hands in his.
The second your fingers wrap around his, he pulls. He pulls harder than neccesary which makes you lose your balance immediately. Stumbling forward, bumping straight into his chest. He catches you by your forearms to stop you from falling against completely.
His grin is impossible to ignore.
"My bad."
He doesn't sound sorry whatsoever. You narrow your eyes.
"I slightly underestimated my strength."
"Mhm."
You poke a finger against the middle of his chest. He looks down at your finger and then back at you.
"I know what you’re doing Riki, you’re not slick. And it’s time to stop."
You walk past him toward the center of the room. He follows, and the music starts. The choreography goes amazingly well now that you’ve taken a break, and the tension between you has eased up.
When music finally cuts off you both stay where you are for a few seconds, breathing hard, hands on your hips.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead before looking at him. "...We did it."
Riki lets out a breathy laugh. He lifts both hands and you slap both palms against his.
Instead of letting go, though, his fingers immediately slide between yours. He interlocks your fingers and gently pulls you a step closer.
You're close enough now that you can see the sweat clinging to the strands of hair on his forehead.
He smiles. "You did really good." He sounds genuine this time.
You can't help smiling back. "So did you."
His grin grows.
"So..." He tilts his head. "Can I get a kiss as a reward?"
You immediately giggle. "No."
He doesn't let go.
"Hm. How about..." He pretends to think. "...an 'I missed you' kiss?"
"No."
"'Welcome back' kiss?"
You shake your head, still smiling. "Nope."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"You don't even wanna think about it?"
"No. Ni-ki.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t call me that.”
You gently press a hand against his chest and push him back to break the moment.
"Greedy."
"I had to try."
You shake your head with another laugh before turning away.
"I'm getting my bag."
He watches you walk toward the corner of the room.
He smiles to himself. He walks over to his own bag, stuffing his charger, water bottle and headphones inside before pulling his hoodie back over his head. You zip up your duffel bag at the same time.
The two of you walk toward the door together.
You grab the handle first and pull it open. Then... you stop. Riki almost walks into your back.
You glance into the hallway and hesitate. Without saying anything, you slowly pull the door shut again.
Riki raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"You should come out after me."
"...Why?"
"So people don't start talking."
He looks at you for a second before giving a tiny shrug.
"They're gonna know we did the collab anyway."
"I know."
"So?"
"I just..." You sigh. "I don't want people making up stuff again."
He studies your face, then quietly says, "...I don't really care."
"I do."
You point at him.
"At least put your hood up."
He lets out a small laugh. "Y/n.. It’ll be okay."
You slowly open the door again and you both step into the hallway.
For a few seconds you walk side by side in silence. Then you glance over and his hood is still down.
You let out an annoyed sigh. "Riki, just..."
You reach up and fingers catch the edge of his hood and gently pull it over his hair.
Riki looks down at you and a quiet chuckle escapes him. He leaves the hood on.
You reach the lobby and the evening sun shines through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A few staff members walk past outside, and a security guard stands near the doors, barely paying attention.
You're only a few steps away from the exit when Riki suddenly catches your wrist.
"Y/n."
Before you can react, he gently tugs you sideways.
"What are you doing?"
He guides you around the corner beside the entrance, where one of the concrete pillars blocks you from most of the lobby.
"Riki," you whisper, laughing nervously. "What are you doing?"
He plants one hand against the wall beside your head, then he peeks around the corner toward the glass doors like he's checking something.
His lips slowly curl into a smile. You immediately recognize that smile.
"Riki we’re-"
He chuckles. "Kiss me."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Just one." He shrugs like he's asking for a sip of your drink. "One kiss."
You immediately start laughing, but panic creeps into your voice too.
"Are you serious? There’s windows everywhere."
"I know."
He reaches up and pulls his hood down himself, fixing his hair with one hand.
You stare at him, he just smiles.
"Come on."
"No."
"Y/n."
"Riki, seriously—"
"One."
"Riki…”
He tilts his head.
"Please."
You sigh, smile and stop protesting. He takes it as a yes.
He immediately cups your face with one hand. His thumb brushes your cheek once and then he leans in.
The kiss only lasts a few seconds. Quick enough that anyone looking away for a moment would miss it, but knowing your fans, they won’t miss something like this.
And it’s exactly what he wants.
He wants people to see. He wants someone across the street to recognize him, he wants the blurry slowed down videos. He wants the dating rumors, the reporters asking about you, wondering if you're together again.
He wants a chance to have you back.
@ idolsdaily
🚨 ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught kissing inside HYBE after her hiatus.
Just one week after REPLAY's Y/n returned from her four-month hiatus, fans claim they spotted Ni-ki (ENHYPEN) and Y/n sharing what looked like a kiss inside the HYBE building.
The sighting comes shortly after HYBE announced a dance collaboration between the two idols.
Neither HYBE, BELIFT LAB, nor REPLAY's management has commented.
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀with no plans for the rest of the evening and nowhere else to be, you and park sunghoon find yourselves exactly where you always seem to end up: wrapped up in each other.
𝟏𝟕𝟏𝟏 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 park sunghoon ⠀ x ⠀ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ gentle dominance ˒ praise ˒
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ body worship ˒ implied creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ handjob ˒ dirty talk ˒ oral sex (m. receiving) ˒ handjob ˒ consensual filming ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀ꉂ (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
🪽 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 lil write-up that i didn’t proofread from last month !!! ◜ᯅ◝ just one of the many posts i have queued up, ya’ll will hopefully see a proper hoonguin comeback this august ᡣ ︠ 𓈒. .𓈒 ︡𐑠
The room was quiet enough to hear every shift of fabric, every uneven breath, every hesitant movement that seemed impossibly loud in the stillness between you. He stood in front of you, hands curled into loose fists at his sides, like he didn't trust himself to touch you yet.
You were already on your knees.
The metallic clank of his belt landing on the floor cut through the silence like a point of no return.
"Heavy ass belt," you mutter, glancing down at it splayed across the hardwood. Then back up at him, at the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. "Makes sense. Heavy belt for a man with such a heavy cock."
His breath hitched, and you watched the flush crawl from his neck up toward his jaw as you reached for the waistband of his jeans and tugged. He helped, shaky-handed, shoving them down his thighs, and you had to pause for a second because the visual in front of you was genuinely unfair. That V-cut trailing down into his boxers like it was pointing the way on purpose. The gym had done crazy things to this man's body and he had the nerve to stand here acting shy about it.
You pressed your palm flat against his stomach, just to feel the muscle tense under your touch, and he sucked in hard through his teeth. "God, Hoon," you said, dragging your hand down slowly, following that line. "You walk around looking like this? All day? And you expect people to act normal?"
"I don't—" he started, voice already rougher than it was ten seconds ago.
"Shh." You hooked your fingers into his boxers and pulled them down, and his cock sprang free, thick and heavy against his stomach. You made a sound — appreciative, almost a laugh — because you'd been thinking about this all day and the reality was better than the mental image. He was big enough that wrapping your hand around him didn't fully close your grip, and when you gave him one slow stroke he let out a noise that went straight between your own legs.
"Look at me," you said, because his eyes had drifted shut. They opened, dark and half-lidded, pinned to your face. "There you go. Keep them on me. You can record it if you want—I know you want to."
A shaky exhale. He fumbled for his phone on the dresser behind him, nearly knocking over a water bottle. He unlocked it and opened the camera with a thumb that was visibly trembling. He held it angled down at you, and you smiled directly into the lens, slow and shameless, then ran your tongue flat up the underside of his cock from base to tip without breaking eye contact with the camera.
The phone jerked in his grip. A broken groan punched out of his chest.
"Keep it steady, baby," you murmured against him, lips brushing the head, and then you took him into your mouth.
The first pull was slow, taking him in inch by inch and letting him feel every single one. He was thick enough that your jaw ached a little on the way down and you loved it, loved the way your lips had to stretch around him, loved the weight of him on your tongue. You pulled back, swirled your tongue around the tip, tasted salt, then sank back down further than before and felt him hit the back of your throat.
"Oh fuck—" His free hand came down to your jaw, fingers cradling your face. The contrast, the filth of what you were doing and the tenderness of his grip, made you moan around him, and the vibration made his hips stutter forward on instinct before he caught himself. "Sorry—I’m sorry, I—"
"Don't apologize," you pulled off just long enough to say, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his cock, indecently caught on the phone camera. "Fuck my mouth if you want to. I can take it. That's what it's for right now."
A sound came out of him that wasn't quite a word. Then his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, gathered it back out of your face, and he thrust into your mouth, shallow at first, testing, then deeper when you hummed your approval and dug your nails into his thighs. His quads were solid under your grip, tensed and trembling, and you dragged your nails down just enough to leave faint pink lines and he whimpered. The hell? This big, built, gym-sculpted man standing above you whimpering because of your mouth.
You pulled off, gasping, drool on your chin, and looked up at him with the most wrecked, adoring expression you could manage. "You sound so pretty, Hoon. You know that? Hottest fucking sounds I've ever heard."
His chest was heaving. The phone was barely angled right anymore, his arm was shaking too hard. You reached up, took it gently from his hand, set it on the dresser propped against a book so the camera still caught you both, and wrapped your hand around his cock again, stroking slow.
"Come here," he said, voice wrecked. Before you could even respond he was bending down, hooking his arms under yours, and lifting you off the floor like you weighed nothing. It’s as if all those back days and leg days had been building toward this exact moment. You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct and his hands gripped your thighs.
He carried you three steps to the couch and dropped onto it with you straddling him, and the impact shoved you forward so your core ground against his cock and you both hissed at the same time.
"Mommy—" he breathed against your neck, the word stumbling out like it had been sitting on his tongue all night waiting for permission, and you felt a full-body shiver run through him beneath you.
You pulled back to look at him. Cupped his face with both hands. His eyes were glassy, lips bitten red, hair already messy from where he'd been running his own hand through it. How gorgeous. Absolutely wrecked and absolutely gorgeous.
"Say that again," you told him, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.
"Mommy," he whispered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering. "Please—I need—I need and want you so fucking much."
"I know you do, baby. I've got you." You reached between your bodies, lined him up, and sank down onto him in one long, slow roll of your hips.
The stretch punched the air out of both of you. You stilled, full of him, feeling your body clench and adjust, and he dropped his head forward against your chest with a strangled groan, hands fisting the fabric of your top before tugging it up and off so he could press his mouth to your skin instead. He kissed the curve of your breast, the valley between, dragged his lips down the swell of your breasts and back up, like he was mapping every inch he could reach with his mouth.
"You feel so good inside me," you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally — slow, grinding, taking your time. "So big, baby. Fill me up so well. You were made for this."
He moaned against your skin, open-mouthed and sloppy. His hands slid to your waist, guiding your rhythm without taking control, letting you set the pace while he just held on. You started to move, lifting and dropping, finding the angle that made your vision blur, and each time you came down his hips rolled up to meet you and the sound of it, wet and heavy, filled the room.
"Mommy—harder, please—"
You braced your hands on his shoulders and gave him harder. Faster. The couch creaked. His abs flexed under you every time you ground down and you could feel every ridge of them against your clit, the friction building something white-hot in your stomach. His mouth found your nipple and sucked, and you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling, and he groaned around you like the pull was a gift.
"Good boy," you said, breathless. "Taking it so well. Look at you—look at this body, Hoon, all this muscle and you're shaking underneath me. All that work at the gym just to fall apart in my pussy."
A broken, pitchy moan. His hips snapped up harder, losing the rhythm, chasing it.
"I'm—close, I'm close, please, can I—"
"Inside," you commanded, grinding down in a tight circle that made his whole body bow off the couch. "Come inside me. Fuck, give me everything. You've earned it, baby, you've been so good."
Three more uneven thrusts and he came with a sound that cracked open in his chest, your name tangled up with "mommy" and something wordless. You felt him spill inside you, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as his whole body locked and shuddered. You rode him through it, slower now, milking every last pulse out of him while he whined from oversensitivity, until he finally went limp against the couch back, chest heaving, eyes unfocused, pretty and ruined underneath you.
You lifted off him slowly, wincing at the loss, and felt him slip out of you followed by the warm trickle of his cum dripping onto his stomach. He twitched at the sensation, too spent to do anything but watch you through heavy lids.
You reached down, swiped two fingers through the mess on his abdomen, his and yours mixed together, and brought them to his mouth.
"Open," you said softly.
He did, without hesitation, lips parting so you could press your fingers past them and onto his tongue. He closed his mouth around them and sucked, cleaning them thoroughly, eyes on yours the whole time, and when you pulled your hand back a thin string of saliva and cum connected your fingers to his lip before it broke.
You laughed. Light, breathless, genuinely delighted.
"What a dirty boy."
He let out a hazy, fucked-out laugh of his own, still trying to catch his breath, and you leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet, he reached up to cradle the back of your head with a hand that was finally steady again, holding you there like he'd happily stay under you forever.
🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ or nah (remix) by ty dolla $ign (ft. the weeknd, wiz khalifa, and mustard)
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
content : smut, 18+ content, somno, sad stuff, angsty, mention of miscarraiges
word count : 1,898 words 10,569 characters
james and you had been already married for two years now, but your home was still painfully quiet. it wasn't because the two of you didn't want children, it was quite the opposite, you two really wanted to have one for so long now. you two spent the last two years trying, holding onto hope every month, only to have it ripped away twice. the two miscarriages had taken more from you than either of you knew how to put into words. after the second one, the grief settled heavier, it followed you everywhere.
a year ago, you left your corporate job, unable to keep pretending everything was fine while your world had quietly fallen apart. james never blamed you, never. if anything, he blamed himself for never knowing how to make the pain disappear.
around the same time, his career began taking off. he was promoted to partner at the law firm he'd spent years working toward, but the title came with endless hours, late nights, and a workload that seemed to grow by the day. the rhythm the two of you once had slowly disappeared without either of you noticing.
it had been months since you'd last been intimate. before everything happened, it wasn't unusual for the two of you to find comfort in each other after long days at work, laughing about difficult clients before collapsing into bed together.
you two used to fuck like rabbits after work.
now, whenever james reached for your hand or wrapped an arm around your waist, he couldn't ignore the hesitation that lingered beneath your smile. he started wondering if you were forcing yourself for his sake. and the last thing he wanted was for intimacy to become another burden you felt obligated to carry, another reminder of everything you'd lost. so, little by little, he stopped initiating altogether, convincing himself it was kinder this way.
james settled into the leather chair of his new corner office, the mahogany desk gleaming under the morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. now being partner, the word still felt foreign on his tongue. his gaze drifted to the framed photo on his desk—your wedding day. your radiant smile, the way you’d looked at him like he'd hung the moon, and he remembered those early months of marriage. it used to be filled with laughter, moans, the creak of the bedframe against the wall as you both explored each other with the hunger of newlyweds.
james would come home from the firm when he was still associate only to find you waiting, sometimes wearing nothing but one of his ties, or sometimes bent over the kitchen counter pretending to organize mail while presenting that perfect ass to him. and you two fucked everywhere. against the front door before it had fully closed, on the living room rug while some sitcom played unheard in the background, in the shower until the hot water ran out. james lost count of how many times he'd bent you over the desk in his house office, your skirt hiked up around your waist as he drove into you, watching your reflections in the darkened computer screen.
the memory itself made james hard, and it made him shift uncomfortably in his tight suit. he definitely missed the taste of your skin, the way you’d arch your back when he found that spot just below your ribs, the sound of his name gasped into his shoulder as you’d cum hard. james even wondered if you’d ever touched yourself anymore, if you’d think of him when you did. the thought was both painful and arousing.
he stood and adjusted himself, walking to the window to look down at the city below. he needed to fix this, needed to find his wife again beneath all the grief and so so much distance. tonight, he decided he'd cancel the dinner with the other senior partners, come home early with flowers and wine, and remind you both of what you’d been before everything went so gloomy.
james stood in the doorway, the bouquet of lilies wilting slightly in his grip, grocery bags heavy against his thighs. the smile he'd been wearing since he cancelled the senior partners’ dinner faded, because he found the kitchen was spotless, the containers sat lined up on the counter, he set the flowers down next to the note and just stood there for a minute, listening to the refrigerator hum.
the note suggests that you already slept, he can reheat the food in the microwave.
he carried the bags to the kitchen and unpacked them quietly. the steak went into the fridge, the potatoes stayed in their paper bag, and he threw the flowers away because looking at them felt stupid now, embarrassing in a way he couldn't name. it’s been weeks since he’d reach you habitually going to bed first without waiting for him anymore.
the bedroom door was half-open. he could see your shape under the covers, turned away from his side of the bed. your breathing was deep and even, you’d hadn't waited up but it’s not like you knew anyways.
james sat on the edge of the mattress, still in his suit, and watched you sleep. you looked peaceful in a way you never were anymore when you were awake, when your eyes were open and tracking everything done wrong without meaning to. james wanted to wake you up, wanted to shake you gently and say i'm still here, we're still here, please look at me. but james didn't.
the mattress dips slightly as he sits on the edge, careful not to wake you. his breath is completely uneven, different from the controlled calm he wears during the day. there's hesitation in it, he’s now he's looking at your face, your hair, the curve of your shoulder under the thin strap of your camisole.
then the sheet moves, james pulls it down slowly, inch by inch, like he's afraid the fabric might rip if he rushes.
the cool air touches your calves, your thighs, your hips. his hands find the hem of your camisole, james lifts it over your head, your arms limp and cooperative in your sleep. the material catches on your breasts for a second before sliding free, and it made his breath completely hitch. james sets it aside with the same care he used to handle the sheet.
your underwear comes next, he hooks his fingers in the waistband and draws them down your legs, his knuckles grazing your skin. then his mouth starts at your ankle, lips barely there, just enough to make the hair on your arms stand up. james moves upward, pressing soft kisses to your shin, the inside of your knee, the stretch of your thigh.
completely devoted to his wife.
he hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing patterns on your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast. his lips find your collarbone, your throat, the spot below your ear that used to make you gasp. if only you were awake though.
his dick was so hard and insistent, pressing against your hip through his trousers. james wants to fuck you so bad but he knows that when he'd wake you up it'll be another argument or another breakdown, you turning away, pulling the sheets up, asking him what he's doing. worst, make him stop.
he doesn't even think of considering that.
so he unbuckles his belt and throws it on the bed, it doesn't make too much sound. he frees himself from his boxers and his shirt follows, discarded somewhere in the dark, and then he's naked above you, skin to skin, his cock heavy and hot where it rests against your thigh.
james pushes in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face for any sign or any flicker of your eyelids. you got wet from his fingers and your own traitorous arousal unconsciously. james groans, low in his chest, and buries his face in your neck.
"y/n…" he whispers, not a question, and starts to move.
it's been so long. your body remembers even if you weren’t consciously awake, your pussy aching to meet him, your walls sucking his dick deeper. his thrusts at first were steady, relentless, the bed creaking softly beneath you, and every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way he hits that spot that he does so perfectly.
afterall, your husband definitely knows all your sweet spots. he had them memorized and tattooed on his brain.
in the dark you're just body, just warmth, just the arch of your back and the tilt of your hips meeting his. james kept fucking you in your sleep, his weight on top of you and his breath ragged in your ear. “i don’t know why the heavens took our kids away, honey. a part of me hates and can’t forgive they did that to us. they t-took our babies away–”
his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise tomorrow, it could be an evidence for you to realize but he didn’t care. “a-and i know, baby– *moans* i-it makes you s-so sad… i’m sad too… a-and seeing how sad it made you, i-it kills me.”
he takes what he needs, filling the hollow places grief has carved out, making you feel full even when you’re not aware, even when you know that when he pulls out the emptiness will rush back in twice as deep.
“i-i was thinking… we can adopt kids? w-would you like that? o-or we can start with a pet d-dog… or cat– fuck! your is pussy so good–”
james’s rhythm stutters, loses its control. inside your gummy walls his dick swells, the tension coil tight in his shoulders, his back, his thighs. james cums so hard with a stifled cry, something strangled and raw that sounds like your name or maybe just a prayer, you wouldn’t know though, but his hard dick pressing as deep as he can get, holding there while he shakes apart.
“f-fuck! fuck!” he pulses inside you, hot and desperate, each throb a confession, an apology, a promise he doesn't have words for. his weight collapses onto you, heavy and real, pinning you to the mattress, and he wrap his arms around you without thinking, holding you while he breathes hard against your collarbone.
for a moment, just a moment, the quiet house doesn't feel so empty anymore. his heartbeat pumps hard through his chest, thumping against yours. you suddenly felt suffocated by the tight embrace, only to find your husband inside you, his sweat on your skin, and the musky smell of his arousal and cum suddenly filling your nose. the room smells like sex and sleep and the faint bitterness of tears. you try to shift, to create space, but his arm tightens, pulling you back against him, and that's when you hear it… the small, broken sounds he's making, muffled into your hair.
he's crying. your husband, who hasn't cried in front of you since the second miscarriage, who holds everything inside until it poisons him. he flinches and ralizes you're awake. james just pulls you closer, still inside you, still connected, and you wrap your legs around him, your arms around his neck, and you hold each other while the sun comes up, two shattered people trying to remember how to be whole.
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀there isn’t much of a reason for you and yang jungwon to end up showering together. convenience, maybe? curiosity? or maybe neither of you needed an excuse in the first place. either way, neither of you seems eager to be the first to step out.
𝟑𝟏𝟔𝟓 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 yang jungwon ⠀ x ⠀ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ shared shower ˒ playful teasing ˒
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ fingering ˒ creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ handjob ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ handjob ˒ multiple orgasms ˒ bunch of orgasm denial ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀ꉂ (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
✴️ 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 guess who just survived their exams (no, i never found my calculator ) (ㅅ´ ˘ `) kind of ass but i need to post okay goodbye all 👋
"You're always so eager, aren't you? Always rushing me. I told you—good things take time, baby." Jungwon muttered out, you couldn't even hear half the words spilling out of his mouth.
The shower runs hot, the kind of heat that turns your skin pink within minutes and fogs the glass walls so thick you can barely see your own reflection. Steam curls slowly toward the ceiling, clinging to the dark stone that lines every surface, the matte slate absorbing the light from the single recessed fixture overhead so the whole space feels smaller, closer, intimate. The glass walls on two sides are the only things keeping the steam contained, and water drums steadily against the stone floor, pooling in thin rivers that snake toward the drain. A broad slab of polished stone juts from the back wall, wide enough to sit on, deep enough to lean back against the wet stone comfortably, the surface slick beneath you. The showerhead above is wide and rainfall-style, and the water cascading from it hits your shoulders and runs down your collarbones in warm, uneven streams.
Your hands are tied together.
The lace of your underwear, chosen specifically because Jungwon's fingers caught on the fabric when he peeled them off your hips, is wound twice around your wrists and knotted tight between them, your palms pressed together in front of you like you're praying. The fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, the delicate scalloped edge digging faintly into the underside of your left wrist every time you shift.
Jungwon is kneeling on the stone floor in front of the slab, and two of his fingers are inside you — moving so slowly you could scream. They push in, curl, drag out. In, curl, drag. The rhythm is agonizing, each stroke precise enough to press right against the spot that makes your thighs tense and your stomach clench, but never fast enough, never hard enough, never enough. His thumb works your clit in tight circles that keep you right at the edge of something without ever letting you fall into it. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you open, thumb pressing into the soft inside of your knee.
"Jungwon, I swear to—ugh, shut the fuck up and do more fucking," you whine, and your voice comes out thin, swallowed almost entirely by the steam and the sound of the water.
He tilts his head. His wet hair falls across his forehead in dark, uneven pieces, and his eyes, sharp and impossibly pleased, lift to meet yours. His fingers don't change pace. They don't even stutter.
"Mm, use that mouth for me, pretty girl. What were you talking to me about last night? The new boutique by the Italian restaurant we always head to?" he coos, voice silky and warm, and the bastard is smiling. A genuine, easy smile, like he's asking you about brunch plans while his fingers are buried inside you.
You open your mouth and every syllable you attempt to form collapses into a moan halfway out because his fingers curl again, pressing against the spot that has your whole body bow forward and your tied hands fall against his shoulder for balance. The lace drags wet against his skin. A sound rips out of you that isn't a word, isn't a name, isn't anything but want, and Jungwon watches it happen with the kind of attention that has your thighs squeezing against his hand.
He beams up at you. "Oh, yes! Wonderful, baby. Very interesting, I'll take you there soon."
You splay your tied hands in protest, shoving weakly at his shoulder, but his fingers continue to go in and out of you with that same unbearable, glacial patience. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit on every downstroke now and your legs are shaking, the warm water running down your thighs mixing with everything else, slicking the stone beneath you. "Fuck, just shut up and eat my pussy."
Jungwon's smile changes. His eyes go dark and warm at the same time, and his tongue drags slow across his bottom lip like he's been waiting for you to say exactly that. He pulls his fingers out of you so slowly you feel every inch of the withdrawal. The loss of them makes you clench around nothing, a whine building in your throat before you can stop it.
"Since you asked so nicely," he murmurs, his voice stripped of that playful lilt. Then his mouth is on you.
His tongue is hot and immediately relentless. He licks a broad, flat stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering every drop of you. His lips close around your clit and he sucks, gentle at first, then harder, and the noise that leaves your mouth is mortifying and you can’t even bring yourself to care. The water from the rainfall showerhead runs down your stomach and over his jaw, pooling where his mouth meets you, warm rivulets mixing with your wetness and dripping from his chin onto the stone slab beneath you, and the added heat makes every stroke of his tongue feel amplified, filthy, too much.
"Oh—fuck, Jungwon—" Your tied hands drop to his head, fingers tangling into his wet hair and pulling, and he groans against you. The vibration rockets straight through your clit and down into your thighs and you grind forward into his mouth without meaning to, chasing the pressure, and he lets you. He lets you ride his face, his tongue flattening so you can drag yourself against it, and the friction is blinding.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing you, breath hot against your soaked skin. "Yeah, pull my hair. Show me how bad you want it." His tongue drags across his bottom lip, tasting you, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and black. "You're so wet, baby. All over my face. Fuck." He says it like he's savoring it. Then he dives back in, and this time his tongue is pointed and precise, flicking rapidly against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth again, and the rhythm he builds is punishing. His hands grip both your thighs now and he forces them wider, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, forearms flexing, the muscle in his shoulders shifting visibly beneath his wet skin. The strength of him is casual and devastating, like he could keep you spread like this for hours and never tire.
Your head falls back against the wet stone wall. The water hits your chest and throat, runs in hot streams between your breasts, and your hips move on their own, grinding against his mouth, chasing the rhythm his tongue is setting, and every time you get close, every time the heat coils tight and rising in your stomach, every time your thighs start to tense and your breathing goes shallow — he slows down. Eases the pressure. Licks you soft and open-mouthed until the edge recedes and you're left shaking and dripping, the orgasm retreating just out of reach, your body burning with the denial of it.
"Jungwon, I'm going to kill you," you gasp, and your voice cracks, your hands tugging at his hair in frustration.
He laughs against you. The vibration of it hums through your clit, your thighs clench hard around his head and he doesn't even flinch — he just keeps you pinned open with those hands, keeps his mouth exactly where it is, keeps laughing while you writhe. "You're not gonna kill me. You're gonna come on my face. I just want it to feel good when you do. I want you to feel it everywhere."
"It would feel better if you didn't keep stopping—"
His tongue flattens against your clit and he drags it up, slow and firm. Your sentence dissolves into a broken, high sound that echoes off the stone walls. He does it again. Each stroke heavy, his mouth so wet with you. Lewd sounds filling the small glass-walled space wet and rhythmic beneath the drum of the water. Then he pulls back again, just his mouth, just enough, and his fingers find you again, two of them sliding back inside so easily it makes your face burn, your body still so wet and open from his mouth that there's no resistance at all.
"You're so wet, baby. So fucking wet for me." His voice is rough now, the teasing lilt frayed at the edges. He fucks you slowly with his fingers while his thumb rubs your clit in tight, maddening circles, and he watches your face with that dark, hungry focus. "You taste so good. I could do this all night."
"Don't you dare."
"Mm, where’d you get all this attitude from? What's the magic word?"
"Jungwon."
"That's my name, not the magic word." He curls his fingers. Presses up. Your back arches off the stone wall and a sound punches out of you that you've never heard yourself make before, loud enough to cut through the drum of the shower. "There it is. That's what I wanted."
He lowers his mouth again. This time he doesn't stop. His tongue works your clit in tight, wet circles while his fingers fuck into you steadily, angled perfectly, pressing that spot on every stroke until your vision blurs. The edge comes back fast, coiling tight and hot in your stomach, spreading down through your thighs, your toes curling against the wet stone, and this time when you arch toward him he doesn't pull away. He moans against you, low and genuine, like he's the one being touched, like eating you out is getting him off — and maybe it is, you realize, because when you glance down past your tied hands you can see his cock, hard and heavy between his thighs, twitching against nothing every time you clench around his fingers.
"Yeah, fuck—come on my face, you dirty girl," he mutters into you. The words vibrate through your clit, and his fingers thrust deep and curl, and his tongue sucks, and the coil snaps.
Your orgasm hits you so hard your vision whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, your hands grip his hair so tight your knuckles ache. Your hips jerk against his mouth in uneven, desperate thrusts while the pleasure rolls through you in waves. His tongue works you through it, gentle now, lapping at you while you shake and clench around his fingers, and when you finally still, he presses one last slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before pulling back.
He looks wrecked. His lips are glistening, his chin wet with you and the shower water, his hair a mess from your hands, and his chest is heaving, each breath shuddering out of him like it costs him something. His eyes are black. His cock is hard, achingly hard, flushed dark and heavy between his thighs, the tip flushed and leaking, and the sight of him kneeling there, desperate and still holding your thighs open with steady hands, makes something raw and hungry twist in your stomach. He got like this from eating you out. That thought alone makes you throb.
"Get up here," you breathe, and you reach for him with your tied hands, the soaked lace stretching between your wrists. "Come here. Come here."
He rises from the stone floor in one fluid motion, water streaming down his chest and stomach, and you grab his shoulder and pull him in. Your mouth finds his and you kiss him hard, open-mouthed, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he groans into it, his hands bracing on the stone wall on either side of your head. You can feel his cock against your thigh, hot and slick. The fact that he's this hard, this desperate, because he spent the last twenty minutes with his mouth between your legs makes you dizzy.
Your tied hands slide down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, his abs jumping beneath your touch, and you wrap your fingers around him. Both palms press together around his cock, the lace binding tight between your wrists. He's slick with precum and shower water, hot and rigid in your hands. He throbs against your palms when you squeeze gently.
"Oh fuck—" His voice cracks. His forehead drops against yours, his eyes squeezing shut. "Baby, fuck—"
"Feel good?" you murmur against his lips, and you stroke him slowly, both hands working him together, the soaked lace dragging against the sensitive underside of his cock with every movement. His hips thrust into your grip involuntarily, chasing the sensation, and his breathing goes ragged and uneven.
"So good, fuck, you feel so good—" He's whining. His voice pitching up on every exhale, his hands fisting against the stone wall, his abs clenching tight with every stroke of your palms. His cock is throbbing in your hands, and you can feel him getting closer — the way he twitches, the way his thrusts lose rhythm, the way his moans fracture into desperate little gasps.
"Such a good cock, baby," you breathe against his jaw, pressing kisses along his throat where his pulse is hammering. "So thick. You're so hot, Jungwon, you're so fucking hot—got yourself all worked up eating me out, didn't you? Loved it, didn't you? You absolutely loved making me come on your face."
A moan rips out of him, his hips jerk forward hard, fucking into your hands, his cock sliding through your grip slick and fast. "Yes—fuck, yes, I loved it, you taste so good, I love it here, I love—"
You can feel it. He's literally right there. His thighs are trembling, his breathing is gone, his cock is twitching constantly in your hands, and his whole body is coiled tight, seconds from snapping.
You pull your hands away. His hips thrust into empty air and a broken, devastated sound leaves his mouth. Before he can protest, you guide him forward, position him at your entrance — you're so wet, so open from his fingers and his mouth, and the blunt heat of him pressing against you makes your breath catch. You hook your tied hands behind his back and pull him in closer, pull him into you, and he sinks inside in one long, deep thrust that steals the air from both of you.
"Fuck—" Jungwon's voice breaks. His arms give out. His chest hits yours, warm and pressed flat against you, and his face buries into your neck and he shudders so hard you feel it in your teeth. "Oh my—shit, baby, you feel—fuck, you're so—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. His hips pull back and snap forward and the sound that comes out of him is broken and beautiful, his length dragging slow and deep out of you before thrusting back in. He’s thick enough that you feel every inch of the stretch, thick enough that your walls clench around him involuntarily and he groans like he's dying.
"Good boy," you gasp into his ear, and his hips stutter and slam forward harder. "Fuck, you feel so good inside me. Such a good fucking cock, baby. So thick. You're doing so good."
He whines into your neck, thrusting into you deep and hard. The water runs down his back and over your joined bodies and every thrust sends it splattering against the stone floor. His hands find your thighs and he grips them, forces them wider apart, opens you up with that casual strength so he can sink deeper and the new angle makes you cry out, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust now, relentless and deliberate.
"Good boy," you gasp into his ear, and his whole body shudders, his hips slamming forward harder. "Fuck, you feel so good inside me. Such a good fucking cock, baby. So thick. You're doing amazing."
"Jungwon—there, right there, fuck, don't stop—" Your hands drag down his back, the lace catching on his wet skin, your nails scraping red lines into his shoulders. He's pounding into you now, the teasing control from before completely gone, replaced by something raw and hungry.
"I won't stop—I've got you, baby, I've got you—" He pulls back enough to look at you, and his face is devastating. Wet, lips swollen, eyes glassy and dark. His forehead presses to yours and his breath comes in ragged pants against your mouth, his hips never slowing. "Am I doing good? Tell me I'm doing good. I need to hear it."
"Such a good boy," you breathe, and you watch his face crumble with it, watch his eyes squeeze shut and his hips lose their rhythm entirely, thrusting into you deep and uneven. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So good. You're so hot, you're so perfect, you're—fuck—right there, don't stop, harder—"
He fucks into you harder, deeper, his hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there'll be bruises tomorrow, his cock throbbing inside you, and you can feel yourself building again, the edge coming back fast, coiling tight with every thrust, every drag of him against that spot, every desperate whine spilling from his mouth.
"Come inside me," you gasp, and his whole body seizes. "Come on, baby, give it to me, you've been so good—"
"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—" His voice pitches high and breaks. His hips slam forward one last time, deep, burying himself fully inside you, and he comes with a sound that's barely human. The heat of him filling you pushes you right over the edge and your orgasm crashes through you for the second time, your walls clenching around him, your tied hands gripping his back, your body arching against his.
He keeps thrusting through it, riding out every wave for both of you, his breath hot against your throat. The water drums on. The steam fills the glass-walled space. His hands loosen on your thighs and slide up to cradle your hips, gentle now, and he stays inside you while the aftershocks roll through you both in diminishing tremors.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are soft and hazy and his lips curve into that same easy smile from before. "So," he murmurs, voice hoarse and wrecked. "About that boutique."
You stare at him. Then you laugh and shove his shoulder with your tied hands. "We can talk about that after this."
He presses a slow, soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. He reaches down and tugs at the lace knotted between your wrists, working the wet fabric loose with careful fingers until your hands are free, the skin beneath pink and faintly marked from the pressure. He brings your wrists to his mouth and kisses the inside of each one, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Let me wash your hair," he says quietly, already reaching for the shampoo on the stone ledge, and you lean back against the warm wall and let him, the water cascading over you both, the steam soft and close and safe around you.
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
thinking about… pussydrunk!won & his addiction with being in between your thighs┊custom order 📋
warnings. . . explicit sexual content (mdni) ﹕ oral fixation ﹕ face riding ﹕ cum eating ﹕ masturbation ﹕ face sitting ﹕ (not proofread !)
order notes: playing re9 and im so close to kms… capcom just throw anything together to make these creatures bro
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who became addicted after his first taste of you. he could never get enough. he loves your sweet moans and the way his name slips from your mouth like a prayer whenever you are about to cum.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who wakes you up with his face between your thighs, chin already drenched in your arousal. he’d hum whenever you were fully awake, already slipping two fingers inside, curling them just right while he devoured you.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who loves when you grip his hair whenever it’s too much. he’d be on his knees at the edge of the bed, desperately fisting his cock every time you tugged his head closer.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who drinks every drop eagerly like a starved man, groaning against your pussy, the vibration shooting through your core.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who literally begs you to sit on his face. the mere sight of you straddling him, grinding your hips down every time you wanted more, drives him insane.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who does it for his own pleasure. he’d lick and kiss your pussy for what felt like hours, making sure you were satisfied, all while he leaked through his sweats.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who likes to pour wine on your breasts, thighs, then right above your pussy. he’d lick up every drop, refusing to waste anything.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who tends to forget to breathe properly while eating you, hooked on the taste. he’d come up for air, breathing ragged, chin glistening with strings of your slick connecting from his mouth before diving back in.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who keeps going even after you cum. he keeps licking you through it, savoring the way your hips twitch—not planning to stop until you’re crying and pushing his head away.
cute & silly bf texts w martin| bf!martin x female!sixth member reader | moka from illit mentioned | js two rlly cute idiots in love | spinoff from “ friends…right?”
an: martin ilysm ( can yall tell i love making martin aus )
If you asked your friends how many times you and Sunghoon broke up, they wouldn’t be able to give you an exact answer. At best, they’d exchange a look, hesitate for a second, and then settle on something vague like “too many.”
A few days of silence would pass, sometimes a week if both of you were stubborn enough. Then, without fail, he would reach out. A message late at night, pleading for you back with a string of apologies. And no matter how determined you had been, no matter how much you told yourself and your friends that you were done, you would always find yourself replying.
Sunoo had seen every version of it. He had become so used to the routine that your dramatic entrances into his room no longer surprised him. Exasperated, you’d flop down onto Sunoo’s beanbag, mumbling the same words every time,
“Sunghoon and I broke up.”
He would barely react anymore, mustering up a pitiful smile at most. Sometimes he wouldn’t even look up immediately; he’d just sigh quietly and reach for his phone.
“Do you want me to be honest?” he’d ask, already knowing your answer.
“No,” you’d mumble.
“Okay,” he’d reply flatly. “He’s the worst, and you really do deserve better. This is definitely the last time.”
And then, after a pause, “Should I order food?”
You always said yes.
And that was it. That was the cycle. You would cry, you would complain, and then you would wait. Because somewhere deep down, you always knew how it would end. Sunghoon would come back, and you would let him back in with open arms.
So when it’s been forty days since the last breakup, Sunoo doesn’t take it that seriously. It plays out like it always has, a dramatic faceplant into his bed, your sobs coming out in choked gasps, the way your whole body shakes like this is the worst it’s ever been, even though, historically, it never really is. His hand moves absentmindedly against your back, comforting you yet again.
“Sunghoon and I broke up,” you mumble into the mattress.
“Mm,” Sunoo replies, not even looking up. His thumb is already halfway through unlocking his phone. “Do you want me to be honest or—”
“No.”
“Okay. He’s a fucking douchebag. You could so get with somebody better.”
The room stays silent for a second.
“Should I order food?”
You sniff. “Yeah.”
He nods absentmindedly. “Forty days, though. That's probably the longest so far.”
“You’re acting like you’ve been waiting for this,” you groan, rolling slightly over so you can breathe properly.
“I mean,” he shrugs, “I don’t even have to wait that long.”
You kick him lightly. He ignores it.
“I’m done this time,” you say, sitting up a bit now, your hair a tangled mess from lying there too long and your wet, matted eyelashes sticking together in uneven spikes.
Sunoo deliberately pauses. “You said that last time.”
“This time I actually mean it.”
“You also meant it last last time, and the time before that, and even before that—”
“I get it!” you cut in quickly, voice rising just a bit, “but it’s different this time. I’m actually moving on. I’m talking to someone new. I’m not going to do this again.”
Sunoo finally looks at you properly. “Really?…Someone new?”
“Yes.” You say matter-of-factly.
He nods slowly, not convinced. “Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
PARTY 1:
They weren’t lying when they said that saying something is easier than actually doing it. You thought it’d be simple, and you’d even made yourself a mental checklist
Find someone new to talk to
Move on
BONUS: Maybe even do what Sunoo casually called “get some new dick up in your system.”
In reality, it was proving to be… not that.
You weren’t even sure what kind of party this was supposed to be. The house was too loud in a sticky, suffocating way. Your dress kept rising no matter how many times you fixed it, and your heels, clearly not broken in, made every step feel like hell on earth.
Somewhere in the corner, there was a livestream happening. Some random frat guy being followed around by a whole crew, while a few people hovered around him like this was a completely normal thing to witness at a party.
Sunoo had called him Clavicular, like that was a real name that someone would actually have. You were starting to think Sunoo just made words up when he got bored.
Your phone sat face down on your thigh. You hadn’t checked it in twenty-three minutes, which honestly deserved some kind of award considering the circumstances.
“Hey.”
Your eyes shot up to find a guy standing in front of you. He was cute, definitely tall. But not taller than Sunghoon. A baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and the kind of easy smile that usually worked its charm on people immediately.
“You’re Sunoo’s friend, right?” He asked, a grin stretching across his face.
“Mhm.” You hummed.
“I’m Minjae.”
You introduced yourself politely, shifting slightly on the couch to make room when he sat beside you. He leaned close enough for you to smell the alcohol and expensive cologne radiating from him. Normally, this kind of thing would’ve distracted you.
“So,” Minjae asked casually, “are you here with someone?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Minjae kept talking, and you really did try listening! You nodded at the right moments. Smiled when you were supposed to. But your attention drifted embarrassingly fast.
You wondered if Sunghoon had eaten dinner yet.
You wondered if he was still sleeping on the left side of the bed, even though there was no one occupying the right anymore.
You wondered if he still reached across the mattress half-asleep before remembering you weren’t there.
The thought made something ache painfully inside your chest.
God.
This was pathetic. You were so pathetic.
“You okay?” Minjae asked suddenly.
You blinked hard, fake eyelashes fluttering. “Huh?”
“You looked kinda sad just then.”
“Oh.” You forced out a laugh. “That’s just my face.”
Thankfully, he laughed too, accepting your answer easily.
Around you, the party only got louder. The music rattled through the walls hard enough to vibrate beneath your heels while people squeezed past each other carrying drinks that sloshed onto the floor. Somewhere near the staircase, somebody screamed over a game, followed by an automated “you just died.” The entire house smelled like sweat, cheap liquor, and somebody’s overly sweet vanilla perfume.
And somehow, all you could think about was how different this felt from being with Sunghoon.
You missed the stupid things the most. The tiny things you never noticed while they were happening, only in the wake of their aftermath. The way he’d tug you into his lap absentmindedly while scrolling through his phone. The way his hand would always find your waist automatically in crowded places, like his body just expected yours to be there.
You hated how vividly you remembered it all.
“You want another drink?” Minjae asked.
“Oh— sure.”
“I’ll be back.”
The second he disappeared into the crowd, you hurriedly grabbed your phone.
No notifications.
A heavy ache unfurled through your chest so suddenly it almost made you angry with yourself.
Forty days.
Forty fucking days.
Usually, Sunghoon would’ve cracked by now. Usually, there would’ve been late-night paragraphs, a few missed calls at two in the morning, a series of voice messages full of exhausted apologies and “baby, please just talk to me.”
But there’d been nothing.
Your thumb hovered over his contact before you could stop yourself.
hoonie
He was still pinned. Still stupidly pinned.
You stared at the chat, eyes boring into the screen. The last message was from him.
i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you really want.
You remembered sitting on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, reading it over and over again five weeks ago, tears running down your face while you waited for another message to appear underneath it.
It never did.
Your throat tightened at the recollection of the memory.
“You’re kidding me.”
Sunoo dropped onto the couch beside you, holding a half-open bag of chips, before narrowing his eyes immediately. “Why do you look like someone just died?”
You locked your phone instantly. “Nobody died.”
“You were staring at your screen like you got a funeral notice.”
“Shut up.”
His eyes widened dramatically. “Oh, my god. You miss him.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
You opened your mouth to argue before stopping.
Sunoo stared at you for a second longer before his face softened.
“…Oh,” he said, quieter this time. “Wait. You actually miss him.”
Your silence answered for you.
And somehow that expression on Sunoo’s face got worse. “You know,” he said carefully, “you guys break up so often that sometimes I forget you’re actually in love.”
That was the problem, wasn’t it? It would’ve been easier if you didn’t love him anymore. If the relationship had ended nicely because one of you just stopped caring. But every breakup with Sunghoon felt less like falling out of love and more like drowning in it.
“You should text him,” Sunoo said quietly.
You laughed immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to move on.”
“Are you?”
You looked away.
Across the room, a couple leaned into each other lazily. Somebody else kissed near the staircase like they were alone.
And suddenly the entire party felt unbearable.
You missed him. You really fucking missed him, in the most humiliating way possible. You missed calling him when something funny happened. You missed hearing the jingle of his keys outside your apartment before he walked in without knocking. You even missed your screaming fights with him.
Sunoo watched your expression carefully.
Then his phone buzzed. He checked it once and physically froze.
“Oh,” he muttered to himself.
Your stomach dropped instantly. “What?”
“…Nothing.”
“Kim Sunoo.”
He slowly turned the screen toward you.
sunghoon: is she there
Your heart actually stuttered.
Below it, another message appeared.
sunghoon: don’t tell her i asked
sunghoon: just tell me if she’s okay
The room suddenly feels too warm, wrapping around your neck and suffocating you.
You hate how quickly your body remembers him before your brain can catch up. The tightness in your chest. The way your stomach flips over itself. The instinctive urge to answer him immediately, even after all the nights you spent crying because of him.
Sunoo watches your expression carefully from beside you, his lips parting like he wants to say something before deciding against it. Instead, he pulls the phone back toward himself slowly, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
“Don’t reply yet,” you say quickly.
“I literally wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I am thinking about it,” he admits shamelessly. “Because this is the longest you two have gone without speaking since, like, the invention of electricity.”
You glare weakly at him, but there’s no real energy behind it.
just tell me if she’s okay
The worst part is that you can hear his voice saying it.
Because despite everything, despite all the arguments and slammed doors and tearful “maybe we just shouldn’t do this anymore” conversations at two in the morning, you know he loved you. Maybe badly sometimes. Maybe in ways that damaged both of you more than either of you wanted to admit.
But he loved you.
“You should answer him,” Sunoo says again, softer this time.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because if you answer him, everything starts again.
That’s the problem.
One message turns into a conversation. The conversation turns into him calling you late at night because he “just wanted to hear your voice for a second.” Then suddenly, he’s outside your apartment holding your favourite drink and a bouquet of your favourite flowers, like muscle memory alone just carried him there on its own.
And the worst part?
You always let him in.
Every single time.
It wasn’t because you were weak, and definitely not because you enjoyed heartbreak. It was because loving Sunghoon had never left room for pride. It seemed like the one thing you truly knew how to do.
You look down at your hands. Your nails are chipped. One of your rings sits crooked on your finger because you’ve been twisting it unconsciously all night.
“You know what’s embarrassing?” you murmur.
Sunoo hums beside you, urging you to continue.
“I genuinely thought I’d be okay without him this time.”
The words come out smaller than intended.
For a second, Sunoo doesn’t joke around. He doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t laugh and pat you on the back. He just leans back into the couch cushions with an exasperated sigh.
“I think,” he says carefully, “you guys keep trying to act like the problem is that you love each other too much.”
You frown slightly.
“I think you both just don’t know how to stop hurting each other. It’s too toxic, y/n”
Your chest tightens.
Because maybe he’s right.
You and Sunghoon had always loved each other desperately. Every emotion between you became enormous. Fights escalated too quickly. Small misunderstandings turned into unbearable conversations that lasted until the sun rose. Neither of you knew when to stop talking once you were upset. Neither of you knew how to let things go.
But somehow, even your worst moments with him still felt more real than anyone else.
That was the sick part. No matter how exhausting it became, nobody ever compared to him.
Not the random people Sunoo tried setting you up with. Not the awkward conversations at parties. Not the pretty strangers smiling at you across the crowded rooms.
Nobody looked at you the way Sunghoon did, like he was terrified of losing you even while he was actively ruining things.
Across the room, Minjae finally reappears holding two drinks. The second he notices your expression, his smile falters slightly.
“You okay?”
You blink like you’d forgotten he existed. You probably had forgotten.
“Oh. Yeah.”
It sounds fake even to you.
He hands you the drink anyway, before sitting beside the armrest this time instead of directly next to you. He probably sensed he had walked into something.
Sunoo suddenly stands up.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces suspiciously.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t text him.”
“I’m literally peeing.”
“You’re evil.”
He flashes you his white pearls, and then he disappears into the crowd before you can stop him.
You sink further into the couch with a groan, covering your face with your hands as if it could shield you from everything.
Minjae laughs softly beside you. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The music changes again, the bass vibrating through the floorboards hard enough to rattle the cups on the table. Someone nearby starts singing horribly off-key. And suddenly, all you want is to go home.
Not because the party is bad. Because Sunghoon would’ve noticed ten minutes ago that you were uncomfortable. He always noticed.
He would’ve tugged you somewhere quieter without making a big deal out of it, fingers brushing against your wrist gently as he pulled you through the crowd. Then he’d look down at you with that stupidly sincere expression he only ever wore around you and ask, “You wanna leave?
Like leaving together was the most obvious thing in the world.
Your chest aches so suddenly that you almost feel angry about it.
Forty days.
And somehow you still miss him in every room you enter.
PARTY 2:
You convinced yourself that the first party after the breakup was a trial run. You would surely move on and find a rebound this time! You were sure of it!
Because that’s what you were supposed to do, right? Keep going out, keep meeting people, keep proving to yourself that Sunghoon wasn’t supposed to be the centre of everything anymore.
“You cannot spend another weekend rotting in bed watching relationship tarot readings,” Sunoo had said, practically doing your own makeup for you for the party.
“They were accurate.”
“You believe some woman called MoonPrincess444?”
“She understands me!”
Sunoo ignored you completely, already sifting through your closet. “Wear the black dress.”
“The short one?”
“The hot one.”
Exactly an hour later, you’re standing in another overcrowded house filled with strangers and flashing lights.
At first, it feels exactly like last time. The same sticky heat in the air. The same bass vibrating through your ribs like it’s trying to rearrange something inside your chest.
You stayed near Sunoo at first, letting him lead you through the crowd like he always did, but even that didn’t last long. He kept getting pulled away by people he knew, conversations swallowing him whole until you were left standing slightly off to the side, holding a drink you didn’t remember agreeing to take.
You tried at first. You really did. You talked when people talked to you. You smiled when it felt appropriate. You even laughed once or twice just to prove to yourself that you still knew how to. But it never quite really stuck.
Your attention kept slipping in ways you couldn’t control. Every interaction felt slightly out of focus, like your mind was watching it from somewhere behind your body instead of inside it.
This guy laughs too loudly. Sunghoon used to laugh as it caught him off guard.
This one looks at his phone while you’re speaking. Sunghoon used to look at you like everything else in the room didn’t exist.
At some point, Sunoo vanished again into the crowd, leaving you alone near the edge of the kitchen area. You stayed there for a while, not really moving. The drink in your hand had gone warm. You weren’t even sure when you stopped noticing the music properly.
You were staring down into the swirls of your drink when it happened.
Your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up. A tightening in your chest, a shift in your breathing. Slowly, you turned your head.
And everything stopped.
Sunghoon was standing at the entrance.
He was wearing your his favourite hoodie, his hair falling in front of his cheekbones, his hands tucked strictly into his pockets as if he was holding himself together. There was something about the way he stood there that felt different from every other person in the room, not because he was doing anything noticeable, but because the space around him seemed to respond to him, as if the atmosphere itself had adjusted.
He had not seen you yet.
But you had already seen him.
And that alone was enough to make your chest tighten in a way that felt almost painful.
Then his eyes glanced up.
And he saw you. Your eyes diverted immediately
The recognition was immediate and absolute, like there had never been any real distance between you at all, like the forty days had not stretched or faded anything, but had simply been waiting for this exact second to collapse back into itself.
Your fingers tightened around your cup without you meaning to, the pressure building into the bones of your hand as your body reacted faster than your mind could intervene.
Around you, the party continued as if nothing had changed. People kept talking, laughing, and moving through the space without even noticing what had happened to you.
Because Sunghoon was still looking at you.
And in his expression, something changed in real time.
His gaze flickered briefly, and then, just for a moment, past you.
And that was when you realised.
Someone had been talking to you earlier. Standing too close that you could still feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough that it looked harmless to anyone else but Sunghoon.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened further as his attention returned fully to you. There was a heaviness in the way he looked now, as if seeing you here, like this, in a room that was not his, next to people who were not him, was something he had not prepared himself for, even if he had known he might eventually have to.
And that was the part that made something in him snap.
Because Sunghoon did not come here tonight expecting peace. He did not come here expecting healing or acceptance or any of the things people pretended happened after breakups when they were trying to sound mature about it. He came because forty days of silence had slowly stopped feeling like space and started feeling like divine punishment from God, and because the last words of “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want” had begun to rot in his chest the longer you did not come back.
He had told himself he would be normal about it. That he would walk in, act like he did not care, maybe have a drink, maybe talk to a few people, maybe convince himself that seeing you again would finally mean nothing. At least, that's what Jake said would happen.
It did the fucking opposite.
Because the moment his eyes found you across the room, everything in him reacted like it had been waiting for that exact sight. The way you stood there, holding your drink as if you belonged somewhere else entirely, your expression soft in a way he used to be the only one who got to see up close, made something in his chest tighten so much it almost hurt.
His jaw tightened before he could even think about it. His grip on his phone shifted in his pocket, fingers curling hard enough that he almost forgot he was holding anything at all. He watched the angle of your body without meaning to, the way you were facing slightly away from the guy but not moving away either, and his mind filled in the gaps faster than he could stop it.
You looked fine.
That was the worst part.
You looked like you were completely okay here.
Like you had adjusted just fine.
Like you were not waiting for anything anymore, that you weren’t waiting for him anymore.
And that thought, more than anything else, made his chest tighten in an almost unbearable way.
He started walking before he fully decided to.
The music got louder as he moved deeper into the room, but it felt miles away to him now. People brushed past him, scoffing at his abrupt movements. Jay called his name, some girl laughed too loudly near his shoulder, but none of it mattered to him. His focus wasn’t on them; it stayed on you.
On the way, you had looked away like you’d been caught.
On the way, you still had not moved.
On the way, someone else still stood too close to you.
By the time he was only a few steps away, he could finally see your face properly again. He saw the way your expression had changed slightly, as you had finally noticed something was different in the room, even before you turned fully. He saw the small hesitation in your posture, the way your attention was no longer fully anchored to the conversation beside you.
And then, slowly, you turned.
And everything stopped for him again, too.
Up close, it was worse.
Because now there was no distance. No crowd to hide behind. Just you, standing there, looking at him like you were not sure whether he belonged here or in your memory.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Forty days sat between you, like some sort of physical barrier.
Then Sunghoon looked past you again, just briefly, just enough to confirm what he already did not like. The guy was still there, now watching the interaction with obvious confusion, like he could tell something was wrong, but didn’t understand what.
Sunghoon felt his expression change before he could control it.
When he looked back at you, his voice came out lower than usual.
“You’re serious?”
The words were simple, but the way he said them was not. There was something underneath them that sounded almost disbelieving.
You did not answer immediately, and that hesitation alone did something to him.
Because he knew you, he knew exactly what your silence usually meant.
The jealousy didn’t feel rational anymore. It was not just some guy. It was about everything he was suddenly seeing all at once. You laughing with someone else. You standing comfortably without him. You existing in a space where he was not automatically the centre of your attention.
He took a breath, slower this time, forcing his expression to steady, but his eyes did not soften.
Instead, they stayed on you.
“I leave you alone for a month,” he said finally, quieter again, “and this is what it looks like?”
There was no accusation in it. And for the first time since he walked in, Sunghoon did not look like someone trying to act normal. He looked like someone who had just realised that maybe he was not the only one still stuck in the same place. And for a second, it felt like neither of you knew what to do with that.
Because that was the truth that neither of you had said out loud yet. Not in forty days, not during the breakup, not in any of the arguments that had ended with slammed doors and messages left on read until they stopped meaning anything.
Sunghoon had not moved on.
Not even slightly.
And seeing you here, like this, made that fact unbearable in a way he did not have the words for.
“You’re not answering,” he pressed.
“I don’t need to,” you replied, and your voice was steadier than you expected it to be.
That steadiness made something in him crack further.
Because it was wrong. Wrong in every single way, it disrupted the version of you he still held in his head. The version who always looked at him first in a room. The version of you who would beam at him, ushering him to your side. The version that never made him feel replaceable.
But you weren’t doing that now.
You were just standing there, completely still, completely fine without him. And it made him feel ridiculous for assuming anything would be the same.
“You’re really just going to stand here like I didn’t just walk in and see—” he stopped himself, as if he had reached a dead end and didn’t know how to navigate a way out.
“You don’t get to act like that,” you sighed, everything that had been kept bottled up over the forty days pouring out, “You don’t get to break up with me, disappear for forty fucking days, and then walk in here like you still have the right to—”
You swallowed your words.
His eyes stayed locked on yours in that way that always used to make you feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. As if he only existed in your orbit.
“You don’t get to show up,” you continued, voice shaking now despite your best effort, “and act like I’m doing something wrong just because I’m here.”
The guy behind you shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware of himself, of his proximity, of the fact that he had become a detail in something much larger and much more volatile than a casual conversation at a party. He muttered something under his breath and took a step back, disappearing into the crowd in a blink.
Sunghoon laughs, actually fucking laughs. “You think I left?” he repeats, like the idea itself is insulting.
“You literally said you’d leave me alone,” you remind him, voice rising now, your throat tightening. “You said it. You wrote it. You made it sound so final, like I was supposed to just, what? Wait for you?”
“No,” he says quietly. “I said I’d leave you alone if that’s what you wanted.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
It is. It is. It is.
You shake your head slightly, frustrated in a way that feels familiar and humiliating all at once.
AFTER PARTY
You really did try not to succumb to Sunghoon’s touch. You should have pushed him away—should have reminded him that whatever this was ended a month ago—but the familiar heat of his palms through your dress made your breath catch. His fingers tightened slightly, testing your resolve, and you hated how easily your body still responded to him.
Without a word, he guided you away from the crowded living room, his grip firm enough that no one would question whether you were following willingly. The noise of the party dulled as you moved down the hall, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. People blurred past, but you barely registered them. Not when Sunghoon’s thumb was tracing slow circles against the dip of your waist through the thin fabric of your dress.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he nudged open the bathroom door. The click of the lock was deafening.
Your body registers that you're being set down on the bathroom sink top before your mind does.
"You said you'd leave me alone," you repeated, voice breaking on the last word.
Sunghoon's fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbone beneath the hem of your dress. "I did." His thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above your thigh. "And then you showed up here looking like this."
Within seconds, he’s bunching your dress up around your hips. 40 days apart hadn't changed the way your bodies fit together—his cock hard against your core, your nails already digging into his shoulders.
Your panties were gone before you could protest, tossed carelessly to the floor, and then his fingers were there—stroking, teasing—just long enough to make your hips jerk toward him.
"Still wet for me," he noted, voice thick with amusement as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. "Even after all this time."
You grip onto the bathroom counter as you feel him push inside of you, the stretch so deliciously intoxicating, your jaw slack. He groaned when you clenched around him, his forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out. "Fuck, you feel—"
"Don't," you cut him off, even as your legs hooked around his waist to pull him deeper. "This doesn't mean anything."
Sunghoon laughed darkly, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in hard enough to make you cry out. "Keep telling yourself that," he taunted, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he set a punishing rhythm. "Your body knows the truth."
His thumb found your clit, rubbing rough circles just the way you liked, and you hated how quickly you unraveled under his touch. The pleasure coiled tighter, your back arching off the sink as he fucked you through it, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer you didn’t mean to say.
Sunghoon’s breath hitched when you came, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release. "Missed this," he gritted out, fingers digging into your thighs. "Missed you."
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, when his cock was still buried inside you, when every nerve in your body was alight with the aftershocks.
“I don’t miss you.” His large hand moves, slapping the meat of your ass as a response. The sting of his palm against your flesh makes you gasp, your back arching further as he picks up the pace. His hips snap into yours with ruthless precision, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you until your thighs tremble. You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you break—but your body betrays you. Your nails dig into the cold marble countertop, leaving faint crescent marks as pleasure coils tighter in your core.
Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your ear, dripping with lust. "Still lying to yourself, huh?" His fingers tighten around your hips, holding you in place as he drives into you harder, the slap of skin echoing off the tiled walls. "Your pussy's begging for me. Always has."
A moan claws its way out of your throat when his thumb circles your clit again, pressing just enough to make your vision blur. You hate how easily he unravels you, how your body remembers every filthy thing he can do to it.
"Say it," he growls, punctuating the demand with another sharp thrust. "Tell me you missed this."
You shake your head stubbornly, but your hips rock back against him anyway, taking him deeper. The bathroom mirror fogs with the heat between you, obscuring your reflection—just as well, because you can't bear to see how wrecked you look beneath him.
Sunghoon laughs darkly, dragging his teeth over your shoulder. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
His hand wraps around your throat, not enough to cut off your air but enough to make your pulse leap wildly beneath his fingers. The pressure sends a dizzying rush through you, your body tightening around his cock in helpless response. "Look at you," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Always so fucking perfect when you’re mine."
The words shouldn’t unravel you—but they do. Your resolve crumbles with every punishing thrust, every filthy whisper against your skin. His free hand slides down your stomach, fingertips skimming lower until they find you throbbing and soaked, your clit swollen under his touch.
"Sunghoon—"
His hips jerk forward, slamming into you so deep your back bows off the counter. "Say it."
You choke back a sob as pleasure fractures through you, your body clenching around him in helpless waves. He doesn’t let up, fucking you through it until your legs go weak and your hands scramble for purchase against the slick sink.
The last thing you feel before everything goes white is his mouth on your neck, teeth sinking in as he groans your name.
ᦸ 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇🧁 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 1.2k ⠀˃̵ᴗ˂̵⠀ first times NSFW praise kink oral (m recieivng)ㅤ reblogs&kisses
The summer air was thick and sticky in Sunghoon’s cramped bedroom, the only sound the hum of an old floor fan. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, a look of pure frustration etched on his handsome face. You sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against his dresser, trying to keep your expression neutral.
“It’s just… awkward,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “Every time it gets to that point, I freeze up. I don’t know what to do with it.” A faint blush crept up his neck. You’d been friends since middle school, had shared every secret, but this was new territory. You took a steadying breath, the unspoken truth hanging between you. Of course you’d noticed; it was hard not to when he walked out of the shower with just a towel slung low on his hips. His sheer size was intimidating, even from a purely observational standpoint.
“Okay,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady. “We’re just problem-solving. Like we always do.” You pushed yourself up from the floor and sat beside him on the bed, the worn mattress dipping under your combined weight. The space between you felt charged, the humid air clinging to your skin. “First, we remove the mystery.” You kept your gaze on his face, on the nervous flicker in his dark eyes. “Let me see.”
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, a mixture of relief and fresh anxiety. His fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. When he finally pushed the denim down his hips, the reality of him was even more staggering than the glimpses you’d stolen. He was thick and long, fully hard already, the tip flushed a deep red. He looked painfully earnest and completely lost. “See?” he whispered, his voice rough. “It’s… a lot.”
“It is,” you agreed softly, not touching him yet. You took his wrist and guided his hand to himself. “Get used to the feel of it.” You coached him through a slow, tentative stroke, your hand over his. His breath hitched, a soft groan escaping him. “That’s it. No rush. Just get used to the sensation, to being in control of it.”
You let go, allowing him to continue on his own, watching the concentration on his face shift from panic to a dazed sort of focus. After a few moments, his rhythm faltered. “It’s not… I can’t just do this by myself forever,” he said, frustration creeping back in. He looked at you, a silent, desperate question in his eyes.
“Then don’t,” you murmured. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing against his. With deliberate slowness, you reached out and replaced his hand with your own. The first full touch of your skin on him made him jerk, a strangled sound catching in his throat. He was impossibly smooth and hard, the vein along the underside pulsing under your thumb. You began to move your hand up and down in a firm, measured pace, your eyes locked on his.
A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His hands gripped the bedsheet, knuckles white. “What… what about with someone else?” he managed to ask, his gaze dropping to where your hand worked him.
“That’s next,” you said, your own pulse thrumming. You leaned in, your breath ghosting over the wet head of his cock. “You have to learn where it’s most sensitive.” You touched your tongue to the slit, tasting the salty pre-come there. Sunghoon cried out, his back arching off the bed. “Here,” you said before taking him into your mouth, as much as you could manage. It was a stretch, your jaw aching instantly, but you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, using your hand on the base he couldn’t fit. His moans became broken, pleading things. You pulled off with a wet pop. “See? Responsive. You just have to listen.”
You crawled up his body, settling over his hips. The damp heat of your own need pressed against the thin barrier of your shorts, meeting the solid, insistent pressure of him. You guided him with your hand, positioning him right where you ached. "This is the part that usually makes people nervous," you said, your voice low. "It’s okay to go slow." You kept your eyes on his as you began to lower yourself, taking just the broad head of him inside. A sharp, full sensation made you pause, breathing through it. He’s not going to fit.
Sunghoon's hands flew to your hips, his grip instinctive but gentle. His eyes were wide, watching where you were joined. "Okay?" he breathed out, the word strained.
"Okay," you confirmed, sinking down another inch. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that forced a low moan from your throat. You moved in a careful, rocking rhythm, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming size of him. His hips twitched upward, seeking more, but you placed a firm hand on his stomach. "Not yet. Let me lead."
You continued the slow, grinding descent until he was fully seated inside you, a feeling of being utterly filled. I’m full. Completely full. You stayed there, unmoving, letting the sensation settle for both of you. His chest was heaving, every muscle in his abdomen taut. "Now," you whispered, beginning to move in earnest. You rose until only the tip remained, then sank back down, setting a deep, rolling pace. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he matched your rhythm, his own thrusts growing more confident, more demanding.
A low, ragged moan tore from your throat as he hit a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His confidence was growing with every thrust, his movements losing their initial hesitation and gaining a raw, powerful rhythm. You braced your hands on his sweat-slicked chest, riding him with a desperate intensity now, each descent a deliberate surrender to that overwhelming fullness. The stretch had become a burning pleasure, a constant, throbbing reminder of his size that was tipping you toward the edge. You could feel your own climax coiling tight in your belly, triggered by the relentless, deep friction.
Sunghoon’s breathing was coming in harsh gasps, his eyes glazed and fixed on you. His hands slid from your hips to grip the backs of your thighs, holding you open, controlling the depth of his plunges. "Tell me," he grunted, the words strained. His voice was rough with a newfound authority. "Tell me if it's right."
Before you could form a coherent sentence, your orgasm crashed over you, a violent, clenching wave that ripped a cry from your lips. Your body clamped down around him, milking his length in rhythmic pulses. That sensation tipped him over the edge. With a choked-off shout, he drove up into you one final, searing time and held there, his release flooding you.
You collapsed forward, your forehead resting against his collarbone, both of you slick with sweat and utterly spent, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your ear. His arms came around you, holding you close in the sticky silence. “So,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet and a bit rough. “Best friends still?”
୨୧ from ♡ 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑎𓏼⑅ ♥︎ ୧
inspired by this fic by wonxee and my comment lol big dick hoon agenda is reallllll + this layout is inspired by katsuiki
synopsis: riki’s dangerously low sweatpants and deliberate teasing push you to the edge. when he dares to expose more, you take control, dropping to your knees to silence his games…
now playing: “loose” by enhypen
sol’s note: there's a photo of ni-ki from the concert circulating around here on tumblr and i decided to make one for it. bruhh my boi almost show his dihh 😓
Riki was pacing back and forth in the living room. He wore a black tank top that clung to his defined shoulders and chest, the fabric stretched tight over his muscles, but it was the lower half of him that was causing the real distraction for you. A pair of loose gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, secured only by the sharp jut of his hip bones. Every time he took a step, the waistband dipped, revealing the elastic trim of his black Calvin Klein boxers.
He stopped in front of the full-body mirror, admiring his physique. You watched over the rim of your book, breath catching in your throat as he lifted the hem of his tank top. His hand slipped underneath, palm flattening against his stomach as he rubbed his abs, his fingers tracing the ridges of muscle with slow, deliberate pressure. The movement caused the shirt to rise further, exposing the intricate ink of the tattoos running along his side waist, leading the eye down to the deep, sharp cut of his v-line.
It was criminal to look at but he is your boyfriend anyways. Those damn sweatpants were insanely bad to your sanity, swaying loosely with every shift of his weight, threatening to slide right off his frame.
You weren't even pretending to read anymore. The book lay forgotten, your gaze fixed on the reflection in the mirror, tracking the path of his hand as it drifted lower, fingers toying with the waistband of his pants.
"Done checking me out?" Riki’s teasing voice cut through the silence.
He met your eyes in the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. You blinked, caught red-handed, and quickly snapped your gaze back down to the page you hadn't turned in ten minutes. Oh.
"In your dreams," you shot back, rolling your eyes, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you.
Riki just chuckled, turning his back from you as he walked toward the kitchen. "Whatever you say, babe."
You tried to focus on the text, forcing your brain to process the sentences, but it was useless. The image of his hand on his skin engraved in your mind. A moment later, the fridge door opened and closed, and he walked back into the living room.
If you thought the pants were low before, it was nothing compared to now. The gray fabric had slipped another inch, the waistband sitting precariously low, exposing the sharp definition of his hip bones. He stopped in front of you, holding a glass of water in his right hand.
"Babe, do you have other pants? Do you want me to buy one for you?" you asked, pointing out his loose sweatpants. You were genuinely concerned he didn't own clothes that actually fit him anymore.
He lowered the glass, wiping a droplet of water from his lower lip with his thumb. "Nah, I'm good babe. Besides, this is a trend nowadays." He smiled, that infuriatingly handsome, knowing smile, before tilting his head back to finish the water.
Your eyes traced the column of his throat as he swallowed, watching the bob of his Adam's apple. The sharp line of his jaw tensed and relaxed, the side profile illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through the window. He looked so manly, so effortlessly gorgeous by just standing there.
Riki stepped closer, coming to a stop just on the other side of the coffee table. You stared at the waistband of his sweatpants, the way they clung to nothing but air, the elastic band of his boxers clearly visible.
"Riki, pull it up. I swear. You're about to show your ass you know?" you said, your voice tinged with irritation, though it was mostly frustration at how badly you wanted to touch him.
"No. I'm not. Why are you bothered?" He teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down flirting at you.
"Stop. There's nothing funny. I just don't want you to expose what's mine," you blurted out. The words hung in the air, heavy and possessive. You felt your face flush hot by your sudden confession.
"Possessive are we?" he chuckled, stepping closer to the edge of the table, enjoying your flustered state.
Instead of fixing his pants, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged them lower, deliberately slow. The gray fabric slid down his thighs, and the outline of his bulge became unmistakably visible, pressing against the front of his boxers.
"What about this?" He laughed, wiggling his eyebrows again, tugging the pants up and down in a rhythmic, mocking motion.
That was it.
You slammed your book shut, the loud thud echoing through the living room. Riki jumped slightly, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden noise. You didn't say a word. You stood up, the book abandoned on the cushion, and walked around the coffee table until you were standing right in front of him.
Without breaking eye contact, you dropped to your knees. The carpet cushioned your descent as you settled between his legs. He spun around to face you, the movement bringing his crotch level with your face, the heavy outline of his cock inches from your nose.
"W-what is this?" he stammered, as he looked down at you.
"I don't play games, Riki. I'll pull it down for you," you smirked, craning your neck back to look up at him.
He inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as you reached out. You palmed his clothed member, feeling the heat radiating through the cotton, the weight of him filling your hand. You ran your hands up to the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers curling around the elastic, and slowly tugged them down.
He helped you, kicking the gray fabric away impatiently. You immediately reached for the black Calvin Klein boxers, dragging them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, slapping lightly against your cheek as it escaped the fabric. It stood up hard and thick, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, ready for your touch.
You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the pulse of blood beneath the velvety skin. You stroked him gently, squeezing slightly as you moved your hand up and down. A breathy groan tore from Riki’s throat, his head falling back.
"Fuck," he hissed.
You leaned in, spitting directly onto the head of his cock, letting your saliva mix with the pre-cum. You showed him your tongue, swirling it teasingly before you took him inside your warm, wet mouth. You kept your eyes locked on his face, watching his expression contort with pleasure as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with every pass.
"F-fuck baby. Your mouth feels good around my dick," he moaned, his hands tangling in your hair, fingers gripping the strands to guide you.
You tightened your palm around the base of his shaft, stroking him in time with the movements of your mouth. You sucked hard, your cheeks hollowing out, focusing on the sensitive ridge just below the head. You could feel every vein on your tongue, the texture of him dragging against the soft wetness of your mouth as he slid deeper.
"Keep going please—" Riki pleaded, his hips buckling forward, pushing your head down, wanting more.
He looked down at you, unable to look away. The sight of his big cock stuffed in your mouth, your pink lips stretched tight around him, was intoxicating. Your mouth glistened with the mixture of your saliva and his dripping pre-cum, strands of it connecting your lips to his shaft as you pulled back. The warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue were sending him to cloud nine, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive to have you on your knees like this.
"You're so pretty around me. Ahh—" he moaned, as he began to fuck your mouth faster.
You gagged around him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but you didn't pull away. You gripped his hips harder, your nails digging into his skin to steady yourself as he thrust into your mouth, losing control.
"Please! Please! Please! D-don't stop…" he begged, his voice wrecked.
Riki’s eyes drifted to the side, catching the reflection in the full-body mirror. The visual was filthy and perfect—he could see the way his cock disappeared fast in and out of your pretty mouth, the way your head bobbed furiously as he held your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He groaned again, the reflection in front of him pushing him closer to the edge.
"I'm gonna cum—ngh," he breathed out, his rhythm turning erratic as he continued to fuck your mouth, chasing his release.
You felt him swell in your mouth, getting heavier and fuller. You knew he was close. You released one hand from his hip and reached down to cup his balls, massaging them gently, rolling them in your palm to help him get there faster.
"Shit—F-fuck baby…" he cried out.
He came hard, his hips jerking forward as he buried himself deep in your throat. You felt the warm, salty flood of his seeds dripping inside your throat, coating your tongue. You swallowed around him, desperate to take it all, but there was too much. Some of it escaped the seal of your lips, dripping out of the corner of your mouth and running down your chin, landing straight onto your cleavage, staining the white lace camisole you wore.
Riki stood there for a moment, chest heaving, before he slowly pulled his softening cock from your mouth. He looked down at you, his face flushed with post-orgasmic bliss. He reached out, bringing his thumb to your chin to wipe the semen dripping from your lip. Without hesitation, he brought his thumb to your mouth, pushing it past your lips. You sucked it obediently, swirling your tongue around the digit, making wet, lewd noises as you cleaned him off.
He pulled his thumb free, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room. Then, he dropped to his knees in front of you, ignoring the hardness of the floor. He grabbed the nape of your neck and kissed you harshly, his tongue plunging into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue. It was a messy and possessive kiss.
Riki pulled back, a soft, genuine smile gracing his lips. He reached down, taking your hands from your thighs and placing them back on his semi-hard cock, which twitched at the friction of your touch.
"I will definitely wear more loose pants from now on," he said, his voice husky and sincere.
He wasn't fooling around.
You smiled back at him, your fingers tracing the length of him. Good thing you loved it.
