SYNOPSIS you always thought sunoo was off-limits—sweet, soft, possibly into guys. you undressed in front of him, slept beside him, teased him without shame. but the moment jealousy breaks him, you realize he’s not safe. he’s obsessed. and he’s been waiting to take you for years.
the first time sunoo ever thought, i am in trouble, you were standing in the kitchen in one of his shirts.
it was an old concert tee he’d left in your laundry basket by accident, hanging loose on you and barely hitting mid-thigh. your hair was still damp from the shower, feet bare against the cold floor, face scrunched in confusion as you stared into the fridge.
“do you think this yogurt has gone bad?” you asked, turning around and holding it up like evidence.
he meant to look at your face. he really did.
but his eyes flicked lower on instinct. the hem of his shirt rode up when you leaned against the counter, revealing just a little more of your thigh than his heart was prepared for at eight in the morning. his brain short-circuited, and the only thing that came out of his mouth was a broken, “huh?”
you laughed, that soft, sleepy little sound that always made his chest feel too small.
“earth to pretty boy.” you wiggled the yogurt. “smell it.”
he stepped closer without thinking, taking it from you. up close, he could smell your shampoo, the warm clean scent of your skin. you weren’t wearing any perfume but he’d recognize the way you smelled in a crowded room with his eyes closed.
“it’s fine,” he said, quickly, before he could inhale too deeply and make things even worse. “you’re dramatic.”
“i’m careful,” you corrected, rolling your eyes as you took it back. “my stomach is sensitive. unlike you, human garbage disposal.”
“that’s so rude,” he protested, but he was smiling.
you grinned back, nudging him with your hip as you started hunting for a spoon. “it’s a love language. relax, my gay best friend can take it.”
the words were light. offhand. you didn’t mean anything by it; he knew that. still, something in his chest pinched.
he looked at you from the corner of his eye. the way you moved around him like it was the most natural thing in the world, shoulders brushing, your arm grazing his when you reached past him. like his being here, in your space, was a given.
“i’m not that sensitive,” he muttered, grabbing a mug from the shelf.
“exactly,” you said, triumphant. “that’s what makes you the perfect roommate. no testosterone rage, no weird man smell, no complaining when i steal your skincare. peak life choice.”
“wow,” he scoffed. “you act like i don’t even count as a guy.”
you looked at him, spoon half-way to your mouth, expression softening in a way that made his stomach twist.
“you’re the safest guy i know,” you said, like it was the highest compliment in the world.
he forced himself to smile back and hoped you didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the mug.
safe.
if only you knew.
_______
the thing is, everyone thought sunoo was gay.
he kind of got it. he was pretty, and he knew it. big eyes, soft features, meticulous outfits. he liked skincare and café dates and spent more time curating pinterest boards than most people spent studying. he was open about crushing on male idols when you two were younger, and somehow that had just… solidified into this unspoken truth.
sunoo’s the gay best friend. obviously.
you had never once said it like a joke at his expense. never mocked him, never made a weird face about it. you just treated it like fact, like the sky being blue and exams being hell.
and because you believed it so completely, you gave him things he didn’t know how to give back.
you changed in front of him while ranting about professors, tugging shirts over your head and complaining that your bra strap was annoying. you curled up with him in bed during thunderstorms, pressing your cold feet into his calves and whining into his chest until he wrapped his arms around you.
you stole sips from his straw. you sat on his lap during crowded parties like it was nothing. you leaned against him when you were tired, fingers playing with his rings, eyes closed and trusting.
and every time, he smiled, joked, pretended his body didn’t react.
every time, he ended up in the bathroom some time later, breathing slowly and splashing water on his face until the tightness in his chest and the restless ache in his jeans faded enough that he could look you in the eye again.
he didn’t know when liking you had turned into something that felt like a constant, low-grade fever. he just knew he’d been living with it for so long it had become part of his routine.
______
“we’re gonna be late.”
your voice floated down the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps. sunoo looked up from tying his shoelaces and almost forgot how to breathe.
you came stumbling out of your room, backpack half-zipped, one earring in, hair in the kind of messy bun that looked suspiciously curated.
“help,” you said, shoving your wrist in his direction. “bracelet.”
“you have hands,” he pointed out, but his fingers were already closing around your arm.
“yeah, but you have magically better fine motor skills,” you shot back, breathless. “also, my nails are too long.”
the chain was delicate, a thin gold piece you wore almost every day. you stood there in front of him, wrist offered, eyes on your phone as he worked the clasp. he had to lean in a little, your skin warm under his fingertips.
your phone lit up with a new notification. he saw the name before you locked the screen.
jake.
his stomach did that weird drop again.
“he texted?” he tried to sound casual, like he did not spend half of last night listening to you talk about how nice jake was, how funny, how sweet.
“yeah,” you said, smiling without even realizing. “he found that café i was talking about. wants to go after our afternoon lecture. you should come.”
“am i invited?” the words came out sharper than he intended.
you blinked, finally looking up. “you’re always invited.”
he swallowed, fingers fumbling the clasp for a second. your eyes were so open, so sure. like his place at your side was permanent and unquestionable.
“besides,” you added, grinning. “i need you as my buffer. i can’t be alone with a hot guy, i’ll forget how to talk.”
“wow, thanks,” he said. “what am i, decoration?”
“you’re emotional support glitter,” you said solemnly. “can’t function without you.”
he snorted, fastening the bracelet at last. “done.”
“angel,” you hummed, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
it was quick, light, barely there. you’d done it a hundred times. but his skin burned under the phantom press of your lips long after you’d grabbed your bag and dragged him out the door with a cheerful, “come on, we’re gonna miss the bus, move your pretty legs.”
he couldn’t help it. his hand drifted up to touch his cheek as you rushed ahead of him down the stairs, laughing, and he thought, yeah. definitely in trouble.
______
the café was crowded and warm, the kind of place that smelled like sugar and espresso and possibility.
jake was already there when you and sunoo arrived, waving from a corner table. he stood when he saw you, that easy, open smile spreading across his face.
sunoo watched your lips curve in response. watched how you gave a little wave back, a bit shy, a bit excited.
“you made it,” jake said when you reached the table.
“of course,” you replied, swinging your bag off your shoulder. “this place is so cute.”
“you’re cute,” jake said automatically, then froze, ears going pink. “i mean. the place. the place is cute.”
you laughed, bright and pleased.
sunoo pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, ignoring the way something unpleasant twisted in his chest.
“hey, sunoo,” jake added quickly. “good to see you, man.”
“you too,” sunoo said, letting his smile slide into place. “nice choice of spot.”
they ordered drinks. you got something iced and sugary with whipped cream, sunoo got a matcha latte, and jake ordered black coffee like he was trying to impress someone.
conversation flowed easily. jake was funny, actually. earnest. he didn’t talk over you, didn’t make weird jokes at sunoo’s expense. he asked about your classes, your event next week, the group project from hell that you and sunoo were suffering through together.
at one point, you reached for your drink and got whipped cream on your lip. you didn’t notice, too busy ranting about your professor.
sunoo did.
he stared at that little smear of white at the corner of your mouth, feeling his pulse pick up. he’d seen it before, in other situations, in thoughts he tried very hard not to follow before bed.
“uh, you’ve got…” he said softly, gesturing to his own face.
“where?” you asked, tongue darting out to lick the wrong side.
his throat went dry.
“here,” he murmured, forcing himself to lean in, thumb hovering for a second before he wiped it away.
your breath hitched, just the tiniest bit. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for one dizzy heartbeat, the air between you felt… heavier.
then you smiled, bright and oblivious. “thanks, life saver.”
he cleared his throat and sat back, fingers curling into his palms under the table.
jake watched the whole exchange with an unreadable look. then he smiled, too, a little crookedly.
“you two are really close, huh?” he said.
“we’re roommates,” you said, like that explained everything. “and he’s my best friend. i’d die without him.”
sunoo’s heart did a weird little flip and drop at the same time.
“yeah,” jake said quietly, eyes flicking between you and sunoo. “i can see that.”
_______
later that week, you were supposed to be studying.
in reality, you were pacing around your room in various states of undress, throwing outfits onto the bed while sunoo lay there among the chaos, scrolling through his phone.
“this?” you demanded, stepping out in a skirt he’d never seen before and a fitted top that made his brain blank out for a second.
he swallowed. hard.
“you’re going to the library,” he said. “not a runway.”
“libraries are social spaces in this economy,” you argued, turning in front of the mirror. “is it too short?”
the skirt hit mid-thigh. when you turned, it rode up just a little higher. sunoo’s gaze dropped, traitorously, to the smooth line of your legs, then snapped up again.
“it’s fine,” he said, a touch too quickly. “sit.”
“what?”
“sit,” he repeated. “if you can sit without flashing the entire campus, you’re good.”
you rolled your eyes but perched on the edge of the bed beside him, knees together. the fabric crept up again. sunoo stared at the far wall like it was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
“verdict?” you pressed.
“uh. you’re… fine,” he said. “maybe don’t bend over in front of anyone.”
“so you’re saying i should absolutely bend over in front of jake,” you teased, poking his arm.
something hot and sharp flared in his chest at the casual way you said it.
“it’s not always about jake,” he muttered.
you blinked. “whoa. okay. someone’s cranky.”
“i’m not cranky,” he said, even though he very obviously was.
you studied him for a second, then flopped backwards, landing half on his legs. the skirt rode up as you sprawled, your bare thigh pressing against his jeans.
his whole body went tense.
“sunoo,” you whined, staring up at the ceiling. “i can’t tell if you’re being honest or if you’re in one of your judgy stylist moods.”
“i’m being honest,” he managed, voice tight. the pressure of your leg against him was turning from warm to dangerous. “you look good.”
“you always say that,” you pouted, turning your head to look at him. from this angle, you were dangerously close. “you never say more.”
he exhaled slowly, staring straight ahead.
“what’s more?” he asked quietly.
“i don’t know,” you said, eyes narrowing playfully. “like, ‘wow, you’re so pretty, everyone will fall at your feet, you’re breathtaking, i weep when i look at you’ or something.”
he laughed, the sound strangled. “dramatic.”
“you love me,” you sing-songed, poking his side again.
you had no idea.
he shifted subtly, letting your weight slide a little lower on his legs, hoping it would give him enough space so you wouldn’t accidentally feel the way his body was very much reacting to you. his jeans suddenly felt too tight, heat creeping up his neck.
“you’re impossible,” he muttered.
“but i’m cute,” you pointed out.
he glanced down at you, and for once, he didn’t try to hide what he was thinking.
“yeah,” he said softly. “you are.”
your smile faltered for a second, something flickering across your face that he didn’t quite catch before you sat up again, brushing it away with a laugh.
“okay, skirt is approved. now help me with my notes or i’ll fail out of uni and it’ll be your fault.”
he let you pull him upright, heart still pounding.
you didn’t notice the way he needed just a second longer than usual to adjust his position before standing. you never did.
_____
their friends noticed before you did.
at a small party in jake’s apartment, the living room was packed with people and terrible lighting. music thumped from a speaker in the corner, someone was spilling beer on the rug, and yunjin was holding court from the kitchen counter.
sunoo stuck close to you like he always did, laughing at your jokes, topping up your drink, leaning down when you had to shout something into his ear over the noise.
jake drifted in and out of your orbit, too. he handed you a slice of pizza at one point, fingers brushing yours. he stood behind you while you bickered with sunoo over a stupid drinking game rule, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair.
from across the room, jungwon elbowed yunjin.
“you see it, right?” he said, nodding toward the three of you. “that’s a situation.”
yunjin took a sip of her drink, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“oh, definitely,” she said. “that’s a love triangle waiting to happen. or murder. depends which one snaps first.”
jungwon snorted. “my money’s on sunoo.”
“my money’s on you sticking your nose in and making it worse,” she retorted.
“fair,” he admitted, grinning.
in the middle of it all, you stood between jake and sunoo, laughing, utterly unaware.
_____
the night sunoo snapped didn’t look different at first.
you were in your shared room, lights soft, laptop open between you as a drama played. you’d both seen it before; it was mostly background noise while you pretended to catch up on readings neither of you were absorbing.
you were leaning against the headboard, he was stretched out beside you. at some point your legs tangled, your ankle hooked over his. he barely noticed anymore. his body just… recognized the shape of you, adjusted automatically.
“pause,” you said suddenly, smacking his arm.
he flinched. “what?”
“i need snacks,” you announced, already pushing the laptop aside. “do you want anything?”
“water,” he replied softly.
you nodded and climbed over him to get off the bed instead of walking around like a normal person. your thigh slid over his stomach, your hand landing on his chest for balance. he didn’t breathe until you were off him and padding out of the room.
alone in the quiet, he let out a shaky exhale.
he was so tired.
tired of swallowing his feelings, of pretending he didn’t care when you got dressed up for someone else, of hearing you call him safe like it was some kind of compliment and not the chain it felt like around his throat.
he thought about jake. about the way you’d smiled when you checked your phone earlier that evening. about the way you’d said, so casually, “i think he might ask me out soon.”
something ugly and terrified clamped down on his chest.
you came back a few minutes later with a bag of chips and a bottle of water. you tossed the water to him, then climbed back onto the bed, again taking the direct route over his body.
this time, your knee pressed down against his hip, a little too close to where he was already strung tight from his own thoughts.
heat shot through him, startling in its intensity. he sucked in a breath.
you didn’t catch it. you were too busy opening the chips, the bag crackling loud in the small room.
“so,” you said, mouth already full. “jake texted me earlier.”
of course he did.
“yeah?” sunoo asked quietly.
“he wants to go to that rooftop bar this weekend,” you said, eyes bright. “he said it’d be cute. like… a date.”
the word hung between you.
sunoo’s fingers tightened around the water bottle until the plastic crinkled.
“what did you say?” he asked, voice low.
“i told him i’d think about it,” you said, shrugging, but there was a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “i mean, he’s nice. and he’s definitely attracted to me. you saw the way he looked at me in that skirt.”
he remembered. all too well.
“yeah,” sunoo murmured. “i saw.”
you didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched. you just scooted down a little, letting your head fall onto his shoulder, legs curling up so your knee rested across his thighs.
“what do you think?” you asked, tilting your face toward his. “should i say yes?”
there it was. the question he’d been dreading.
he could tell you no. he could say jake wasn’t good enough, make some excuse, try to sabotage it before it began. but that wasn’t who he was with you. he’d always been your supporter, your cheerleader. the one you trusted to give honest advice.
even when it killed him.
“if you like him,” sunoo said slowly, “then… yeah. you should go.”
you nodded, thoughtful. “he’s not… like, crazy intense or anything. i feel calm with him. and he’s hot. i won’t lie.”
he laughed, the sound bitter in his own ears. “your standards are very clear, i see.”
“don’t judge,” you said, poking his side. “i like guys who are nice to me and have pretty hands. it’s not that deep.”
he looked down at his own hands without meaning to. the ones that held your wrists to clasp bracelets, fixed your necklaces, brushed stray hairs from your face. the ones that had spent so many nights gripping his own sheets, trying to will his body to calm down after you fell asleep curled into him.
“yeah,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “not that deep.”
you yawned, shifting again. somehow you ended up half on top of him, your chest pressed to his side, one leg thrown over his. the drama on screen had faded into background noise completely.
“you’re not jealous, are you?” you said, words slightly muffled against his shirt. “of me abandoning you for a man.”
he went very still.
“do you want me to be?” he asked quietly.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes sleepy and amused. “i mean, i’d miss you if you started dating someone and had less time for me. it’s only fair.”
“it’s not a competition,” he said.
“it kind of is,” you insisted, smirking. “i’ve known you longer. i get boyfriend rights by default.”
there was that word again. you always said things like that, tossed them out without thinking. boyfriend. husband. mine.
never seeing the way they landed in him like small, precise knives.
something inside him finally slipped.
he sat up abruptly, shifting out from under you. the sudden movement made you wobble, catching yourself on your hands.
“hey,” you frowned. “what’s wrong?”
he got off the bed and crossed the small distance to the door, then stopped there, back to you. he ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking.
“sunoo?” your voice was softer now.
“do you really not see it?” he asked, still not turning around.
“see what?” you said, confused.
he laughed once, humorless. “of course you don’t.”
you pushed yourself up, heartbeat picking up. you’d seen him pout before, whine, sulk over spilled coffee or bad grades or a ruined selfie. this felt… different. sharp around the edges.
“hey,” you repeated, getting off the bed and padding toward him. “talk to me. you’re scaring me a little.”
that made him turn.
his eyes found yours in the dim light, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t look soft. he looked… tired. frustrated. hurt.
and underneath all of that, something dark and intense you couldn’t name.
“you’re really going to go on a date with jake,” he said, voice low. “and then you’re going to come back here, climb into my bed, and fall asleep on my chest like you always do. and you still won’t get it.”
“get what?” you demanded, stepping closer. “i don’t understand what you’re mad about.”
“that’s the problem,” he snapped, the word finally cracking through his control.
you flinched, taken aback.
he closed his eyes, inhaled, then exhaled slowly. when he opened them again, his voice was calmer, but that same intensity remained.
“you talk about guys in front of me like i’m your… like i’m one of your girlfriends,” he said. “you change clothes in front of me. you crawl into my bed. you put your hands on me all the time. and you never stop to think what that might be doing to me.”
your cheeks burned. suddenly you were hyper-aware of how close you were standing, of the fact that you were in an old t-shirt and shorts, hair messy, bare-faced.
“you’re my best friend,” you said, defensive. “you’ve never had a problem with it before.”
“yeah?” he said quietly. “you sure about that?”
you opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure.
“if i ever made you uncomfortable, why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, softer now. “you know i would’ve stopped.”
“because i didn’t want you to stop,” he said, the words ripped out of him. “i’m selfish like that.”
silence.
you stared at him, heartbeat roaring in your ears.
“sunoo…” his name felt different on your tongue all of a sudden.
he took a step forward, then another, until your back met the door. you hadn’t even realized you’d been moving until you felt the wood press against your shoulder blades.
he wasn’t touching you. not yet. but you could feel the heat of him, close enough that if you inhaled a little deeper, your chests would brush.
“everyone thinks i’m gay,” he said quietly. “you think i’m gay.”
you swallowed. “you like guys.”
“i do,” he agreed. “i also like girls.”
your breath caught.
“one girl,” he corrected himself, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before finding your eyes again. “specifically.”
everything inside you lurched.
memories flashed through your mind in rapid succession. the way he sometimes looked away when you undressed. the way his hand tightened on your waist when you sat in his lap. the way his breathing changed when you curled into him at night.
how had you missed this?
“why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered.
his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, i know you think i’m safe, but i’m actually a guy who’s been trying not to lose his mind every time you walk around in my shirts’?”
your face burned. “that’s not funny.”
“i’m not trying to be funny,” he said, voice rough. “do you have any idea how many times i’ve had to walk out of the room because if i stayed, i’d—”
he cut himself off, jaw clenching.
your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
he lifted a hand then, slowly, like he was giving you time to pull away. his fingers brushed your jaw, feather-light, tilting your chin up just a little.
“you think you’re safe with me,” he murmured. “that i don’t see you like that. that i can’t.”
you weren’t breathing. you didn’t know how.
“sunoo,” you tried again, but it came out as more of a whisper.
“you’re wrong,” he said.
his thumb rested just under your lower lip, the barest touch. your eyes flicked down to his mouth and back up, caught.
he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned across your cheek. your hands, which had been hanging uselessly at your sides, curled into fists against the door.
“tell me to back off,” he said softly. “if you want me as your safe best friend, if you’re really going to say yes to jake and pretend you don’t know what this is… tell me to move and i will.”
the room felt like it had shrunk around you.
your pulse was a drumbeat under your skin, loud and insistent. you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself still by sheer force of will.
he’d always been pretty. you were suddenly very aware that he was also a man standing very, very close to you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.
your throat felt tight.
“and if i don’t tell you to move?” you asked, the words barely audible.
his eyes darkened, something hungry flashing there that made your stomach flip.
“then,” he said, voice low and steady, “i’m going to stop pretending i don’t know exactly how much you’re driving me insane.”
his forehead almost touched yours now. almost. he was giving you that last inch of space, that last chance.
your heart hammered against your ribs, everything inside you coiled and waiting.
you didn’t move.
you didn’t tell him to stop.
his gaze flicked down to your mouth again, lingering this time, and your breath hitched, lips parting just slightly.
sunoo’s thumb pressed a fraction harder under your lip, his other hand coming up to brace against the door near your head, effectively caging you in.
“you’re not as safe as you think you are with me,” he whispered.
the distance between your mouths was a question hanging in the air.
and for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted the answer to be no.
_______
for a second, neither of you moved.
you could feel his breath on your lips, warm and shaky, his thumb still resting under your mouth like he was holding you in place. your fingers curled against the door without meaning to, nails scraping lightly at the wood.
“sunoo,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking.
something in his expression broke at the sound of his name. the careful distance he always kept around you snapped.
he closed the gap.
his mouth met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that stole the air from your lungs. not tentative, not testing, but like he’d thought about this a hundred times and was finally letting himself touch what he’d only ever pictured.
you made a small, startled sound against his lips, and he swallowed it, thumb tilting your chin up just a little more. his other hand slid from the door to your waist, fingers fitting into the curve there like they had always been meant to.
you had been kissed before. you had never been kissed like this.
he moved his mouth over yours with a kind of aching patience, like he was trying to memorize every tiny reaction. the way your breath hitched when he sucked lightly on your bottom lip. the way your hands finally lifted, fisting in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.
when you tugged, he stepped in without hesitation, pressing you fully back against the door. your bodies lined up, heat meeting heat, his chest firm against yours. his heart was beating almost as hard as yours, thudding where your ribs touched.
“you have no idea,” he breathed against your mouth, the words brushing your lips, “how long i’ve wanted to do that.”
your head was spinning.
you slid your hands up, fingers finding the back of his neck, the soft hair there. he shivered, just barely, and then the kiss changed. deeper, hungrier. he angled his head, lips parting, giving you the chance to pull away.
you didn’t.
your mouth opened under his, and he took it, kissing you like the rest of the world had stopped existing. your back arched without thinking, trying to close the last bit of space between you, and his hand tightened on your waist in a way that made your knees go weak.
“sunoo,” you breathed again when you broke apart for air, your forehead dropping to his. your lips felt swollen, your voice unsteady. “everyone thinks you’re…”
“let them,” he said softly, thumb tracing the edge of your lower lip, eyes dark and focused only on you. “they don’t get to see this.”
his gaze dropped briefly, taking in your flushed face, the way you were still holding onto him like you were afraid he might disappear.
his fingers flexed at your waist, sliding just a fraction lower, resting on the top of your hip. his body was so close now that you could feel every rise and fall of his breathing, the tension in his muscles, the way he was very carefully holding himself in check.
“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “if you want me to stop, you say it and i’m done. i mean it.”
you swallowed, heart pounding.
“what if i don’t want you to stop?” you asked quietly.
his eyes fluttered shut for a second like he was physically bracing himself. when he opened them again, there was no softness left in the way he looked at you, only heat and something fiercely tender.
“then,” he said, leaning in to brush one more slow, dizzying kiss against your mouth, “i’m going to need you to hold on to me.”
his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer, and you felt your fingers tighten in his shirt as your body answered before your brain could catch up.
your next breath came out shaky against his lips.
and for the first time, you understood just how quickly this could spiral into something you could never go back from.
______
his hand dropped from the door to your thigh in a slow, dragging motion, gripping just above your knee and pulling it around his hip—locking your body flush against his. the way he moved was different now. slower, firmer, like he’d finally stopped holding back.
his mouth crashed into yours again, messier this time. wetter. your head tilted back instinctively, lips parting under the sheer heat of it, and he took full advantage—tongue sliding in, kissing you deeper, dirtier. it wasn’t just affection anymore—it was hunger.
he groaned into your mouth when your hands fisted in his shirt again, pulling him closer like you needed him to hold you up. his grip on your thigh tightened, dragging your hips together, and the way he rutted against you—slow, grinding pressure right where you needed it—sent heat straight to your core.
you gasped against him, and he chased the sound, swallowing it whole. spit smeared your lips from the way he kissed you—sloppy, hot, dizzying. when he pulled back just slightly, a string of saliva clung between your mouths, glistening in the dim light. it snapped when he leaned back in, nipping your bottom lip with a low, satisfied noise.
“fuck,” he muttered, lips brushing over your cheek, jaw, throat. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
his teeth grazed your pulse point and you whimpered, back arching, pressing your chest into his. he hissed through his teeth, then dropped both hands to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise.
“you keep touching me like i’m yours,” he growled against your skin. “walking around in my clothes. sleeping in my bed. teasing me without even knowing it.”
you were breathing hard now, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging. his hips rolled into yours again, slow and hard, grinding against the heat between your legs through thin layers of fabric.
your head dropped back against the door with a thud, mouth falling open on a moan you couldn’t bite back.
his eyes darkened at the sound. “say it again.”
“w-what?”
“my name,” he said, teeth grazing your earlobe. “say it when i touch you.”
you gasped as he rocked into you again, his hand sliding up under your shirt to press against your bare waist, thumb tracing circles just above the band of your shorts.
“sunoo,” you breathed, voice trembling.
his whole body shuddered. “fuck. you’re gonna ruin me.”
his hand dipped lower.
your body went still.
and then—
he paused.
“we can stop,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “if you want to stop, tell me now.”
you looked up at him, dazed, lips wet and red from his kiss, chest heaving.
“don’t stop.”
his jaw clenched.
and just like that, he picked you up—effortless, possessive, urgent—and carried you toward the bed.
________
sunoo laid you down onto the bed like he’d done it a hundred times in his head—body following yours, one knee between your legs, hands not leaving your waist for a second.
you barely had time to breathe before he was on you again, mouth crashing into yours, tongue deep, wet, hot. the kisses were spit-slick now, filthy, desperate—your chins and lips glistening from the way he didn’t stop. didn’t slow down. he sucked your tongue into his mouth and you whimpered, thighs twitching around his hips.
“you sound so sweet,” he murmured into your mouth, breath ragged. “i want more.”
his hand slipped down between you, confidently tugging at your waistband until his fingers slipped under—slow, deliberate, until his knuckles brushed your cunt and your whole body jumped under him.
he groaned like he’d been waiting forever.
“fuck,” he breathed, lips grazing your jaw. “you’re soaked.”
your hips jerked into his hand instinctively, and he bit down gently on your neck.
“been dripping like this in front of me all this time?” his voice was low, rough. “walking around in your little shorts. throwing your leg over me in bed. you had no idea, did you?”
your back arched, words lost in the moan that ripped through your throat as he pressed two fingers through your folds, sliding through the slick heat like he owned it.
his mouth never left you—kissing, licking, breathing you in. his lips traced your jaw, your neck, the corner of your mouth again like he was addicted to the taste.
and then—
his fingers pushed in, slow at first.
your hips rolled up into him, a strangled noise catching in your throat. your walls clenched around the sudden stretch, and he cursed into your skin.
“so fucking tight,” he whispered. “feels like you’re sucking me in.”
he began to move them, curling deep and steady, and you couldn’t stop the moans spilling out—his name tangled with gasps, your nails digging into his shoulder as your body shook.
“please,” you whimpered, grinding down into his hand, chasing the friction.
he pulled back from your mouth, eyes dark and blown wide as he stared down at you. the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into you filled the room—obscene and gorgeous.
“that’s it,” he murmured. “fuck yourself on my hand. take it. let me hear you.”
you were already gone. grinding helplessly into his palm, every flick of his fingers pulling a cry from your lips, his mouth crashing back into yours, tongue filthy, hot, your spit and his mixing together like you belonged to each other.
and when he slid down, down your body, settling between your legs like he was meant to live there, you barely had time to beg.
his mouth found your cunt like he’d been starving.
wet. hot. tongue flat and slow. then circling, then flicking, then sucking hard around your clit until your thighs trembled on either side of his head and your hand flew into his hair.
he moaned against you—loud, hungry, like the taste of you had undone whatever self-control he had left.
his tongue pushed lower, fucking into you, messy and deep, his fingers back inside with it—curling just right, tongue dragging over your clit again and again until your back lifted off the bed and you cried out.
“that’s it,” he groaned, spit-slick and wild between your legs. “cum on my tongue, baby. let me taste how much you missed it.”
you broke.
hips shaking, thighs clamping around his head, your cunt spasming around his fingers and his tongue as you came hard, crying out his name, back arching, the world blurring around the edges.
he didn’t stop.
he licked you through it, moaning into your pussy, chasing every drop of slick like he’d earned it, like he’d die without it.
and when you finally collapsed, boneless and gasping, he pulled back—lips shiny, chin wet, eyes burning as he stared at you.
“not so safe now,” he whispered, crawling back up your body.
“is that right?”
you could barely nod. your lips were swollen. your thighs still trembled.
his cock pressed hard against your thigh now, straining through his jeans.
“you think you can take more?” he asked, voice low, hands already sliding to his belt.
“because i’ve barely started.”
______
your body was still twitching from the aftershocks when sunoo leaned over you, breath heavy, jaw tense, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.
he kissed you again—slow this time, deep and full of heat, lips wet from your slick still coating his mouth. and then he pulled back just enough to whisper, “i’ve thought about this. so many fucking times.”
his fingers slid up under your shirt, dragging it up until your chest was bare beneath him. you gasped as the air hit your damp skin, but the heat in his gaze alone was enough to make you burn.
he stared.
his hands cupped your tits, firm but reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was finally touching you like this. he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly across one nipple, then sucked it into his mouth and moaned like he was the one being touched.
you cried out, arching into him, hand flying into his hair.
“you don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said against your skin, mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling and sucking, his other hand squeezing and rolling your other breast like he was obsessed.
“every time you changed in front of me,” he growled, dragging his teeth gently over your nipple before sucking again, “i had to look away so i wouldn’t get hard in front of you.”
you whimpered, thighs clenching.
“every night you cuddled up to me in bed,” he went on, shifting his mouth to your other breast, licking a slow, filthy circle before sucking it hard. “i’d hold you while you slept and then lie there hard as fuck, dying.”
you gasped, grinding your hips up into him helplessly.
“and when you left in the mornings?” his voice was lower now, breath hitching. “i’d jerk off to the memory of your body against mine. to the way you smelled. to the fucking sounds you made when you sighed in your sleep.”
your mouth dropped open.
he looked up at you, lips shiny, flushed and wild. “i came thinking about you, over and over again, and you had no fucking clue.”
you moaned, full-bodied and desperate, dragging him down to kiss you again—sloppy, wet, your spit and his and the taste of yourself all mixing between your tongues.
he groaned into your mouth and reached down, shoving his jeans down enough to free himself, cock hot and hard and throbbing against your thigh.
“you still want this?” he asked, voice wrecked.
“yes,” you breathed. “yes, please.”
he lined himself up and pressed in slowly, watching your face the whole time.
your back arched as he filled you inch by inch, stretching you open, your body clenching around him tight and wet.
“fuck—so tight—” he gasped, burying himself all the way to the hilt, one hand squeezing your breast, the other gripping your hip like he was holding on for dear life.
he didn’t move at first, just stayed deep inside you, chest pressed to yours, forehead resting against yours.
“i can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. “you feel like fucking heaven.”
then he pulled back and thrust in again—harder.
you cried out, legs wrapping around his waist.
“mine,” he growled, thrusting again, pace picking up, “mine.”
you nodded, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent moan.
“say it,” he demanded, hips slamming into you, the sound of skin on skin loud and obscene.
“yours,” you gasped. “sunoo—yours.”
he kissed you then, deep and messy, tongue fucking your mouth as his cock fucked you harder, deeper, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.
your body jolted with every thrust, the bed creaking beneath you, the slap of his hips against yours obscene and rhythmic. sunoo groaned low in his throat, fingers digging into your thighs as he slammed in again, dragging your body down to meet his.
“listen to that,” he hissed, voice wrecked. “fucking soaked for me. dripping down my cock like you were made to take it.”
you cried out, legs shaking, the stretch too good—deep, filling, his pace brutal but perfect.
he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“does he fuck you like this?” he growled. “jake?”
you gasped—shocked, flushed. his thrusts didn’t falter.
“no—fuck, no—” you moaned.
“does he make you moan like this?” he spat, dragging his cock out slow, just to the tip, then slamming back in hard. “do you think about him when you cum all over me?”
your head rolled back but he grabbed your throat—tight enough to still you, not enough to hurt—and pulled your gaze back down.
“look at me,” he said. “watch who’s fucking you.”
you whined under him, back arching, and he smiled—dark, flushed, hair clinging to his forehead, pupils blown wide.
“that’s right,” he breathed, fucking you harder now, faster. “you’re mine now. say it.”
“yours,” you gasped. “fuck—i’m yours—”
he groaned and leaned down, mouth hot against your chest. he sucked a nipple into his mouth, messy and wet, tongue swirling fast and rough, then he bit—just enough to make you yelp.
“these pretty tits,” he muttered, flicking your nipple with his tongue. “used to stare when you weren’t looking. you’d talk to me like nothing and all i could think about was having my mouth on you like this—”
he wrapped his lips around it again, sucking hard while his hips rutted deep into you, cock slamming right into the spot that made you scream.
“fuck, baby, keep moaning—so good like this,” he grunted, “fuck me back, yeah, ride it—show me how much you want it.”
you were already moving with him, legs wrapped around his waist, rolling your hips to meet every thrust. your body shook, tits bouncing with every slam of his cock, your cunt so wet it sounded absolutely filthy.
he pulled out suddenly and flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up, chest down. his hand pressed into your back, keeping you pinned.
“don’t move,” he growled. “gonna fuck you right.”
and then he was back inside—hard, deep, deeper than before, the new angle making you sob into the sheets.
“god—fuck, so tight like this,” he moaned. “this pussy doesn’t wanna let me go.”
he leaned down, hand wrapping around your throat from behind, lips brushing your ear.
“you’re my good girl, right?” he whispered. “my desperate little slut—taking me so well—”
you choked on a moan, body clenching around him.
“so fuckin’ wet for me, so dumb on my cock—crying for it—i can feel your cunt pulsing.”
his thrusts turned punishing—fast, rough, skin slapping skin, sweat dripping, your moans dissolving into cries.
“you wanna cum again?” he panted. “yeah? that needy hole wants to squeeze around me while i’m balls-deep?”
you nodded frantically, tears stinging your eyes.
“then beg.”
“please, sunoo—please let me cum—i need it—”
his fingers reached between your legs again, rubbing fast, filthy circles on your clit as he buried himself deep.
“cum on my cock then,” he growled, “milk it—cum like a good fucking girl—”
you screamed his name, body locking up, pleasure ripping through you as you came hard, gushing around him, thighs shaking.
and that was it—he cursed, deep and breathless, slamming into you one last time before spilling deep inside you, his cock twitching as he moaned your name over and over, hips rolling through every wave of his release.
he stayed there, buried in you, panting, his body pressed along your back, one hand still gripping your tit, the other splayed over your stomach.
“mine,” he whispered again, softer this time.
“always,” you breathed, completely ruined.
and he kissed your shoulder like a man who already knew.
Kim Sunoo has always been one of the girls: soft-spoken, pretty, utterly devoted to the allure of men, men and more men. Women were never his thing, not really—especially not you. You, with your cigarette-drenched, red fucking lips, that wicked mouth always spitting nonsense. He loathed your strut, your cruel tongue, those perfect, infuriating tits that made his cock twitch no matter how hard he tried to look away. And he hated the thought that maybe — he’s starting to think that he swings both ways after all.
content tags/warnings: pansexual!sunoo x bisexual! reader, slowburn, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, misandry comments, gentle angst, reader is a heavy smoker and have a lots of piercings and tattoos. jealousy, mentions of cheating (past rs). light emotional manipulation, toxic behaviors, second chances, queer coded relationship dynamics. sunoo is a nursing student and reader is a fashion design major. two years age gap, reader is shorter than sunoo. explicit content (smut): plot with porn. four different smut scenes. blowjob, some content might be dubious, pussy eating, fingering, protected and unprotected sex: public sex, rainbow (period) sex, multiple sex positions and places lmao, sunoo have a big dick, also dom! sn <3 WC: 45.4K (long ass ride)
note! this is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend anyone in the lgbt community or to fetishize any identities. the themes and characters are purely imaginative and should not be taken as a reflection of real people or experiences. and if you don't like it? don't read it. :)
KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.
He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.
And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!
And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.
"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.
He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?
His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.
"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.
His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.
The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."
Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.
"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.
It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.
Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.
There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.
"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!
You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.
Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."
You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.
When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.
What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"
He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."
You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."
Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."
You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."
You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.
"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.
You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"
You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.
You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.
You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.
"Who's that guy?"
Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?
"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."
Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching. His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"
Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"
Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.
He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?
With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."
He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.
Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.
Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.
"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.
They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.
"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.
Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.
Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.
Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!
You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.
Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.
A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!
His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."
Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"
Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."
He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.
A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"
He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.
Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.
Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.
Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.
Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.
And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.
So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.
"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.
"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."
Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."
"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"
Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."
He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.
But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.
Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."
You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."
Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!
Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy. "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.
Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.
"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.
"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.
You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.
You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.
You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.
With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.
Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.
So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.
"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.
Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—
Jake nudged him. "You good?"
"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."
But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!
And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.
Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.
"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."
And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.
Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."
Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.
And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.
But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!
And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.
But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.
He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.
"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.
He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.
You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"
His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."
You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"
"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."
You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."
He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."
"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."
Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.
He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.
He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."
You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."
Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"
You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."
The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.
You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."
That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.
Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"
Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"
Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."
Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."
Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."
Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.
Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"
Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.
"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.
Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.
The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.
You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.
Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.
It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?
"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.
You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.
Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.
You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."
That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"
And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.
He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with him, though. Not just a friend.
If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.
And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.
And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!
Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."
And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.
He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.
And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.
His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.
You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"
Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."
You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."
"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.
"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."
The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.
Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.
So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."
The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.
Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.
You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"
"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."
You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."
He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."
You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"
You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."
He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.
"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."
Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."
The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.
"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.
You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.
You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."
Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."
You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."
He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.
"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."
Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."
He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!
"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.
"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."
Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."
Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"
"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."
Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."
Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"
Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.
He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"
Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.
Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.
"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"
Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.
"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."
Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"
Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.
Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.
"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"
Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.
There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!
So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.
Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"
Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"
You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"
Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"
You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."
Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"
"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.
Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.
He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"
"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."
He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"
"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.
Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.
You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"
"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"
"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.
You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."
"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.
You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.
That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.
His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.
You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.
"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.
Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.
You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."
He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.
"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."
He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."
Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."
Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."
You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.
Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.
He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.
The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.
You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.
When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.
Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.
Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.
He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.
He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.
And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.
Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.
"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.
You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.
Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.
Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.
And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.
His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.
"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.
You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.
Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.
"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.
Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.
Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.
"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.
You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.
Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"
"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.
You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."
But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.
"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."
He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.
"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."
You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"
You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"
"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"
"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"
"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"
Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.
Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.
"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"
You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.
"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."
You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.
Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.
"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.
You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.
Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.
He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.
He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."
Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.
"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."
Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.
It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.
Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —
"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"
Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.
The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"
Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."
Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."
Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.
All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.
You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.
Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.
But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.
Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.
The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.
"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"
You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.
Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.
What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.
What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.
"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.
You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.
"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.
You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.
"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."
Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."
Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.
Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.
"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."
"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.
Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."
You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.
"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.
Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"
Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"
"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.
You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.
Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.
You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.
Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.
You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.
"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.
You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"
He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."
You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"
His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."
You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"
That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.
He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"
The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.
God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"
You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.
"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."
Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.
"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."
Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."
You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."
"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."
His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.
"Okay," you said. "Sorry."
You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"
You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."
His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.
"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."
He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.
You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.
He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.
Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.
You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.
"My shirt's in the living room—"
"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.
You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"
He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.
Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.
"You're hard."
Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."
The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.
You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.
He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."
You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"
"No. You're the one making it complicated."
His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.
You waited. "Never what?"
"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."
"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"
He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.
There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.
Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.
The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.
"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...
He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.
His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.
With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.
Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.
You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."
And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.
Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.
He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.
Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.
And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.
"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."
"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.
Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.
Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.
Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.
You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.
Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.
It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.
"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.
You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.
"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."
He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."
You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.
"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.
"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.
You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.
Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.
You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.
You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"
He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.
You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.
"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"
"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"
Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.
Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.
There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.
"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.
But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"
You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.
He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"
You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.
Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"
For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."
He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."
That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.
He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"
You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.
He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.
"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.
"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.
Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.
"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.
The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.
But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.
At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."
The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."
"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"
"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"
Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."
When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.
Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."
Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.
It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.
"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.
Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."
You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.
"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.
You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.
From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.
Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"
You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.
"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."
Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.
"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.
He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.
"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"
That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.
"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.
If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.
You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.
"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.
Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.
You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."
"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.
You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.
"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"
You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.
"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.
Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."
Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."
That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.
You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered. "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"
He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.
You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"
His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.
"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"
He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.
And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.
His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.
Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."
Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.
His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."
You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.
His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"
Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."
He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.
Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.
You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.
"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."
He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.
He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.
Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.
So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.
His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.
"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.
When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.
"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.
His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.
Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.
This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.
Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.
He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.
When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.
But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"
He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.
Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.
You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.
"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.
"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.
But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.
Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.
Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"
You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.
Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."
You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"
You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."
Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.
You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.
Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.
You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.
You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."
He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.
As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.
The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.
Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.
"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"
His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.
You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.
You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.
Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."
Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.
"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."
You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.
You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.
You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.
His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.
Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.
And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.
So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.
"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"
He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.
"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."
You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."
Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.
Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.
"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—" your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.
The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.
Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.
Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.
And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.
"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.
He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.
"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.
Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.
You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.
Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.
"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."
Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.
Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."
You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.
After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.
4 Months Later.
"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"
Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.
Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.
His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.
He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."
You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.
"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.
You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."
You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.
It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.
By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.
He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.
You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.
Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."
He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.
"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"
Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."
You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"
You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."
"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.
You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."
Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.
The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.
"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.
Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.
You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."
You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"
You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."
Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.
"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."
Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."
You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.
Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.
On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"
You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"
"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"
There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.
"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.
Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."
Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.
When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.
Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.
"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."
You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."
His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"
"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."
You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."
You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.
"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"
He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.
You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.
You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.
"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."
"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."
Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."
You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"
Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."
Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."
You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."
"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."
Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."
"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.
"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.
Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.
So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."
He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."
You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."
"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."
You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"
You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.
He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"
"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.
Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.
You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder
"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."
You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"
Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"
You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."
He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."
"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"
"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."
You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.
Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."
You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."
The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him, your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.
The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.
"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.
You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.
You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.
One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."
You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.
Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."
You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."
Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"
"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"
You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.
By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.
That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.
"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.
Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."
You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."
"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."
"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."
Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."
You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."
Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."
You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."
"Wow, you look really good, girl."
The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.
"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.
Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.
The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.
That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.
As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.
"Sunoo?"
Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.
But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both
"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"
Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"
You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.
It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.
Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.
Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.
By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.
"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"
You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.
He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"
"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."
Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"
You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"
"That's not the point—"
"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"
You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."
You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."
Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"
Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes. "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."
All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out. Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"
But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."
You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."
Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.
"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."
You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.
Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.
By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.
You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.
"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."
You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.
• ───────────────── •
Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?
He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.
His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.
Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.
He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.
"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"
Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up. "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."
Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass
Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"
"It's not a man," he said quietly.
And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"
Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."
His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."
There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."
He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."
Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"
"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."
Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."
Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."
Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer. "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."
"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."
"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"
You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."
Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."
"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.
Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.
Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.
You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.
Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.
You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.
"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.
Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back. "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.
"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."
If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?
But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?
Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.
The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.
Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."
You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.
And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.
You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.
"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."
Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.
"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."
A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."
You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."
You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.
"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."
You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.
"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."
You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.
You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.
"I thought you hated pop songs."
You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."
"But you sang the hell out of it."
"Don't push it," you warned.
Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"
You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.
Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"
Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time. "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."
He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.
He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.
"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."
Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.
You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."
"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.
Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.
Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"
You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.
When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.
"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.
You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."
Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"
You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.
Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.
Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"
You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."
There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.
"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."
Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."
You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.
He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.
"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.
"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."
You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."
"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"
You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."
Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.
Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.
And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.
Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.
"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"
Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."
It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.
He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.
Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.
But then, Jake said your name.
"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."
Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."
The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.
Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."
But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.
No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.
Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.
And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.
"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.
Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"
But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.
All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?
No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.
You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.
Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.
The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.
Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.
"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.
He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.
Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."
Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?
"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"
"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.
You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"
Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."
Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?
And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.
"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.
He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."
You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"
"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"
And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.
Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.
Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"
Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.
You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"
You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"
He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"
"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"
Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."
But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.
"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."
You blinked, stunned. "What?"
Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."
And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "
Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."
"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.
He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."
His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."
The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"
That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."
He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.
You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.
When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.
You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.
You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.
Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.
"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.
He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."
You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.
"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."
Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.
You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.
But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.
"I... I have my period."
He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.
"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."
"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.
His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."
You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.
"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."
"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."
Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.
Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.
"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.
"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.
Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.
Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.
He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."
Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"
He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."
Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.
"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."
His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."
He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.
"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.
"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"
You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."
He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.
Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.
You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.
EPILOGUE
Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.
"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.
He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."
Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"
Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.
Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.
"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.
He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."
You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"
Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.
His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"
You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."
He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."
Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.
Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."
You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."
Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"
You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."
"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."
You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."
That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.
"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."
You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"
You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."
He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."
You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.
The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.
synopsis ˎˊ˗ you joined onlyfans to keep things anonymous—just quick content, easy money, and no strings attached. but when seven of the platform’s biggest creators suddenly subscribe, everything changes. they’re not just here to watch. they want in. the collab everyone’s been waiting for is finally happening… but this time, it’s not just for the fans.
status ˎˊ˗ 9/9 completed ♡
warnings ˎˊ˗ onlyfans au, poly! enha, exhibitionism/voyeurism, rough sex, slight possessive/jealous behavior, rough sex, praise & degradation kink, fingering, oral (m n f), unprotected sex, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denial, group sex, light choking/spanking, toy usage, etc.
natty's notes ˎˊ˗ this honestly started off as just a silly idea—a random “what if enhypen were onlyfans creators lol” thought that i fully intended to ignore. but then it spiraled. and spiraled. and suddenly i had nine chapters outlined, character arcs, and a reader caught between seven very unhinged men with cameras and control issues 😭 i also wanted to do something special to celebrate hitting 2k because holy shit—thank you. truly. for the love, for every reblog, message, and moment of support. you guys are the reason i keep going. anyways i hope you guys stay tuned for this, ilysm!
˗ˏˋ 01. new content dropped ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 02. moan for the camera ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 03. paid session ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 04. boyfriend package unlocked ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 05. my eyes only ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 06. viewer submission challenge ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 07. first timer ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 08. watch me ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ 09. the final drop ˎˊ˗
⊹ ࣪ ˖ all content is original work by @heeluvv
↳ reuploads, translations, or plagiarism are not allowed.
summary; after rejecting one of the most popular boys at your new school, you soon realised that you'd done the gravest mistake of your life; these weren't ordinary boys, and now they were set on making your life a living hell - heavily based on the kdrama with the same name
genre; yandere, high school au, romance, slow-burn ish
warnings; yandere, graphic bullying, graphic descriptions of violence, non-con kissing, non-con touching, alcohol, drugs, gambling - read each chapter for warnings
cw. my attempt at humor and comedy, aged up riki (24), mentions of knives and weaponry, eating and food, violence, kidnapping, psychological and emotional distress, organized crime stuff duh, mature language (sexual innuendos, cursing), our pairing are essentially best friends that got married love this for them, blood and injury, trauma, plot twist (dun dun dunnnn), hurt/comfort, riki's a lil unstable but he means well
synopsis. he told you no, luckily for you—that was never anything you were used to hearing. riki, your headache and your whole damn world didn’t even want you stepping foot into the chaotic sphere that he calls his home. however, you were done playing housewife. but in a world where info is power and an achilles heel simultaneously, love (and riki's sanity) may not be enough to survive what’s next.
author's note!
ciao!! i've been working on this for some time (since may omg). it's been on my mind for some time and it feels good to get it off. i'm very proud of this. i'm down to make this into a part two because i still feel like this could be more. lmkkkk anyways enjoy <333!! OH and @hoonieyun i love you to bits!
partially proofread which is progress for me!!
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You followed Riki downstairs, skirt swishing and Mary Janes clacking indignantly against the marble. The long, oversized button-up you wore—his, tailored for you—was the same deep navy as the one he was currently wearing. You always matched. It wasn’t optional. It was a language. A silent message. He didn’t look back.
He never did when he was irritated. Just kept walking, tall and terrifyingly composed, descending the staircase like a man on a mission, still calm under pressure. Black slacks sharp enough to slice, the soft sheen of luxury dress shoes hitting the floor like a metronome. Even without saying a word, Riki made the entire house hold its breath.
Kaminari wasn’t just a name. It was thunder, etched into Tokyo’s underworld like a scar. His great-grandfather had built it from blood and ash in the wreckage after World War II—when the country was fractured and men like him learned to make an empire from silence. Each generation added its layer: first muscle, then money, then myth.
And now, Riki.
Youngest leader in the syndicate’s history. Raised in marble halls and taught to slit throats with one hand while sipping tea with the other. A businessman on paper. A storm in a suit. And your husband.
Riki and you had been married for one year now, dated for three. Granted, your marriage had shocked a lot of people seeing as you married so young, both of you were twenty-three. But you were—are—in love and there’s nothing that could come between the two of you. He was your soulmate and you were his. That, you both were sure of.
So as you two walked to your kitchen, passing by staff and giving your maid—Clara—a kiss on the head and a ‘thank you’ as you both sat at the island to eat, you sighed in frustration. “Baby, please.”
Riki, eyes glued to his omelette as he settled into the seat. “I said no.” His dark hair fell over his forehead until he brushed it back—another small movement that looked like art. Now slicing into his food with the shiny utensils that had the family crest carved into them.
“Riki, I’m not asking to get in the field and hold a gun. I just want to…be an informant almost. Like your Oracle.” You turned to him, crossing your legs—not even wanting to touch your food now.
He furrowed his brow incredulously, “Oracle?” He muttered with a mouthful of eggs.
You nodded with a smile, “Mhm! Like the girl from Batman.”
“You’ve been watching too much TV, baby.”
You throw your hands up in frustration. “Because you won’t let me do shit besides that!” You whined, desperate to prove a point.
Since marrying Riki, you have taken up the cushy, spoiled housewife role. And while there was nothing wrong with that, after a while you started to feel antsy. You had bought every bag, every shoe, every diamond, every car, watched every show, even rented out Disneyland for you and Riki to enjoy one day just because you only wanted to go on the Radiator Springs ride. Even the Chanel Private Client Services wasn’t enough.
While you acknowledged the pleasures of being able to spend so indifferently, you started to get restless. There was something about the fact that he was able to go out every single day, going to be productive in more ways than one that made you feel almost…useless.
The staff around you stopped bustling, a bit shocked to hear your raise of voice. Even Clara paused, hands folded over a linen napkin, her gaze flicking to Riki like she wasn’t sure whether to intervene or bow out of the scene entirely.
Riki didn’t even blink. He just calmly chewed his omelette like your words bounced off that thick wall of stoicism he kept tightly bolted around anyone who wasn’t you. “I’m not telling you again.”
You didn’t care, you pressed further just because you knew you could. “I know I can do it.” You frowned, “I just wanna help. Most I’ll be doing is sitting at a desk and—”
His eyes looked ahead, nodding once at Clara after she slid him his poured glass of water. But you saw his fingers clamp around the glass. Paling, but his face wasn’t. Riki was calm, tempered as always. At least on the surface but he was patient with you. Something you took for granted. “You know what’s interesting about Oracle?” He said as he sipped his water. You didn’t answer verbally but nodded for him to continue.
“She’s sharp, stubborn, always ready and willing to help. A lot like you.” He gently stabbed the strawberry from the shared fruit bowl in the middle. “She helped Batman and Robin. An amazing partner, she was.” He chewed on the fruit.
You perked up, “See! Then I c—”
He calmly interjected, still not looking at you. But the vibrato of his voice verberated throughout the room. Bouncing off the walls, glass, and stainless steel. “But then one day, Joker shot her. Right in the back. And now she’s paralyzed.”
You blinked.
The sentence lingered in the air like smoke—harmless at first, until it filled your lungs. Riki still hadn’t looked at you. Still ate like nothing had shifted. But everything had.
The room was silent. Not the type of silence that asks to be broken—the kind that warns you not to try.
You swallowed. “That’s fiction,” you muttered, softer this time. “That’s not real.”
“Neither is invincibility,” he replied simply. “Not even for people who think they’re behind the screen.”
Finally, he glanced up at you—dark eyes laced with something you couldn’t name. Something heavier than anger, deeper than fear. “You think I’m keeping you out because I don’t think you’re capable?” He chuckled once, dry and humorless. “I’ve seen you lie through your teeth and charm your way out of federal security checkpoints. You’re brilliant. I’d trust you to run the whole damn empire if I died tomorrow.”
Your heart skipped.
He set his fork down. “But I’m not dead yet.”
Then he rose. Just like that.
You expected him to storm off, to make a scene. He didn’t. That wasn’t Riki. He just straightened his cuffs, softly kissed your cheek, gave Clara another kiss on the forehead, and walked out of the kitchen and to the front door with the kind of quiet command that made everyone else shrink. “I love you, angel. Love you too, Claraboo.”
The guards fell in around him, black suits rippling like shadows. “I love you too…” You whispered, but loud enough for him to hear it because you knew he wouldn’t leave until he heard you say it. And within seconds, the heavy front doors whispered shut, and the house exhaled a hush that felt a lot like defeat.
You stared at the imprint his coffee cup had left on the wooden coaster. Inherited empire, inherited fears. Same old script.
A gentle hand touched your shoulder. Clara. Cinnamon‑and‑steel Clara, who’d watched him grow from toddler to tycoon.
“Tea?” she offered.
You shook your head softly, leaning on the marble with your shoulders slumped and frown etched onto your face. “No thank you, Clara.”
The older woman had sort of become your best friend and aunt all rolled up in one over the last few years, sitting right where Riki did. She smiled bitterly as she rested her hand on your cheek. “Young master doesn’t mean to hurt you. Just doesn’t know how to let you help without feeling like he’s failing you.”
You blinked up at her, lips parting, but she beat you to the thought. “He thinks protecting you means keeping you in the dark. It’s not fair. But it’s what he was taught. The men before him—his grandfather, his brother, his father at first—they didn’t marry for love. They married for legacy. You? You’re the first thing he ever chose.”
Her thumb brushed along your cheekbone before dropping back to her lap.
“He’s scared.” She said it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t something Riki would ever say himself. “Not of the enemies. Of what happens to him if something happens to you.”
You exhaled through your nose, scoffing softly at the bitter twist in your chest. “He could just say that.”
Clara smiled gently. “He could. But you married a yakuza, babygirl. Not a poet.”
You cracked a smile—small, but real.
“He’ll come around. Just don’t mistake his silence for stubbornness. That boy listens. Always has.”
Your eyes met hers, lashes trembling just a little, because you were tired. Not tired of him—never of him—but of what came with him. The silence. The walls. The feeling that even though you slept next to each other every night, there were parts of Riki that refused to come out from behind that iron curtain in his chest.
“He talks like someone who’s already buried a wife,” you muttered.
Clara sighs, “Because he’s seen it all of his life. Colleagues dying, their wives dying. His mother…” She trailed off.
Riki’s mother had been shot and killed when he was two. He hadn’t had any memories of her, just the things that his family wanted him to remember. All of his life he had heard stories of his mother’s laugh, how fun she was, and that one time she accidentally overheated the soup in the kitchen and made the pot boil over and explode all over the counter.
Riki had seen no point in being upset over it, he didn’t remember her. In his mind, there was no use mourning someone he never knew. She didn’t mean much to him until he brought you to meet his dad.
While you were in the parlor, leg bouncing and nearly hyperventilating, Riki and Mr. Nishimura were speaking in the hallway. Riki would never forget.
“Her laugh reminds me of your mother’s.”
That was all his father said. Stern and weathered, voice like gravel under boots, but his eyes softened for half a second—just one—as he looked past Riki into the parlor, where you sat nervously smoothing out your dress.
Riki stood there frozen. Because in all the years of funerals and retellings, of whispered stories around the dinner table and framed photographs that never moved from the shrine, not once had anyone ever made her real.
He’d never known her laugh. But apparently, you sounded like her when you did that thing—laugh with your whole chest, eyes squeezing shut, hands slapping his shoulder even when he barely cracked a joke.
That was the moment his mother became real—not a figment, not folklore.
And that was when fear sunk its teeth into him.
But Clara didn’t need to say anything. You knew. He knew. Everyone did and you couldn’t forget because he wasn’t going to let you.
So you sat there, knowingly and sighed in resignation. “I just…I love him and I want him to see me as an equal.” You brushed your hair back, jewelry cold on your warm face.
“He does, sweetie.” The elder nodded with an endearing smile. “He’s just a prideful and protective man raised by a lot of prideful and protective men. And sometimes that gets in the way. They’ll do anything to ensure the safety of each other. That’s how they were raised. You’re his world, don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I know,” you whispered as you stared down at your doll-like shoes. Rubbing them together lightly and creating a creaking sound with the coated leather.
Clara stood, brushing off her apron. “But if that’s not enough, then…just talk to him. Seriously,” she lightly pinched your cheek. “You know just like I do that he’ll listen.”
She left you with that, bowing before she went to go dust the living room.
And you stayed there, heart heavy and at this point, you felt like that same frown was going to become permanent. But you just turned to eat your breakfast.
Chewing on your omelette and it was cold and bitter, akin to what you thought battery acid could taste like. You frustratedly put the fork back on the plate, and just grabbed your apple juice. Leaving everything else in your wake.
—
Later that day
—
You lay in bed, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it owed you answers. The moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains, painting silver streaks across the sheets—cold and unforgiving.
Riki moved around the room with his usual quiet precision, the soft click of his dress shoes replaced by the muted sound of him slipping out of his clothes. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t even flinch when he pulled back the covers and settled beside you in just his briefs. He liked sleeping this way.
He glanced over, catching the set of your jaw, the silent storm brewing behind your eyes. His voice was low, cautious—the kind reserved for moments when words had failed too many times already.
“You still upset?”
You stayed quiet.
Your husband sighed as he stared at you, a mixture of pity and frustration. “I just want you to be safe…” He leaned up on his side as he tilted his head. An idea came to his head as he smiled softly. “I have good news.”
You tightened your arms, still looking to the ceiling and staying silent.
But he kept talking, “While I was out, I got those chocolates you liked. I know you haven’t been able to find them for months. They’re downstairs…I can have Clara bring them up for you.” He said hopefully but you still didn’t dignify it.
“And…tomorrow when I get back from work we can finally watch that show you’ve been wanting to. The Vampire Diaries you said?” He reached to lightly brush your cheek with the back of his hand, to which you almost fell for it then but you had more resolve. “I promise not to get jealous when you call that Klaus character sexy.” He smiled gently, hoping to make you laugh but to no avail.
“C’mon, my love.” Riki kissed your temple, “don’t be so mean to me.” He said with near desperation.
Your eyes flicked toward him for a split second. Just one. That was all he got.
He saw it, too.
“I’m not being mean,” you muttered finally, voice flat. “I’m just tired.”
Riki stilled. His hand dropped back to the sheets.
“That’s not what this is about and you know it,” he said, his voice quieter now, more careful. “You’re punishing me.”
You looked at him, “You’re underestimating me.”
He furrowed his brows, “I…no I’m not. I told you earlier. I have no doubts. I love you more than you could ever understand but…you’re naïve.” His gaze wavered for the first time you saw in him, fear. “A-And you get in over your head sometimes. I know you won’t be in direct danger but…it’s enough and that’s all I need to make me say no to you.”
You sat up, “I am not naïve!”
Riki smiled gently, nodding as he moved his hand to your waist. “Yes, you are.”
“Name one time.”
Riki held your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was debating whether or not to say it. “One time?” he said softly. “Alright.”
He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall to his lap. “That day you tried to drive yourself to Ryujin’s house across town because ‘it was just lunch.’ No guards. No heads-up.” He paused. “You didn’t notice the car that trailed you for ten blocks. You didn’t notice it double back when you stopped at the café. I did. Because I had someone watching.”
You blinked, jaw dropping in disbelief.
“You brushed it off when I brought it up. Said I was being paranoid. But that same car was on our street the next night.” He leaned in a little, voice lower now. “I didn’t tell you that part. Because I knew it would scare you. And I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
He exhaled. “You’re amazing. Brave. Smarter than anyone I know. But baby…that’s what makes it worse. You think you can’t be touched.”
“Have you…been touched?” You whispered in defeat.
“Me?” He snorted, “Fuck no,” letting out a small laugh.
“Riki…” you whined as you leaned back onto the headboard with a pout.
“What?” He laughed, but quietly gathered himself for you. “I’m sorry, but no. I haven’t but that’s because this is something that I was born into?” He said it as if it was obvious—because it was. “You married into this life and this is just something you’d have to learn. But it’s been four years of me keeping you away from it and it will stay that way until we both croak over.” Riki nods affirmatively as he lays back down on his back. Eyes leering at the ceiling the same way you were.
A beat of silence fell over you two. You hated to push him, but this was the last time you would. “Okay but…at least think about this. I married you because I love you.” You huffed, looking at the ceiling as well. “You, our union, this ring, our family name…it means the world—the universe and galaxy—to me. But I swore to love, honor, and respect you in sickness and health, for rich or poor. But…” You turned to him with gentleness in your eyes.
“I promised to protect the integrity of the Nishimura name. That I wouldn’t shame this family, myself, or you. That by becoming Mrs. Nishimura, there’s tremendous responsibility and I’m ready for all of it.” You tenderly pecked his lips, to which he quickly reciprocated. “I love you, and if I ever do anything to make you think I cannot handle this…then pull me out. But don’t just say no if we haven’t even seen how I would do.”
Riki didn’t respond right away. You watched his chest rise and fall, steady, like he was working through every word you’d just said.
Then, slowly, he turned his head toward you.
“…Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
You blinked, surprised he hadn’t shut it down completely. But before you could say anything, he leaned over and kissed your forehead—then your lips. It lingered this time. Less reflex, more emotion.
“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured against your mouth.
You nodded, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Goodnight.”
He waited until your breathing evened out beside him. Waited until your hand slipped from his chest and onto the pillow.
Then, carefully, Riki slipped out of bed and into a silk robe.
He moved quietly, barely letting the bedroom door creak open before he was down the hall, bare feet silent against the marble.
—
The door clicked shut behind him. Clara glanced up from her desk, already halfway into her second espresso. She didn’t even look surprised.
“I figured you’d come,” she said, setting her cup down. “You only knock when it’s about her.”
Riki didn’t smile. Just stood there for a second.
Then: “What do I do?”
Clara smiled fondly, “What you think is best, son.” As she sipped her coffee.
Riki sat down on the chair in front of her desk with a sigh. “But that’s why I came to ask you.” He gestured to the elder with an annoyed expression but quickly hid it as he actually had respect for her. “She made a good point. Too good. I just don’t want her to get taken advantage of. I don’t want her to lose her light the way so many of us did.”
Clara laughed, “You still have your light, Riki.” She leaned back in her chair as she adjusted her glasses. “You didn’t always have it…but she gave it back to you.”
He nodded with a firm look. “She did. She’s my light. She’s my—oh gosh—” Riki exhaled firmly as he buried his head in his hands, slightly shaking as he bounces his leg. Anxiety peeking through. “I can’t lose her. I won’t. I will not end up like my dad. I refuse to.” He shakes his head vehemently, his black hair falling in his face to which he swiftly pushes it back.
“She’s strong. You’re even stronger. Use your strength to help her get there. She just wants you to meet her halfway. That’s all she needs from you.” Clara said softly. “She’s capable and you know it. I believe so.”
Riki looks up at her through hooded lids. “You think so?”
Clara nodded, “I know so.” She stood up and beckoned him to follow her. “Come on,”
He complied and followed her to the east wing of the home—where his office resided. She used her key to open it and walked to his file cabinet and pulled out a black folder and handed it to him. “Here.”
The tall man scanned the folder and looked up at her. “What’s this for?”
“A test.” she said simply. “Start small. Give her something to handle. If she can carry it—then you talk.”
Riki stared at the folder, thumb brushing over the edge.
“You sure?”
Clara’s eyes didn’t waver. “I’ve never been more.”
—
You sat in the living room, watching another installment of some YouTube gameplay of a horror game. After last night, you had hope. Hope that something in the universe would change the mind of your vexingly stubborn husband. That for once he’d let you have a little more agency than he’d let you have any other day.
Though, please don’t misunderstand. Riki wasn’t controlling by any means. He let you do and practically say whatever you wanted. You spent his money, were able to go out at your leisure (not without security), utilize…him as much as you wanted. But especially, he let you argue.
Riki never let anyone argue. Being the man he was, prideful and a leader, his word was always going to be the last one. It was his way or no way, and this was the first time he had fought you so hard on something as this only made you want it more. You wanted to help, of course. But you just wanted to be more important to him than you already were.
You knew that he loved you, you had never in the four years that you were together doubted the affection he held for you. You had just wished that he let you have a little more freedom.
So you adjusted yourself on the couch, your shorts twisting and crop top riding up just a little but it didn’t matter because you had a throw blanket on. Riki entered the living room with something hidden behind his back. “Hello, my love.”
You furrowed your brows, “What are you doing?”
He shrugged as he padded over to the couch and plopped beside you with a knowing smirk. You turned off the TV and turned to face him, giving him your undivided attention. “I have to talk to you about something serious.”
You frowned, “If this is about yesterday then I—” He shook his head with a smile now, “Ancient history, passé.”
Growing suspicious, you hugged the blanket close to you. “Okay?”
He revealed a black folder from behind him and flashed it with a smile. “Ta-da!”
You shrug, “A black folder. Wow…”
He smacked his teeth with a grunt. “Take it,” he said gently, smiling with tenderness.
You grabbed the folder reluctantly, opening it to sift through it: three different color USBs, CCTV stills, ledger excerpts, and then a sealable, ivory envelope with a Kaminari recommendation card on it.
Your heart dropped, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked at him. “No…”
He nodded, smiling, “Yes, but only if—”
You cut him off by throwing yourself on top of him in excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The black folder behind you now and your legs tangled with his as you held his face between your hands, kissing him once, twice, a third time just to make sure this was real.
Riki laughed into your lips, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like the choice didn’t shake him a little too. Like giving you this meant everything would be fine. “Wait, woah slow down.” He smiled, “there’s something else too. Come with me.” He stroked your cheek as he helped you up and off of the couch, grabbing the folder.
Without a word, you followed him to the east wing as if you were going to his office. But then you made a strong left. This house was so big that there were rooms you hadn’t even seen yet; and you’d been living here for two years. But he handed you a key to a door, the door being right down the hall from his.
You took it without a word and unlocked the door to see an office of your own. A pink, girly office.
You stepped inside slowly, mouth parting in a silent gasp. It was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in soft morning light. White marble floors. Blush-toned walls. Shelves already stocked with delicate file boxes, soft leather notebooks, gold-trimmed pens, and what looked like a crystal lamp shaped like a cherry blossom. Then you looked around in the corner of the room, a plush carpet and loveseat with a mini-fridge.
There was a glass desk in the center, wide and sleek, with your name engraved on a pink acrylic placard: Mrs. Nishimura—but underneath, in smaller script, it read:
Behavioral Intelligence Officer
Your knees buckled a little.
“Riki…” you breathed, turning around with trembling hands. “What is this?”
He stood at the doorframe like he wasn’t watching your entire soul ascend out of your body. His smile was slow, private. “This is where you’ll work from now on. The folder stays here. You get full clearance, unmonitored access, your own contact line with everyone, and burner accounts we’ll rotate weekly.”
You stared at him, absolutely speechless.
“You said you wanted to help,” he added softly. “But more than that…you wanted me to treat you like a partner. So here you go. This is me treating you like a partner.”
Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they didn’t sting. They shimmered.
“And I don’t have to…ask permission to come in here?” you asked, still stunned.
Riki shook his head, stepping in and running his hands up your arms. “This is yours. It’s your space, your case, your decisions.” He paused. “I’ll still worry, and I’ll still protect you. That’s not up for debate. But this—” He looked around. “This is where I start learning how to let go a little.”
You threw your arms around his neck again, burying your face into his shoulder. “I’m gonna cry all over this expensive-ass marble.” He let out a breathy laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Don’t. I don’t want a slip and fall one day in.” Kissing your temple lovingly, his voice softening. “I love you, you’re Mrs. Nishimura. Not just in love, but in title and it’s time we all started acting like it.”
You peeled off and pulled him down a bit to lay your lips onto his. Resting your hands on his nape as you kissed him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.
Riki, letting out a groan as he picked you up off of your feet, grabbing your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. He smiled into the kiss as he massaged your ass in his large hands. “Should’ve done this sooner.”
“Mhm,” you hummed into the exchange as you tilted his head back to start showing his neck some attention.
Riki’s pulse thrummed beneath your lips, his head tipping back just enough for you to taste the faint salt of his skin and the trace of expensive cologne he only ever wore for you. His breath caught—low, rough, entirely at odds with the marble‑cold composure everyone else knew.
He shifted, pressing you against the edge of your new desk. The glass was cool, a soft contrast to the heat rolling off the two of you.
“Careful,” you whispered, teasing your teeth along his jaw. “That’s my desk now.”
He hummed, voice vibrating against your mouth. “Then I guess I’ll just have to get used to doing things your way.”
His hands skimmed up the backs of your thighs, thumbs drawing lazy circles that made you shiver. The black folder still sat secure on the far corner—close enough to remind you why you were here, but far enough to keep from shattering the moment. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes—dark, dilated, a storm held only by sheer will. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For trusting me.”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering at your cheek. “Thank you for demanding it.”
The weight of those words settled between you—equal parts promise and permission. He leaned in again, slower this time, lips hovering at the shell of your ear.
“Lock the door, Officer,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “We must discuss business.” You squealed in glee as you hopped off the desk and closed the door, clicking the lock and scampering to your desk chair to sit dramatically. Crossing your legs like this was your throne and you were about to speak to one of your subjects. “Behavioral Intelligence Officer speaking,”
Riki smiled at your corniness. “Woah there, Powerpuff Girl. We gotta lay down the ground rules first.” He leaned against your desk, half sitting—his long legs in his signature black slacks looked you in the eye.
Raising your brows in curiosity, you knew this was coming. “Rules?”
He nodded once, “Rules. There are quite a few.”
“What are these rules?” You grabbed the folder to open it but he quickly took it from you, barely leaning forward as his long arms made quick work. “Hey!” You tried to grab it back.
He held the folder out of reach and held his hand up. “Nope, I need your attention.”
You huffed in frustration and leaned back in your chair. “Okay, you got it.”
He nodded, something behind his eyes switching. That domestic, loving, caring husband disappeared and now thunder, cold, and firm boss made an appearance. This is how you know he was being totally serious. “Rule one: you never—and I mean ever—do anything without consulting me. You report to me, you run things by me, you address me. This goes for everyone in the organization. I am the boss, I am your leader, I will be respected as such.”
Your eyes widen at his unyielding tone; unsure whether to find this scary or sexy. But you concede, “Okay. Number two?”
Riki nodded, “Number two: one-way door policy. Do you know what that means?” He tilted his head.
You shook your head with wide eyes. “No,”
He smiled politely, “It means that whatever comes in here, stays here. That folder? Stays here. External drives, put it in the safe.” He points to the hidden safe behind the big picture frame of you two, the photo of him proposing to you in Cabo. “Don’t screenshot anything. Don’t even mention anything outside of here. The only other place that’s acceptable is my office. Understood?”
You nod, “That makes sense, I get it. Understood.”
“Good. Number three: when this button lights, pick up your phone. It means there’s an emergency and someone needs to get a hold of you.” He nods to the clear knob on your PC keyboard. “We haven’t had a situation where we’ve needed to do it for years. But it’s necessary. Simple.” He claps his hands as she slowly paces the room now.
“Next rule: Every accusation needs proof. Time, place, motive. You can’t just say you have a gut feeling. I would believe you if you spat on me and told me it was rain. But here, we need proof. No baseless accusations. This goes for everyone, even me.” He put his hands in his pockets, as he looked at the marble floor. Letting himself think, doing that thing with his tongue-in-cheek. “Any questions thus far?”
Even with receiving all of this information, you shook your head. “No, keep going.”
“Beautiful,” he half-smiles. “Number four, this is a special rule: mental health days for you. Brains work better when they’re not being fried. Take a day to decompress, all of our problems will be there when you get back. And you will stop working at midnight, every night. No exceptions—I’m not going to explain it.” He said firmly. “A few more rules.”
He stopped walking to look you in the eye. “You only break rules to save a life, not for curiosity. It’s cute in a mystery film but people’s lives are at stake everyday here, don’t just do shit for the fun of it.” He comes back to his slow pacing.
“Third to last rule: this,” He gestured around the room, “is all yours. But this position isn’t a sure thing—”
Your jaw dropped, “Riki—” you whined in protest, finding it to be unfair.
“I’m speaking.” He held his finger up to silence you, to which you complied. Cowering in your seat as you looked at him with a pout.
“You’re going to be headed into this with little training. You’re not used to being under constant pressure, sometimes when you aren’t used to that…well…” He shrugged, “you can choke.” Riki sighed.
“You think I’m gonna choke?” You applied pressure to your tone, tilting your head in confusion. “I thought you said I was capable.”
Riki’s jaw flexed, eyes flicking up to meet yours—and for a moment, the weight of all this vanished. He looked at you like he always did: like you were the sun wearing heels, a hurricane with heart. But even so, his voice stayed firm.
“I know you’re capable,” he corrected. “But being capable and being ready aren’t the same thing. This isn’t a trust fall, baby. If you fall, someone could die.”
You stared at him. The silence between you stretched just long enough to feel like a power shift. Like you weren’t his wife at that moment—you were his kobun, his chosen partner, sure. But still…new.
You swallowed your pride and gave a tight nod. “Alright. Next rule?”
He sighed again, knowing this one would damper you a little. “No pet names. No ‘baby,’ no ‘my love,’ no ‘babe,’ ‘babe-arsaurus.’”
“Not babe-asaurus!”
He gave you a flat look. “Especially not babe-asaurus. We’re not at home. You wanna call me something cute, you do it in the kitchen.”
You snorted, arms crossed as you leaned back in your chair. “So dramatic.”
“I’m serious.” He circled back behind your desk, hands coming to rest on the armrests as he leaned in close. “Pet names blur the lines. And here, we don’t blur lines.”
You blinked. “Okay, edgelord.”
He grinned against your cheek, voice dropping again into that teasing warning. “Keep it up and the next rule’s gonna be ‘no lip gloss if you’re gonna talk back.’”
You raised your brows, daring him. “You gonna confiscate it?”
He took your gloss right out of your shorts pocket like he knew exactly where it was. “First offense: warning. Second offense? I keep it. Third…” He leaned in and whispered against your jaw, “You come to my office to earn it back.”
“Ooh…” you smile as you nuzzle his neck then pull back. “Am I speaking to my husband or Kaminari?”
He smiled back, “Both…but I’m serious.” He raised his brows, “No names.”
You smacked your teeth, “Okay ba—I mean—sir.”
Riki smiled kneeling in front of your chair now. “That turns me on too, but final rule. And it’s the one I’ll break before I ever let you break it.”
He leaned forward, holding your face in his hands. His cool rings melted against your cheeks as he looked you in the eye. “No lying,” he said. “To me. Ever. If you’re scared, tell me. If you messed up, tell me. If you don’t know what to do, you come to me. We do not lie to each other.”
This was an unspoken rule, not only in your career but in your marriage too. The only lie that Riki had ever told you was that he was going to work but was going ring shopping instead.
With the candor of his own family—meaning that Riki’s family physically never lied to each other—he saw that lying was the ultimate form of betrayal. The only time that lies were acceptable were under moments of extreme duress (e.g. his job).
When you two had discussed deal breakers on your first date he had said ‘lying’ before the question even left your mouth. And funnily enough, he never lied to you. He just withheld things or simply never brought things up until you asked.
He never spoke about work, and if you asked about his day then it was: “Today was shitty.” Or “It was good. Just work.” Or “Productive, fortunately.” He never wanted you to know anything because knowing means danger and danger means you die. And it’s not paranoia! No. Never.
If you asked how a pair of jeans looked on you and he didn’t think they suited you then he’d give a simple “You’ve got better ones, my love.”
Riki’s brand of honesty wasn’t mean—just wrapped in a velvet glove with iron beneath. Never cold, never cruel, never abrasive. He just valued the truth and gave it to you whether you liked it or not. Simply, he’d want the same thing from you. He’d rather you hurt his feelings with the truth now than hurt it even more with a lie if—and when—he found out. You never lied to him, even when the truth would hurt more.
So now, as he knelt in front of you, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like you were made of glass and fire at the same time, it wasn’t just a rule. It was another vow. Not just for the sake of your marriage but your new dynamic.
“Not even if it’ll hurt you?” You whispered, leaning your forehead on his.
He closed the gap a little, leaning to place a gentle kiss on your lips; letting it linger. “Especially then,”
“…Is this the part where I get my badge and cool-girl gun holster?” you mumbled against his mouth.
He snorted, pulling back. “You are so annoying.”
“Hot and annoying,” you corrected, poking his chest.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” he sighed, mock-disappointed, before grabbing the case file from the desk. “Alright, dude. Let’s ruin someone’s day.”
—
Riki sat on the edge of your desk again, this time with the folder open in his lap, flipping through it casually—composed as usual. “We have a leak,” he said simply.
Your brows pulled together. “Internal?”
He nodded once. “High-level. The kind of leak that gets people killed.”
You leaned forward in your chair, pulse ticking up. “What kind of intel got out?”
“Shipment logs. Safehouse rotations. Even a few agent profiles,” he said, tapping the page with the back of his ringed hand. “All routed through dead drops in Nishiyama territory. No digital trail. Clean. Old-school.”
You scoffed under your breath, “So we’re dealing with a professional.”
“We’re dealing with a mole.” His voice hardened like concrete setting. “Someone inside Kaminari is feeding information to the Nishiyama syndicate. Which means one of ours is playing both sides.”
You blinked. “A double agent?”
He met your gaze with a heavy look. “Exactly.”
You swallowed. This wasn’t just a briefing. This was serious. “You already have a suspect?”
“I’ve got three.” He flipped to the next tab. “Some important people. Social Liaison, Yuna. Logistics, Jo. Then Sohee, the Accountant. All had access to the stolen intel.”
You reached out, but Riki didn’t hand over the folder yet. “Your objective,” he said, his tone dropping into something deadly smooth, “is to make contact with all three. Casually. I want your read on them. Behavioral patterns. Speech tells. Any inconsistencies.”
You raised a brow. “You want me to profile them.”
“I want you to read them like a book, baby,” he said, before catching himself—then exhaling. “Sorry. Not on the job.”
You smiled a little. “Slipped out. I’ll allow it.”
He looked at you, seriously now. “You’re not just my wife here. You’re the only person I trust to do this clean. No bias, no noise. I don’t need proof yet. I need instinct. Which might contradict a rule but you aren’t making a move yet. That’s up to me…or maybe you depending on how this goes.”
“And if my gut tells me who the leak is?”
He nodded. “Then we build the case. Surveillance, comms trace, movement logs. But you’re the first step.”
You inhaled. “Understood. Where do I start?”
Riki handed you the folder at last.
“Page one. Then you come to the compound with me tomorrow morning.” He smiled, tilting his head.
You stood with slight nervousness, shaking your hands as if the feeling was water and you needed to let it dry. “Tomorrow?” You muttered as you paced in front of him slowly. “I’m going tomorrow?”
Riki smiled at your demeanor, “Yes, you will be coming with me tomorrow.”
“What? So like, do I go in a disguise or something?” You stopped and put your hands on your head dramatically, cropped shirt lifting just a tad to reveal the hem of your bra. Not that you cared, Riki had seen you as naked as the day you were born.
Letting out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and that was enough to soothe you. Hearing him laugh. “Sure.” He crossed his arms. “Your disguise will be ‘my wife.’” Riki leaned off of the desk as he approached you. “You’re just going to talk to them. Like I said…read them. Point out red flags, assess a possible motive. But even then, you are not to engage further. No strong-arming. That’s my job.”
“Because you’re mean to people.”
Riki snorted. “I’m not mean. I’m...assertive.”
You raised a brow. “You once threatened to staple someone’s tongue to a desk.”
He held up a finger. “Because he lied. With confidence. That’s worse.”
You blinked. “You smiled while doing it.”
“And I was right,” he replied, smug as hell.
You muttered something about psycho husbands under your breath and flipped open the folder anyway. Inside were three crisp profiles: one woman, two men. All clean-cut. All smiling in their ID photos. Like one of them could’ve handed someone a kill order and then gone out for ice cream after.
Your stomach twisted just a bit.
“You good?” Riki asked softly.
You nodded. “Yeah. Just a lot to take in.”
He paused, reading you again like he always did—too carefully, too much like someone who knew every version of you. The tough one. The soft one. The one who panicked over brunch menus and the one who could lie on cue if called for it.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said quietly. “To me. Or anyone else.”
Your eyes flicked up to his. “That’s funny. I thought this whole thing was a test.”
“Oh it is,” Riki pursed his lips. “And you do have something to prove, I just wanted to make you feel better.”
“Whatever happened to not lying?” You furrowed your brows, now getting irritated that he was making a joke of you.
Riki didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. I’m softening the blow. Totally different.”
You scoffed, folding your arms. “Feels the same from where I’m standing.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your spine straighten. “If I didn’t think you could handle it, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t hand out assignments because of marriage certificates.”
You held his gaze, jaw tight.
“So yeah,” he continued, “it’s a test. But not of your worth. Of your readiness.”
Your heart beat just a little harder at that. Not because you were scared—but because you hated how much you cared about passing. How much you wanted him to see you pass.
“…Still feels like lying,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
“Then lie back,” he said, almost a whisper now, brushing a knuckle down your arm. “But I owe you a receipt, though.” Riki pouted his lips mockingly.
“A receipt?” Your eyes flitted to the side for a moment in confusion.
“Mhm,” he hummed as he sharply pulled you in by your biceps, your chest meeting his upper abdomen as he towered over you. “Don’t think I forgot the tone you took with me yesterday morning.”
Your heart raced and the breath caught in your throat like it had something to lose. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm enough to remind you: Riki didn’t bluff.
“I had to assert myself,” you said, chin tipping up even as your voice dipped lower.
Riki smirked, eyes flickering between yours. “Oh, you asserted something, alright. Had me rethinking our marriage vows halfway through my eggs.”
“Should’ve read the fine print,” you quipped, trying to deflect the way your pulse was going off like sirens under your skin.
His smile widened just a bit—dangerous and sweet, like a dare in the dark. “Fine print said mutual respect,” he murmured. “And you disrespected your superior officer, baby.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Superior officer? That’s what we’re doing now? You get off on that?”
“I get off on putting you in your place.” He stroked your cheek with his knuckle as he leaned in, grazing his nose with yours. “I think you forgot who you married.” Something behind his eyes flickered, something dark, menacing, and slightly sinister.
He leaned back as he scanned your body. “Go to our room,” he said, voice low and unshakable. “Lose the attitude—and the clothes. I want both off by the time I walk in.”
—
Getting ready the next morning at six ante meridiem was the hardest thing you’ve had to do in a very long time. You don’t know how Riki did it. If it was a solid nine then that was right up your alley. And considering the events of last night, your husband wasn’t exactly forgiving. You were sore as a bitch, with every part and limb aching.
Nevermind your glorious dream about riding unicorns in the rain. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t rain, it was your despicable husband shaking his wet hair in your face as your wake up call.
“Grand rising, beloved!” He beamed with a boyish smile.
You jumped up, clenching the linen sheets to your bare chest and gasping for air. “Oh my God.” You grunted as you swung on him, hitting his bare arm. “You’re such an asshole! Fuck you, you scared the shit out of me!” You’re still spent for air as you fell back on the bed and he was towering over you from beside the bed, laughing from the pit of his gut.
He grinned, completely unbothered by your assault. “Don’t be mad. You looked peaceful. Like Snow White, but, like...if Snow White had a felony record.”
You tossed a pillow at him, which he caught easily with one hand, the other holding his towel around his waist. “I’m not the one with the felony fucking record.”
“Well technically I don’t. But if I did then I’ll add something else to my list if you don’t get up.” He tossed the pillow back at your face. You launched yourself at him like vengeance itself, arms wrapping around his neck as you tackled him backward. The towel slipped just enough to make it personal.
“I hate you,” you growled, even as laughter bubbled in your throat.
He caught you mid-flight with that irritatingly perfect upper-body strength, stumbling a little before regaining balance. “Lies,” he muttered against your shoulder. “You were just singing my praises last night.”
“That wasn’t singing, that was—” you cut yourself off, groaning as you buried your face in his collarbone. “I’m too tired for this. Let’s call in rich.”
“We are rich,” he said, smug. “But we’re also very much still showing up, because I’m not digging the ‘sore and cranky’ excuse from you today.”
You sighed and looked up at him, “I would kiss you but you pissed me off and I have morning breath.”
Riki smirked, unfazed, and leaned in anyway. “Lucky for you, I have a piss kink and no sense of smell.”
You smacked his chest, scandalized. “Riki!”
He just laughed, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Relax, I brushed my teeth for both of us.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not how hygiene works.”
“It is in marriage,” he said, already walking away like he didn’t just say the most obscene things before the Lord Himself was awake. “Now move it. We’ve got a mole to sniff out.”
You stared after him. “I swear, I’m calling HR.”
“I am HR.” he yelled from the bathroom. “You have two hours.”
God help you.
—
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” You exhaled shakily, trying to rub the sweat off of your palms and onto the leather seats of black car.
“My love, you asked like twi—”
“I don’t care, I’m asking again.” You looked out of the car window, watching the trees turn to mush and blur as the car sped through the highway.
“Three people, one woman: Jung Yuna. Two men: Asakura Jo, and Lee Sohee.” He said, carefully, as he soothed your nerves, gently massaging your thigh. “Leak. You’re going to talk to them, get a feel for their personalities. Just…get to know them. That’s all.” He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder.
“Okay,” you huffed. “Simple enough.”
Riki gave a soft hum. “Simple, yes. Easy?” He flicked his eyes toward you, a warning there. “Not even a little.”
You glanced at him. “What’s the catch?”
He didn’t answer immediately, just adjusted his grip on your thigh and dropped his voice. “One of them’s working with a third-party buyer. We don’t know who. We don’t know why. But we know it’s internal.”
Your brows furrowed. “And they don’t know we know?”
“Exactly. As far as they’re concerned, I’m bringing my sweet, unassuming wife for a fun day at work. Yuna knows me. Jo doesn’t trust me. And Sohee…” he trailed off, pausing. “Sohee thinks he’s smarter than everyone in the room.”
You clicked your tongue. “So you want me to play dumb.”
Riki’s lip curled into that crooked smirk—the one that always meant trouble. “Not dumb. Charming. A little naïve, maybe. But observant. You’re not interrogating them. You’re studying them. I want your instincts, not your analysis.”
“So this is ‘vibes-based’ intel?” You made quotation marks with your fingers.
“This is you-based intel.” His hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling gently. “You see people. You’ve always seen me—even when I didn’t want you to. That’s your edge.”
You fell silent for a beat. “If I’m the edge, what are you?”
“The blade,” he said simply. “So keep it cute. I’ll do the cutting if we have to.”
You let out a breath, heart pounding as the trees blurred past faster now. “Okay. Let’s find our mole.”
—
You entered the expansive compound, smiling and waving at the different people. At times—and the very few times you’ve been here—you forget that this is an organized crime group and not an organization, a conglomerate even.
And seeing Riki walk in here was like seeing a switch flip and the light turn on. Gone was your generous, funny, doting lover and now straight-faced, strict, articulate Komichō. It was slightly overwhelming to be able to see someone just turn themselves on and off like that.
So when he walked in, every person lined up to greet him. His kobun, bloodbound kobun. Trained, loyal, and unshakably his.
They bowed—not out of introduction, but acknowledgment. You weren’t a stranger here, not technically. They knew your face. They’d watched you stand beside Riki in silk and gold, watched you kiss him with a thousand eyes on your back. But none of them knew you.
Not really.
So when you walked in today—no veil, no curated elegance, no fanfare—there was a shift. A flicker in the way some of them looked at you. You were here, which meant something had changed. You weren’t just the wife anymore. You were part of the inner workings now. At least you and Riki knew that.
Still, he said nothing else. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough to quiet any question before it could rise. But the way his hand hovered at your back—subtle, protective, claiming—told the whole room that you weren’t just tagging along. You were trusted.
A few of them looked surprised.
One or two looked uneasy.
And at least one looked curious.
You kept your posture steady, offering a nod of acknowledgment. Cool. Collected. Just another day casually stepping into your husband’s criminal empire. Totally fine. Absolutely fine. Zero panic.
Riki leaned in just enough to brush his lips against your temple. “They remember the wedding,” he murmured, “but they don’t know you.”
“Good,” you replied under your breath.
He smirked. “That’s my girl.”
—
You strolled into one of the lounges, making decent use of your time here. You were careful to not immediately get to work as you didn’t want to make yourself super obvious. So here you were, walking around, scaring Heeseung—head of operations—every now and then just because you could. But after about thirty minutes, you decided to pull the trigger on this.
Your eyes found Sohee sitting at one of the many tables, tip-tapping away at something on his laptop. Presumably not work-related because this was considered a breakroom. But Riki wasn’t that strict, he didn’t care where the work got done—as long as it was in the building and nowhere else.
Putting on a friendly smile, you approached the table with politeness. “Hi, Sohee. How are you?”
The guy looked up from his laptop, the blank stare turning to a smile that mirrored your own. “Okaasan, I’m doing fine. You?”
You waved him off with a smile, telling him to drop the formalities and that calling you by your name was more than fine. But he didn’t comply, stating that Riki insisted that they call you Mrs. Nishimura or Okaasan.
“No, I’m telling you to call me by my first name. Please, it’s okay.” Smiling, nodding your head to ensure he felt a little more comfortable in this exchange. Being on a first-name basis establishes comfort. If there’s that then the conversation won’t be so rigid.
Sohee smiled gently, being slightly flustered at your friendliness. He hadn’t spoken to you ever and only knew you in passing. He was at the wedding like most of the group but besides that there were very little interactions between you and the other affiliates. No one knew about you aside from Riki’s close friends—some of whom were a part of the group and his groomsmen, and his family by the time of the ceremony. “Of course…” He rubbed his eyes, “But yeah, I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Tell me about married life, how’s it treating you?”
You slid into the seat across from him, adjusting your blouse just slightly as you crossed one leg over the other. A friendly smile stayed on your lips, but your eyes had already started their sweep—watching his fingers, his posture, how fast he minimized whatever was on his screen.
“Oh, you know,” you started, tone breezy like the back patio of a brunch spot. “We argue about whether the AC should be at sixty-eight or seventy-two, and then he kisses me. Classic honeymoon phase stuff.”
Sohee laughed politely, but you noticed the slight tug at his lip—like he was trying to decide if it was okay to really laugh. That was good. You liked that.
“It’s different though,” you continued, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Being someone’s girlfriend, and then suddenly you’re…really a part of their life. Your world is one, I guess. Still getting used to the perks.”
He snorted at that, relaxing a little. “I mean, if by perks you mean the estate and a guy named Chan who opens your car door every morning—yeah, not bad.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Exactly. And the complimentary paranoia’s cute too.”
Sohee’s eyes flicked up at you, and for a second, you saw the calculation behind the smile. He was smart. They wouldn’t have put him over logistics if he wasn’t. “You say that like you weren’t built for this. I mean, most people around here kind of expected you to be the accessory. No offense.”
You smiled wider at that. “None taken. Accessories don’t walk themselves in here and sit across from the guy who tracks where all the money goes.”
He stilled—just barely—but you caught it. Bingo.
Before he could volley back, you softened your voice, brushing invisible lint off your sleeve. “Anyway. I’m not here to scare anyone. I’m here to get to know people. Riki’s always talking about how tight-knit the team is. Family, right?”
Sohee nodded slowly, and you could practically hear the mental gears clicking. “Yeah. Family.”
“And family talks,” you said lightly. “Even if it’s just about what’s stressing them out…or keeping them up at night.”
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. “That’s a very specific way to phrase that.”
You looked at him with a half-smile. “Well. I’m a very specific kind of person. Plus, I spend his money, I gotta make sure it gets where it has to be right?” You try to break the subtle change in vibe with a joke. He bites, somewhat relieved that the woman who has the power to either put him on the unemployment line or in a body bag wasn’t taking him too seriously.
Despite that, you took it for what it was and whatever he was giving you. Before either of you can stretch the silence too far, the door swings open.
“Heard there were pastries in here,” a voice calls out playfully, and in walks Yuna—light on her feet, dressed like her outfit alone had a LinkedIn profile, and confident like someone who always gets the last word.
Her gaze slides over the room, landing on you and Sohee.
“Oh,” she says, lips curving upward as she closes the distance. “Didn’t know this was a members only table.”
You gesture to the seat beside you. “Not at all. I was just catching up with Sohee. Join us.”
Sohee stands halfway out of his seat in reflex—a gentleman or a little afraid, who’s to say—before awkwardly sitting back down once Yuna waves him off.
“So,” she says as she takes a seat, folding her arms on the table and angling herself toward you. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. You were a vision by the way. I mean, the ceremony? You two could’ve had a Vogue cover, just stunning.”
You chuckle, nodding politely. “Thank you. It was a blur, but I do remember crying over my lashes right before walking down the aisle.”
Yuna laughs, then tilts her head a little. “So, married life? How’s it been? I imagine being Mrs. Nishimura is…an adjustment.”
The way she says it—like she’s biting into something sweet just to test the aftertaste—tells you she’s digging. Not cruelly. Just…curious. Or pretending to be.
You tilt your head, mirroring her. “We were just talking about it.” You gesture to Sohee with a smile. “It’s been good.” You always loved to overshare, but it was no one’s business what consisted of your relationship. Namely how well your husband treated you. You had to learn that lesson better now than later.
Yuna hums. “Right. He’s always had that...edge. But seeing him soft for someone? Kind of wild, honestly.”
You smile, gentle but unmistakably proud. “It’s a side of him you have to earn.”
That lands. You see it in the way her jaw shifts just slightly, like the compliment doubled as a subtle door slam.
She nods slowly, playing it off. “Must be nice—being the one person who gets let into the inner sanctum. He doesn’t really do vulnerability.”
You rest your elbow on the table, your chin on your hand. “No, he doesn’t. Which is why I don’t take him for granted.”
And that right there—that soft, unapologetic weight behind your words—is when the intimidation really hits.
Yuna smiles, but this one doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You make it look easy.”
Sohee clears his throat, trying to reroute the conversation back to safer shores. “You always had that energy, though,” he says. “Even at the wedding. People were talking more about you than the cake.”
You grin. “Then I hope they weren’t talking about the dress fitting too tight. I ate like four slices of that cake myself.”
“Bold,” Yuna murmurs, sipping her drink. “That cake was like five hundred a slice.”
You glance at her. “When you marry a man who owns the bank the baker owes a loan to, cake isn’t a concern.”
Sohee chokes on a laugh, half trying to hide it. “She’s not wrong.”
Yuna raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “That sounds like something Komichō would say.”
“He’s rubbing off on me,” you say.
“Definitely rubbing,” she mumbles beneath her breath as she sipped her tea again, you barely heard it but it was definitely loud enough for you to catch.
Your ears perked up at the comment, “I’m sorry?” Tilting your head with a small smile, acting as if you didn’t really hear her.
Yuna blinked, playing it off, though her smirk didn’t quite fade. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
You let out a soft chuckle, resting your elbow on the table and your chin in your hand. “You should be careful doing that around here. People might think you’re losing it.”
Sohee glanced between the two of you, sensing the invisible knife sliding onto the table. “Right, well, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything either.”
“No need,” you said smoothly, eyes still on Yuna. “I just thought I heard something interesting. Wouldn’t want to miss out.”
Yuna gave a small shrug, eyes cool. “Guess my mind wandered.”
“To Riki?” you asked lightly, no edge to your voice but every word precise.
Her lips parted like she might defend herself, but instead she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re good.”
You smiled wider. “I know I am.”
Sohee cleared his throat again—less out of nerves, more out of self-preservation. It seemed so with him, Riki said he always thinks like he’s the smartest in the room but it might not even be that. Maybe, but he shrinks beneath the gaze of someone bigger. Though, intelligence and bravery aren’t mutually exclusive in this case. Or any of them for that matter.
But you didn’t break your gaze from Yuna, not just yet. “Don’t worry,” you finally said, sitting back in your seat with a gracious tilt of your head. “I don’t bite unless I’m hungry.” Your eyes glinted, like the once inquisitive look was suddenly demoted to annoyance. But you knew better than to let her get the best of you.
Yuna lifted her tea, trying to cover the shift in her posture—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened for just a second. “Good thing I’m not on the menu.”
“Of course not,” you said sweetly. You stand, brushing off your skirt as you slide out of your seat. “I’ll be going now, guys. Thanks for hanging out with me.”
“No problem,” Sohee said with a gentle smile as he stood up to shake your head. To which you nodded respectfully, returning the gesture. “Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.”
You laughed with a nod, “For sure, I’ll definitely be around.” Glancing at Yuna, you smiled gently. “See you around, little one?” You reached out and rubbed her arm, to other eyes it was friendly. Between you two—and maybe Sohee if he squinted—it almost seemed like you were rubbing the metaphorical snot she sneezed onto you, back on her. Sonning her, ‘little girl-ing’ her.
Nonetheless, she smiled. She nodded. And just took it. “Yes, see you around.”
And off you were.
—
Speaking to Riki after that little exchange was definitely on your mind. Seriously it was, every aching part of you was determined to run down on him and question him until he physically choked on his every word. Because for real, what the fuck was that? Why was Yuna so comfortable speaking about your relationship and Riki in such a way? How has Riki made her so comfortable? When has he done that? How did it happen? Who even brought this up to her in the first place?
As the five W’s were this close to the edge of your tongue, you decided to save it for later. Not now, no. And it’s not even like you were shy about your marriage. If one couldn’t tell by now, you took any and every opportunity to mention Riki. You swore to your friends that once you got married you would ‘my husband…’ the fuck out of them and everyone else around you.
But you didn’t know Yuna, hardly even. You’d known her as one of the heavy hitters—essentially the PR for the group. The Social Liaison. She was delicate, yet biting. Subtle, yet direct. She was gorgeous and that’s exactly why she was appointed, because she was easy on the eyes and no one could dare turn away a beautiful woman.
You didn’t feel inferior, there was no reason to. Yuna was Yuna and You were You. Both of you were beautiful young women in a field dominated by men no matter how you sliced it. So to see her be so combative when you didn’t do that to her made you feel like you lost a friend before you could even make one.
So as you were on the hunt for Jo, passing through each hallway and scouring every nook and cranny for this guy. You peeped Riki a few feet away in the broad, wide-ranging room. Speaking so firmly to one of the kobun, not making eye contact but nodding along as he walked and they briefed him on something. They were too far for you to hear but he had noticed you, almost like he felt you from ten feet away.
He didn’t stop what he was doing, didn’t pause, he was slick as always. Riki kept walking and as he was listening but he made eye contact with you. His gorgeous, alluring eyes followed you as you kept moving but he didn’t smile. He just poked his tongue out—quick, barely there, a flicker of his usual mischief. The kind of look that says I see you, and I know you see me, without saying a single word.
It wasn’t apologetic. It felt more like a challenge. Like he was telling you to come find him. To press him. To demand what you wanted to know. At least to you because that’s what you felt like doing. But knowing him, he was just teasing. Letting you know that beneath the hard shell of the Komichō was your childish, teasing, yet loving husband.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, then kept walking. Because no matter how much your fists itched to grab his collar and ask him what the hell Yuna meant by that, you had other business to handle. Logistics came first. And Jo—well, Jo was never easy to find. Which was kind of the point.
So you tucked Riki into your back pocket for now, like a loaded question you’d pull out later.
Jo was somewhere in this damn compound, likely holed up with blueprints, phone calls, and at least five burner devices. And if there was anyone (sans Riki) who could give you the real lay of the land—or shift it completely—it was him.
Riki could wait.
You pulled out your phone to shoot him a message, though:
thorn in my side: do yk where jo would be right abt now?
He replied back in a split second.
idiotbox: should be in his office. upstairs, 5th floor. 509.
thorn in my side: thanks
idiotbox: i love you
…
???
i said i love you
i love you baby ????
now girl…
You didn’t even care to respond, you were mad at him for something you only assumed he did and that was childish, of course. You were petty, but so was he and that was how you two worked so well. He’d pick up eventually, but you hated the fact that such a menial exchange had irritated you this badly. But you knew better than to put him in a bad mood at work.
thorn in my side: i love you more babe-asaurus
idiotbox: hm
we’ll talk later
You rolled your eyes at how easily he was able to read you even without seeing you. But whatever, you have a guy to find and Riki was close to your heart as always; but the least of your worries.
Taking the elevator was intense because you hoped that it would be slower, honestly. Like how much of a rush were these guys in? You reached the first to fifth floor in less than two seconds. Now, here you are, scanning the doors and you finally reached Jo’s appointed office and you politely knocked. Waiting for a ‘come in’ or ‘enter’ or ‘who is it’ literally anything. But nothing.
You scanned the hallway, peering both ways up and down. No one was around, no one seemed to be passing through and you stepped forward a little bit to put your ear to the door. Also silence.
Racking your brain, Riki’s words kept ringing in your mind: you are not to engage further.
You are not to engage further.
You are not to engage further.
You are not—fuck it.
Without another thought you twisted the knob to Jo’s office and as fate would have it, the door was unlocked. You pushed through the door and peeked your head in.
Empty.
So as you slipped in, gently closing the door behind you before locking it, you reminded yourself of what you came here for. It was to get a hold on behavioral patterns, but there’s no harm in scanning. With a shaky exhale, your eyes followed through the space. Very minimal. Only necessary items here: desk, chair, file cabinet, desk lamp, simply essential office gadgets.
But as you neared his desk, you spied a ton of papers scattering across it. You hovered, unsure whether you should touch them, but then again, Riki did say not to engage further. He didn’t say anything about observing. Which, in your opinion, made this a grey area. And what were grey areas for, if not you skating through them with barely plausible deniability?
The first sheet that caught your eye was a layout of the compound—more detailed than the blueprints you’d seen before. Color-coded zones, timestamped patrol shifts, even ventilation system routes. Jo is definitely playing chess while the rest of these guys are just showing up to the board.
The next paper underneath made your stomach pull a little tighter. It was a list. Names. Some you recognized, some you didn’t. Some were marked with symbols: asterisks, slashes, question marks. What you did know was that this was the definitive roster—essentially—for everyone in Thunder.
Sans one other: Yuna.
Weird.
Then you saw it.
A manila folder tucked half underneath a blueprint sheet. You knew you shouldn’t, but girl—curiosity is a disease. You slid it out just an inch, enough to see the label written in Jo’s tight, deliberate handwriting:
“INCIDENT REPORT — LEAK”
Then another:
“NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”
You didn’t let your initial shock cloud your common sense. Without another thought you grabbed the two files and shoved them inside of your shirt. Dumb decision, yes. Strange, absolutely.
Just as you were heading to the door to make your graceful exit (you’ve been doing a lot of those lately it seemed), you heard footsteps and jingling keys right outside of the door.
“Fuck!” You mouthed in panic and scanned the room. A sliding closet was your best bet so you took shelter there, squatting at the floor and hugging the cloth covered folders to your chest. Knowing better, you ensured your phone was on silent and not on the hard floor to make noise.
And not a second too soon.
The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Jo entered—as leisurely as one can be. You watched through the thin slits in the closet door as he moved with practiced ease, the way only someone who expected to be alone did.
He muttered something under his breath, inaudible, as he tossed a USB onto the desk and rolled his chair out with a squeak. You swore your heart was doing parkour in your chest, beating a rhythm so loud you were sure he could hear it.
He started typing.
Clicking, clacking, clomping. Jo hands had left the keyboard to feel for his folders—the absent ones.
His hands patted the desk once. Then again. Slower.
You could hear the moment he realized something was off.
Click, click.
Rustle.
Click.
Pause.
“…Huh.”
He stood up. You could see his silhouette shift through the closet slats. Jo leaned over the desk again, rifling through papers, lifting one corner of the blueprint like the folders might be playing hide and seek with him.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then he muttered, low and sharp: “Motherfucker.”
Busted. Not completely, but the clock was officially ticking.
Jo paced once, then sat back down hard, fingers drumming against the desk in a rhythm that screamed calculating. You knew Jo very vaguely—this wasn’t confusion. This wasn’t panic.
This was inventory. This was war.
And you were right there in the middle of it, like a roach under a glass.
He pulled his phone out. Tapped. You didn’t hear the call ring—probably encrypted, burner-to-burner. Probably to someone way too important to be talking about two stolen folders and a potential mole crouched three feet away.
Still, his voice was ice when he finally spoke:
“They’re gone. Both of them. Yes. Both. Folders. No. Nobody else’s been in here.”
He huffed as he slammed the device down on the desk and left without another word. Closing the door behind him.
You didn’t move for a full thirty seconds.
Just breathed.
Slow and shallow, trying not to make even your lungs betray you. Your heart was doing a drum solo in your chest, and the folders clutched to you suddenly felt like live explosives. Your knees were screaming. Your brain was screaming.
But Jo was gone.
And you were still here.
When you finally uncurled yourself and opened the closet door like it might squeak out a betrayal, the coast was still clear. The office was eerily quiet, save for the dull hum of whatever sinister programs Jo had left running on his screen.
You grabbed his phone too, along with the USBs. Leaving that behind, what a dummy.
You crept out like a cat burglar in a heist movie, glancing around one more time before heading to the door.
No one.
No shadows.
You slid out and shut the door behind you, just as quietly as you came.
And then booked it.
—
Muscle memory had you headed there before you could even second-guess the idea. Ninth floor, west wing, room 920. You’d memorized it months ago without even meaning to—like the curve of his signature, or the way his voice dipped when he was serious.
The folders were still tucked under your shirt like contraband, stabbing awkwardly against your ribs as you power-walked. You probably looked suspicious. Not that anyone was around to clock it—yet. But paranoia was creeping in like a slow leak. Any second now, you were sure alarms would start blaring.
You rounded the corner, heart racing. Riki’s door stood at the end of the hallway, clean and unassuming. You didn’t knock. Just turned the handle and slipped inside like a shadow.
He wasn’t at his desk.
He was standing at the window, back to you, hands in his pockets like some tortured antihero. Of course. Of course he was being dramatic today.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, without turning around.
You rolled your eyes and let the door click shut behind you. “This is where my man is, this is where I’m due. Thank you very much.”
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable until his eyes landed on your shirt—and what was very obviously not a very lumpy new bra.
“You didn’t,” he said flatly.
You didn’t say anything. Just reached under your shirt, pulled the folders and phone out like a magician producing a rabbit, and dropped them onto his desk with a soft thump.
Riki stared at them.
Then at you. “...You’re insane.”
“I love you.”
He pressed his fingers to his eyes, already visibly aging five years. “I love you too. But I told you not to engage.”
“Yeah, well.” You walked to his side of the desk as he sat. “I’m starting to think you only say that when you don’t wanna deal with the fallout.” You lifted yourself to sit atop his desk, folding your legs.
He didn’t argue because a part of him knew better. But he was going to ask questions.
“Before I open these, Oracle.” He smirked as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing your bare calves. “You are going to tell me how you got these.”
You tilted your head, half-smirking, half-daring him to press. “Before I tell you,” you said, voice sweet as poison, “you’re going to tell me who Nishi is.”
He paused, the playful squeeze he gave your leg faltering for just a second. Just enough for you to catch. Just enough to confirm that the name meant something. Something serious.
“That’s not how this works,” he said slowly, like he was weighing each word. “You first.”
You leaned back on your palms, eyes dragging lazily across the office like you were bored—like you weren’t high off adrenaline and one bad decision away from spiraling. “Door was unlocked. Papers were out. Your little friend Jo doesn’t have the cleanest filing system.”
“You broke into his office,” he said, amused but exasperated, like a teacher trying not to laugh while writing you up. “You hid in his closet.”
“And you told me not to engage, which is very different from telling me not to investigate,” you quipped. “And how do you even know I did that?”
His hands were warm against your skin again, this time steady. Grounding. He sighed, and there was something tired in it. Like this day had finally worn him down. “First off, you came in here winded. Which means you were running. Something you never do.” He nodded affirmatively, like he had seen this scenario a million times before. “Then you have extra padding in your bra like you don’t have enough going on there alrea—”
You squinted at him, offended but mostly appalled. “Excuse me?”
Riki had the audacity to grin, all smug and unbothered, like he wasn’t skating on the thinnest ice imaginable. “What?” he said, lifting his hands in fake innocence. “I notice things. You weren’t exactly subtle and I’ve seen them enough to know what they do and don’t look like. The folders are poking out like a second set of ribs.”
You smacked his arm. “You are insufferable.”
“Observant,” he corrected, laughing under his breath. “And I know you. You only get this chaotic when you’re pissed or nosy. Or both.”
You rolled your eyes and slipped off his desk, pacing a few steps to blow off steam. “Well, congrats. You know me. You want a medal or a map to Jo’s shitty closet?”
“I want you to tell me why you went looking for him,” he said, the smile in his voice gone now. “What made you dig?”
You paused, fiddling with the edge of a stray paper on his desk, not looking at him. “I was just making my way down the list.” You shrug with a slight pout. “I had already spoken with Yuna and Sohee. Conveniently they were both in the same room. Then I saw you enroute to Jo, knocked on his office. Nobody home. So I took it upon myself to find what he wasn’t there to tell me.” You sighed with a firm nod. “Who’s Nishi? Is it short for Nishimura? Or short for Nis—” You paused as something in your brain had clicked, the lights weren’t dim anymore.
“The Nishiyama syndicate that you were speaking of.” Humming in understanding finally as you leaned against the desk. “Is that it?”
Riki’s then blank expression shifted to a smile, not devilish. But kind, almost…proud despite the weird situation. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Somehow you felt small beneath his gaze, so your eyes shifted to the files and phone. “Are you gonna open the files?”
The raven-haired man sighed, leaning back into his chair. He was entirely too cavalier for your liking but you kept your lips glued. This was his world, not yours. At least not yet. “No.” He shook his head gently. “You’re gonna read them and tell me what you find.”
You blinked. “Okay,”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Riki leaned up and handed you a new notepad and pen. “Don’t write on his stuff. I’m sure he knows they’re missing.”
“He does,” you took the items with both hands. “Is he going to hurt me if—”
“Over my dead fucking body.”
Your breath caught—not because you didn’t believe him, but because of how fast he said it. Like it wasn’t a question. Like the very thought of Jo trying anything had flipped a switch in Riki’s brain that only lived between rage and devotion.
You stared at him. “That’s dramatic.”
“I mean it,” he said, and this time there was no smugness, no teasing. Just that low, steady tone that made your spine straighten and your chest feel way too small. “He touches you, he dies.”
Laughing him off, you waved your hand. “Again, dramatic.”
“There’s nothing dramatic about it. I have no problem putting anybody six feet under if it’s about you. I’m telling you now, I will kill him. Myself, with my bare hands.” He nods calmly.
You nodded, lips pursed as this weird feeling of not believing him but absolutely believing him came over you. Now you aren’t stupid, there’s very few people in this life that have clean hands but since you never saw that side of Riki—it was hard to fully compute that. You were used to the version of him that bit you when he just found you cute. The one that whenever he ate french fries, he would put them in his mouth and act like he was a walrus. The part of him that whined whenever his food touched.
The Riki that kissed you like it was his first and last, everytime. When he made love to you it was passionate, like he cared. Savoring every part of your body and ravishing it like a starved man. And even though you’ve been together for as long as you have, he still makes you feel like you’re in high school. Both his and your inner child’s connect and that’s what makes every part of being with him so worth it.
Hearing him talk about putting someone in the dirt for hurting you didn’t scare you. At all, if anything a depraved part of you loved that he was so ready and willing to take care of you. But because he had kept you so far from this life—to the point where you never saw him right when he came home from work.
You only ever saw him after a shower when he got back. The house was big enough for him to avoid you and he didn’t want you to even see him in any other way aside from put-together or casual. He simply wants to keep your perception of him one way.
Now he’s at the point where he doesn’t need to get his hands dirty, but he’s not above it. He knows he’s not but he doesn’t want you to know that. Maybe because you’re pure, the only clean thing in this world and he wants to honor that sanctity.
Thus you nod with a tight-lipped smile. “Aye-aye captain,”
Riki nodded curtly, “Thank you, now sit.”
“Can I take this home with me—oh wait, no, the rule.” I sighed as I sat down on his couch.
He laughed, “Right, good, good. But…” He breezed past his desk to now sit beside you. “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?” He leaned back against the back of the couch, crossing his arms as he peered at you with patient eyes.
You furrowed your brows, snorting at his ridiculousness. “I tell you that multiple times an hour, Riki. I just said it when I came in. What are you talking about?”
“Babe—sorry—” He covers his mouth, trying to muffle a smile at the minor slip-up.
You point at him, “Ah-ha! You broke your own rule, genius.” Laughing as you twirl the pen between your fingers.
Riki groaned dramatically, tipping his head back against the couch cushion like the weight of his love-induced hypocrisy had just crushed him. “God, I’m so weak,” he mumbled into the ceiling.
You giggled, nudging his leg with your knee. “You made a rule you couldn’t keep. Who does that?”
“A man in love,” he sighed, hand flopping over his heart. “A fool. A slave to your eyes and...whatever scented oil you’re wearing today. Beautiful gourmand.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your past mistakes. “You suck so bad.”
He turned to look at you again, his playful expression softening slightly. “You didn’t say it earlier. In the texts. Well you did, but I just had to pull it out of you. Which is unusual because usually it happens easily. Like a nice, well-lubricated machine.”
You paused, the smile still on your lips but tinged now with something quieter. “I was annoyed.”
“I figured,” he said.
“And don’t use ‘well-lubricated’ like that ever again.” You laughed as you adjusted your position, kicking off your shoes just because you could. Placing your legs on his lap as he instinctively went to massaging your aching feet.
Riki laughed beneath his breath, “Mmm, how else should I use it then…?” He trails his hand up your calf.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” you said, pointing the pen at him like it doubled as a taser. “I’m in work mode now. No nasty metaphors.”
Riki smirked, thumb dragging slow circles into your ankle like he was trying to hypnotize you. “You sure? I’ve got a whole glossary. Synonyms. Imagery. PowerPoint, even.”
“PowerPoint?” You quirked a brow. “Wow. And here I thought this organization was low-tech.”
“We save the advanced tech for seduction,” he deadpanned.
You threw your head back in a laugh, letting your legs go slack against him. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”
“I know.” He smiled proudly, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your knee. “But seriously...I knew something was bothering you. I felt it.”
You nodded, brushing a bit of lint from your lap like it was your own way of smoothing down your thoughts. “I didn’t like the way Yuna talked about you. Like she knew you. Knows you. I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not,” he cut in gently. “Whatever it is, it’s not.”
You looked at him. “I didn’t want to make it a thing while you’re working, but...she got under my skin.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing really,” You shook your head as confusion plagued your expression. “Like she was just throwing jabs at our marriage. Like—”
“Do you want her gone?”
“Wait–damn! Can I at least tell you what happened?” You put your hands out in panic.
Riki blinked, caught between his gut reaction and your clearly not-yet-finished train of thought. “Right. Sorry.” He held up his hands, leaning back slightly. “Continue. Full dramatic reenactment, if you will.”
You gave him a flat look. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here I am. Devoted. Foot-rubbing. Ready to commit crimes in your honor.”
You fought back a smile, exhaling sharply before continuing. “She just said some things. Made it sound like she knew you in a way I didn’t. Nothing direct, but it was all…in the way she said it. Like she was watching me, waiting to see if I’d flinch.”
Riki’s jaw ticked just slightly, and his hand stilled again on your leg. “What did she say exactly?”
“She joked about you being soft for me. About how it must be wild seeing you like that. And then she muttered something under her breath—‘definitely rubbing’—after I said you were rubbing off on me.” You rolled your eyes. “While it was funny,” you smiled as you reflected on the moment. “It was just the tone she took, it was petty.”
His voice had that eerie calm again—the kind that made you picture storms on the horizon. “And do you want her gone?”
You hesitated. “I don’t want to make you cut people loose just because they annoy me.”
“Not just anyone,” he said slowly. “Her. You disrespect my wife, you disrespect me. End of discussion.”
You sighed. “I just didn’t like feeling like I was being tested. Like I had to prove I was worthy to be here. That I deserved you.”
“No. You don’t need to prove shit to anyone. She works for you, baby. Not the other way around.” He scoffs in irritation, not at you. Just at the situation.
“You think she wants you or something?”
Riki rolls his eyes, “Please,” he waves off.
“No, I’m being serious.”
He furrowed his brows, “That has nothing to do with me, I chose you. I love you. Yuna is just…Yuna.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, folding your arms across your chest as your legs stayed propped on his lap. “That is the vaguest, most non-answer answer I’ve ever heard.”
Riki groaned, tilting his head back like the ceiling was somehow responsible for your suspicion. “Baby, come on. You want me to what—spell out that she probably has some weird little crush from back in the day? Okay. Maybe. Possibly. Who wouldn’t? But that doesn’t matter. I don’t want her.”
You blinked, lips parting just slightly. “Weird little crush from back in the day?”
He froze. Froze frozen. Like someone had just hit pause on his entire soul.
Then slowly—painfully slowly—he sat up straighter and scratched the back of his neck like a man about to give a deposition. “...I mean, like…a crush she invented in her head. You know how people do. Delulu culture. She’s a millennial. Or—whatever she is.”
You gave him the most unimpressed stare humanly possible. One that could suck the air out of a room if you held it long enough.
“You’ve been avoiding answering straight for two full minutes,” you said, your voice sharp but cool. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He let out a deep sigh, eyes flicking briefly to your legs across his lap—like grounding himself with you physically would make the words come easier.
“Nothing happened,” he finally said, slow and careful, like laying down a live wire. “She flirted. Years ago. Once. I didn’t flirt back. I shut it down. It didn’t become a thing because I didn’t let it become a thing. Plus by that point, I had just started seeing you.”
You stared, not blinking, not speaking. Just letting the silence stretch until it felt like your heartbeat was echoing off the floors.
“And now?” you asked at last, voice like velvet over a blade.
His gaze lifted to meet yours, firm and unwavering. “Now she’s someone on payroll who will never get that close again. You have my name, my ring, everything. And if I could give you more of me, I would. She’s noise. Vapor.”
The words settled in your chest like something warm and weighted. The kind of thing that wasn’t just sweet, but true. You didn’t nod. You didn’t smile. You just breathed—and it came easier after that.
“Good,” you murmured.
“Good,” he echoed, reaching up to squeeze your ankle gently.
Riki had never given you any sort of reason to doubt his loyalty to you. But something about Yuna just made you feel some sort of insecure. And that’s never a good feeling. “Okay, so back to work on these thingies.” You sighed as you grabbed all of your things, the files and notepad.
—
You settled deeper into the couch, the file balanced on your knees, pen in hand. Riki stayed quiet beside you, hands behind his head like he wasn’t five seconds away from snatching the folder and reading it himself. But this was your job now. He gave it to you. He trusted you. And trust in this world was rarer than sleep.
The first folder you opened was the one labeled:
“INCIDENT REPORT — LEAK”
Your eyes scanned the top page. Neat, efficient language. Jo’s writing was all business. But beneath that business tone… was tension. A lot of it.
Summary: On 05/23, it was confirmed that classified movement data regarding the Nishiyama holdings in the Shibuya district was compromised and intercepted by an unknown third party. The breach occurred between the hours of 03:00 and 05:00 JST.
Method of Leak: Evidence points to an internal device tap. Most likely wireless, planted within the logistics room (3rd floor).
Potential Suspect(s):
T. Nakamoto (denied access two weeks prior but showed up in building security logs 24 hours before the breach)
Sohee Lee (recent behavioral inconsistencies; requires further monitoring)
UNCONFIRMED: External syndicate involvement possible (see cross-file: “NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”)
You sucked in a breath. “Sohee?” you said aloud, almost in disbelief.
Riki’s voice was low. “Keep going.”
You flipped to the second page—grainy black-and-white images from security footage. A figure moving at 4:12 AM through a hallway near the logistics room. Hood up. Face obscured. But the time stamp matched Jo’s report exactly.
You shook your head. “This is bad. Whoever this is knew where to go. No camera catch, no chatter, just straight infiltration. Like a ghost.”
Riki didn’t speak—his jaw was tight. He already knew this. He’d probably seen the footage himself.
You flipped to the next folder:
“NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”
Your stomach clenched.
This one wasn’t a report. It was…a dossier.
A breakdown of an entire group.
The Nishiyama Syndicate. Or, as Riki had called them before—“Nishi.” A former rival organization that went dark years ago.
Overview: The Nishiyama Syndicate—presumed inactive by 2017—has begun resurfacing under new leadership. Not confirmed, but rumored to be operating under a splinter faction using legitimate business fronts. Possible laundering through offshore holdings (Monaco, Belize, Singapore).
Recent Activity:
Acquisition of real estate adjacent to Nishimura holdings.
Shadow-bidding on construction contracts connected to your family’s public-facing properties.
Unusual surveillance patterns noted around Nishimura residences.
Notable Names:
A. Nishiyama (deceased, patriarch)
M. Nishiyama (???) — identity redacted
“Subject N” — possible mole or double agent; suspected to have contact with active Nishimura staff. (PRIORITY)
You looked up at Riki. “This reads like they’re trying to move in. Slowly. Quietly.”
He nodded, lips pressed tight. “I think the breach might’ve come from a mole inside the building. Someone feeding info.”
Your pulse spiked. “Who do you think it is?”
He looked at you carefully. “I haven’t ruled anyone out. Neither has Jo. But everyone’s guilty until proven innocent.”
“It’s inno—”
He held his hand up, “I know what it is.”
You snorted as you looked back down at the file but then suddenly looked back to him. “Hey, did Jo call you at all today on one of the burners?”
He frowned in thought. “No, why?”
Your eyes widened in slight fear, feeling adrenaline pump through your veins. “His phone is on your desk.” Pointing to it with urgency. “He called someone earlier, letting them know the files were missing.”
You felt like the floor shifted under you.
Riki stood up and grabbed the phone, unlocking it as he sifted through it. “Go. Continue, let me do this.”
Then you flipped one last page in the NISHI folder—and your heart stopped.
REDACTED TARGET LIST [photo attached]
R. Nishimura (active)
“Okaasan” (active, unnamed spouse)
Status: Tracking active; no confirmed contact attempts. Maintain passive surveillance.
There was a picture.
Of you.
A candid photo. Leaving your favorite coffee shop. Hair in a bun. Not even looking at the camera.
They knew who you were.
They were watching.
“Oh my fucking…” You whispered as your hands started to shake.
Riki didn’t look up—yet. He was still going through the burner phone, locked in, muttering something under his breath. But the second your voice cracked, just the edge of that whisper, he froze.
Your hands were trembling around the paper, your breath shallow as if the photo alone had stolen the oxygen from your lungs. “They’re watching me, Riki,” you said quietly. “They know. They know who I am.”
That’s when he looked up.
His gaze flicked to your face first—then to the folder in your lap. You didn’t even have to show him. He crossed the room in three strides, dropped the phone without care, and snatched the folder from your lap with steady hands but a murderous edge in his jaw.
He saw it. The image. The note. The label: “Okaasan – Active, unnamed spouse.”
Your face. Your fucking face. On a watch list.
Riki’s breathing changed.
Not heavy. Not loud.
But measured. Controlled. The kind of breathing someone does right before they explode.
“No contact attempts,” he read aloud, barely above a whisper. “Passive surveillance. Maintain.” His jaw flexed once. Twice. “That means they’ve been watching. But not enough to tip me off. Or you.”
You still couldn’t speak. Your mind was spiraling, thinking back—every time you thought someone was staring at you too long in the coffee shop. Every car that took a little too long to pull away. The time your key fob didn’t register on the first try and you swore you saw someone standing at the edge of the parking lot.
You knew. Felt it more than anything.
Riki stepped back, slowly. “You’re done,” he said, coldly.
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re done with this.” He gestured to the papers—everything. “I don’t want you involved anymore.”
“No—Riki—”
“I said you’re done.”
His voice wasn’t raised, but it was final.
You stood, breath catching again—not out of fear this time, but out of frustration. “You can’t just—”
“I can, and I will.” He looked at you, eyes flashing with something deeper than anger. “They put you on a list. A list with my name. They put a target on your back for being married to me.”
“You said you’d pull me out if I couldn’t handle it. I can and—”
“No. You said that,” he bit out. “Thank you so much for your interpretation of how you think this works. But I’m telling you now, sweetheart. You’re finished.”
You stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. “So what, you’re just gonna hide me away like a secret? Lock me in the house?”
“If I have to,” he said without hesitation. “I’d rather you hate me than end up in a morgue. You think I give a fuck about being the bad guy in your story if it keeps you alive?”
And for the first time, you realized—he wasn’t just angry.
He was scared.
Riki Nishimura, the man who ran empires with a flick of his fingers, the one who made people disappear without batting an eye—was looking at you like he had already lost you. Like he was trying to stop the bleeding before the wound even opened.
And you didn’t know whether to fight him or fall apart.
—
Within the next hour, Riki sent you home.
No yelling. No begging. No stomping down the hallway with your shoes in hand like you wanted to. Just a tight-lipped goodbye, a long look that said please don’t fight me on this, and the subtle pressure of his hand on the small of your back as he walked you to the elevator. Kissing your cheeks and temple as he guided you.
“I’ll be home later, I love you.” he said, eyes fixed on the elevator door as it closed, locking you in. Locking you out.
You didn’t say anything. You just nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek like it’d keep your heart from leaping up and making a scene.
And now here you are.
In the house. Your house. His too. That same massive, almost-too-silent house where the floors were spotless, the air always smelled faintly of clean linen and sandalwood, and the fridge was somehow always stocked but never truly full.
You hadn’t even changed clothes. You hadn’t moved much. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a while, fingers interlaced, something so mundane like Riki’s silver watch still on the nightstand like it might grow teeth.
Because it could’ve been anyone.
Anyone watching you. Anyone taking that photo.
You didn’t even realize you’d started crying until you saw the wet spot on your blouse. And then more tears followed—not because you were scared. But because he had known. About the business. The threats. The danger.
And he kept you out of it. You were so proud. Marching into lounges. Reading body language. Toying with people like you were ten steps ahead. But the whole time, you were in a different game.
A different arena.
You weren’t playing chess. You were the queen piece. And someone had started planning your checkmate.
You wiped your face and reached for your phone.
Nothing from Riki yet. Of course. He needed time. To clean up. To cover tracks. To burn things down.
You opened your texts anyway. Clicked on the chat.
thorn in my side: i’m home
i love you, baby
Message delivered. No reply yet.
You stared at the phone until the screen went dark.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence in your house didn’t feel safe. It felt like someone else might be listening too.
—
Riki came home and the house was equally as silent.
He’d come home to a quiet home almost everyday, nothing new. Most times you were in the bath, in the living room buried in a book, or on a good day—you’d already be in bed.
And by this time, he’d shower before he came to greet you but the weird thing about being with someone for so long—you feel them everywhere. Your warmth, your mood, he feels it all.
But this time he felt nothing.
Immediately his mood dampened, the intuition that he had relied on so heavily over the last twenty-four years of his life already letting him know something was amiss. “Baby?” He called out as he slipped his shoes off.
No response.
He smacked his teeth, “My goodness, I shouldn’t have gotten her those fucking headphones.”
He placed his jacket on the coat rack and skimmed the area. Your keys were by the door, as usual. The sweater you wore today, okay fine. Your Mary Janes—your favorite shoes that he always tripped over and threatened to throw away. Huh.
Again, that strange nagging feeling in Riki just never went away.
He padded over to the kitchen, seeing dinner spread out on the table. Wrapped up and ready for yours and Riki’s consumption, there was a serving taken out of it which meant you ate something. Good.
But you weren’t in the kitchen. And you weren’t in the living room.
The staff not being around makes sense, he sent them home for the day. Clara wanted to spend time with her son so who was he to tell her no?
And now, the fucking office that he had built with his own hands—empty.
This house was huge, humongous—but there would’ve been some way you heard him already.
He called your name firmly. Riki never says your name, that’s like the rule. Still, no response. He calls your phone because knowing you—it’s never too far. Straight to voicemail.
“What the fuck.” Riki Nishimura doesn’t panic—but something cold and venomous slithered up his spine as he stood in the middle of that pristine kitchen as he now made his way back there, fists clenched, jaw ticking.
And then.
Then he saw the note.
Sitting prettily on the marble counter—in a little nook. Surprised he had missed it before.
Simple. Clean. In all capital letters.
YOU WANTED HER OUT. SO WE TOOK HER OUT.
And on the back of the note was a photo of you. Gagged, tearful eyes, messy hair, scratched face. You had put up a fight that was for sure, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.
The marble counter shattered first.
He slammed his fists down, hard enough to crack the stone. The note crumpled beneath him as he shouted, loud and hoarse, like it had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
“FUCK!”
Everything after that was instinct. A storm. A full-blown implosion. He threw the nearest chair across the room. It smashed into the wall with a satisfying crack, splintering on impact. Plates followed next, flying off the table with a feral sweep of his arm. Food hit the cabinets, the fridge, the floor. A glass shattered under his heel. He didn’t even flinch.
“I told her to go home!” he roared. “I sent her home!”
His eyes were wild. Drenched in something between fear and fury. The kind of look no one ever saw and lived to describe.
He yanked open drawers. Punched the fridge. Tore the cabinet door clean off the hinge and hurled it across the room. A vase hit the floor and shattered—porcelain flowers slicing across the floor like confetti made of rage.
And then—his voice broke.
“Fuck—fuck, fuck—”
He grabbed the sink with both hands, chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut like maybe, if he tried hard enough, this would all vanish. That the note would disappear. That you’d walk out from your office and ask what the hell happened to the dining room.
But all he heard was silence. All he felt was the absence of you. The kind of stillness that only existed in grief.
He sank to the floor—only for a second—hands gripping his hair. And then the door creaked open.
Clara opened the door with glee, bags from the nearest arts and crafts store. “Riki—?”
She froze in place.
The kitchen looked like a warzone. Dinner ruined. Furniture destroyed. Her boss—on the floor, shaking, breathing like a wild animal trying to hold in a scream.
She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t have to.
Because then she saw the note.
The note.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness.”
Riki slowly stood. There was a line of blood down his knuckles—he hadn’t even noticed. His breathing was low now. Tighter. Like someone was holding his lungs closed.
He didn’t look at her as he spoke.
“Tell everyone to get on the line. Now. I want every runner, every affiliate, every fucking rat with ears in this city looking.”
Clara nodded, frozen.
“If she’s not found by midnight—” He turned to her. Eyes glassy. Voice cold. As he stepped beside her, venom in his eyes as he looked down at her with nothing but truth in his eyes.
“—Everybody’s fucking dying, Clara. You included.”
Clara didn’t say a word. Just nodded, pale as a ghost, and scrambled to grab her phone. Riki didn’t even watch her leave. He turned on his heel and stormed toward his office, blood trailing faintly from his knuckles and dotting the floor like red ink.
He slammed the office door behind him so hard the glass panel trembled.
Without hesitation, he slammed the heel of his palm down on the black switch embedded into the side of his desk—an unmarked button that immediately turned the room red. Not metaphorically. The lights literally shifted into emergency mode, casting the entire office in a crimson hue. The kind of red that let every handler in his operation know: This is DEFCON 1. Life or death. Burn everything if you have to.His jaw clenched so tight you could hear the creak in his teeth. Then he yanked open the bottom drawer, reaching for the sleek matte tablet hidden beneath a stack of decoy files. With a swipe and a facial scan, he opened a security interface. His fingers flew across the screen.
“Tracker,” he muttered under his breath. “C’mon, c’mon…” He clicked into a discreet sub-menu, one labeled ‘PRIVATE ACCESS – VELOMY.’ The screen lit up, pulling a location from a hidden signal.
Riki’s chest stopped moving for a full beat. The blinking dot that represented you was there—active.
“You’re still wearing the ring,” he whispered to himself. A dark smirk twisted his lips, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “You stubborn little thing…”
That ring. The one he gave you at the altar when he promised to you, his family, and yours that he would love you during your highs and lows. The ring that tethered you to him forever.
He put a chip in it. Just to be straightforward.
Riki’s paranoia ran so deep that it became difficult for him not to. And funnily enough, he remembers he didn’t tell you that it was in there until your honeymoon.
You both were lounging on your private beach in front of the newly bought property in the Maldives. Sun setting, breeze flowing through your hair as you both laid on your stomachs. Simply gut-laughing at any and everything, everything was funny at this moment. You’re newlyweds.Riki smiles as he plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the end of a braid. “You know,” he glances down at your left hand. “I’ll be able to find you anywhere now.” His smile settles into something soft, something more than just teasing. “What do you mean?” You tilt your head in confusion. The sun hitting your face at the perfect angle.
He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the ring. “I put a little locator in your ring.” Riki’s heart raced, using your conjoined hands to cover his mouth as he nervously awaited your reaction. “See? You can’t even tell.” You brought your hand back to inspect the enormous rock and he’s right. You really can’t tell. And you weren’t going to ask why he put it there because you knew why. Again, you knew who you married. Plus you didn’t even have the energy to be mad at him right now. You couldn’t be mad after you just swore to forever with your best friend.
“Okay, but I still need privacy, Riki. I don’t just want to be a—”
He shook his head, “No, no, no. It’s not even activated. I just…in the event that something would happen to you—hopefully that’s never—but it gives me peace of mind that I can always find you, baby.” Riki smiled gently as he carefully caressed your cheek. “Only I can activate it. It just tells me where you’re positioned but it only works if you…” His chest caves slightly as his words tremble at the thought.
“If what?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, holding yourself up on your other arm.
“It only works if you have a pulse.”
“What if I take it off?”
Riki laughs.“You wouldn’t though, and I know you wouldn’t. There’s nothing you do that warrants taking it off.” He shrugs as he lays on his back and pulls you on top of him swiftly.
You yelp at his almost reflexive motion, putting your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself. “You’re right. But it’s not like someone’s gonna want to snatch me up at the grocery store or something.”
Riki had laughed with you then.
Really laughed—head tilted back, his arms wrapping tight around your waist as if just the idea of losing you was so ridiculous, so farfetched it barely warranted a real thought.
But now?
Now that blinking dot on his screen was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the marble floor of his office.
His hand hovered over the location map, the tracker still active. Still moving.
You were alive.
That was the only thing keeping the wrath at bay—barely. Because while the dot pulsed, it wasn’t close. It was on the far edge of the city, in one of the zones they rarely used. Industrial. Warehouses. A part of town they had all but erased from operations.
Which meant someone wanted you hidden. Not hurt. Not yet.
Still…the bloodlust was roaring now. In all of his life, he had never felt such an insatiable, primal urge to kill like he did now. It was truly like the spirit of the devil ran through his veins and possessed him. That thirst wasn’t going to be quenched until you were back in his arms.
Riki stood from his desk, shoving his chair so hard it crashed against the wall. He pressed the emergency button again—just in case. Red lights flashed once in the corner of the ceiling.
His hands moved on autopilot, grabbing his bulletproof vest to put on over his compression shirt, his sidearm, his second piece, and the long black blade he hadn’t used in years. The blade that had started it all. The blade they said made him infamous. The one he swore he’d never need again.
He strapped it to his back. Along with one of the embossed Kaminari guns.
Grabbed the note again from the kitchen and stuffed it in his pocket—not because he needed it, but because he wanted to burn it on whoever sent it. By now, Clara had rallied his top men. Jake was on standby, speaking through the comms with a strained voice—he had been yelling at people relentlessly within the last twenty minutes.
Riki didn’t even look at the others in the room as he walked toward the front entrance, eyes locked on the car waiting just outside.
He paused only once.
To grab a bottle of your favorite perfume.
He sprayed it twice across his collarbone, once across his wrist. Something grounding. Something to carry you with him while he burned everything else down.
As soon as he stepped outside, he made contact with the two security guards meant to get you back here. They stood at the base of the steps—nervous, unsure if they should speak first. Their eyes flicked from the tension in Riki’s jaw to the fine mist of blood still drying across his knuckles.
He didn’t blink as he approached them. “You were supposed to bring her home and ensure she was safe. I gave explicit instructions.” His voice was eerily calm, but it buzzed like a live wire underneath.
“We—we did, sir,” one of them stammered. “She went inside. We locked the door right behind her—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you did!” Riki stepped forward, face to face with the buff man that cowered in the face of his lean figure. “My wife is not in my fucking bedroom because you failed to do your job.” He leaned in now, nose hardly touching his—his cologne and your perfume clashing between their senses.
The other guard interjected, “Sir—”
Before he could utter another word, Riki placed the barrel to his forehead. Squeezing the trigger and letting a metal bullet ripple right through his brain. Watching his body fall to the ground with a thud.
The echo of the gunshot rang out like a death bell across the courtyard. Riki didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His jaw tightened as he watched the second guard freeze, paralyzed by fear and disbelief. A splatter of red stained the granite steps, and he finally looked down—then calmly wiped the barrel of the gun with the hem of his shirt. No one moved. Not even the wind dared.
“Let this be the part where you realize,” he said slowly, eyes locked on the remaining guard, “that I don’t make idle threats. I don’t give second chances. And I don’t tolerate incompetence.” The man nodded furiously, hands trembling at his sides.
“Good. Now get your shit together and get in the fucking car. If she loses a single hair on her head, I’m putting a bullet in your mouth. Understand me?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Riki exhaled sharply through his nose, holstering his weapon. His knuckles were cracked and bleeding again from how tightly he’d gripped it. It didn’t matter. He turned back toward the house and grabbed your scent once more—letting it wrap around him like armor. The tension in his shoulders didn’t loosen; it hardened. Sharpened. Weaponized.
He climbed into the car.
Clara’s voice came through the comms again: “Riki. We’ve found the tunnel entrance. Sealed off, looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. But the tracker’s pinging beneath it.”
His fingers tapped against his thigh—once, twice—before he answered. “Good. Blow it open.”
“Already on it.”
Riki leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded. “And tell someone—I don’t care who it is—to get rid of what’s-his-name from in front of our door. I don’t want her seeing that when she gets back.”
—
The floor was frigid as ever. To which you didn’t understand, it was springtime. But Earth’s crust wasn’t something you took time to worry about.
The left side of your head was throbbing and you were barefoot. Only your white nail polish is visible in this dark room. Your arms were bound to some wooden chair with…you jostled in the chair as best you could. Zip ties. Of course they were zip ties. Your feet too but your mouth wasn’t covered, big mistake on their end.
You smelt of debris, cinders, and a bit of blood. But none of that mattered, you had to get the fuck out of here despite you not being able to see shit. Before you could concoct some sort of plan, the lights were turned on. Stinging your eyes as your pupils had to adjust to the new sensation.
“Oh, babygirl. Are you okay? I know it’s been a long day.”
That voice. Sweet. Familiar. The kind that once called you baby while handing you fresh towels. The one that scolded Riki for forgetting to eat. The one you trusted.
Your blood ran like ice.
“Clara?!”
It didn’t compute at first. Your brain tried to reroute it, convince you that maybe she’d been kidnapped too. Maybe she was checking on you. But then you saw her. Heels clicking across the concrete. Calm. Clean. Untouched.
Her hair was neatly pinned up, her blouse spotless, not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like she just came from brunch—not your kidnapping.
You blinked. “Clara?” you croaked. “What the hell—”
“Shhh.” She crouched down in front of you, cupping your chin like a parent checking a child for fever. “You poor thing. That gash on the head looks awful.”
You were too stunned to move but you quickly snapped out of it and jerked your head out of her grasp. “The fuck is this?”
The older lady stood up straight, towering over your torn figure. “This is retribution,” she gestured around the shithole bunker you were in.
You stared up at her, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned out her words. “Retribution?” you echoed, like your brain was lagging ten seconds behind. “Clara, are you out of your fucking mind?”
She chuckled softly. Not like a villain. Like a teacher. Like a mother. Like someone who believed she had the moral high ground. “Don’t worry, your knight in shining armor is on his way here. Right to where you’re sitting. I can’t wait to inform him of his wonderful test results.”
Clara’s voice lilted like she was presenting a prize at a company banquet—like this wasn’t some underground dungeon and you weren’t zip-tied like a prop in a cautionary tale.
You scoffed, full of disbelief and blood in your mouth. “You’re sick.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said with mock sympathy, “you’re not the first girl who thought she was special.”
She circled you slowly now, her heels echoing through the cold, damp space.
“You think I didn’t know about the tracker in your ring? You think I didn’t let him find you? This is about control, baby. Not chaos. I want him to come. I need him to.”
You snickered, “Yeah well, I like it when he does.” If nothing else, you were great at pissing people off.
Clara paused mid-step.
And then she laughed. But not in amusement—in disbelief. A short, sharp sound, like a knife testing the surface before a deeper plunge.
“You’re really going to joke?” she said, turning toward you slowly. “Tied up like a pig in a butcher’s shop, and you’re making sex jokes. You really think you matter that much?”
You leaned forward as far as the zip ties would allow, blood crusting against your temple and your vision still swimming slightly. But your smirk was solid as a rock.
“He’s killed for less, Clara.”
Her nostrils flared, but she kept her composure. Barely. There was a twitch in her jaw now. You’d landed a hit.
“He loved me first,” she hissed. “He respected me. I built him. I made him.”
“No,” you said calmly, with that lethal kind of clarity only someone truly protected by love can wield. “You trained him. I made him human.”
For a beat, the only sound was the hum of the overhead lights and the crackle of Clara’s rage simmering just below her ribcage.
Then she smiled, too wide.
“Let’s see how human he stays when he finds your body,” she said sweetly, almost like she was offering a bedtime story. But you didn’t flinch. You nodded for her to come closer. Closer. Now your nose was nearing hers. “I fucking dare you to touch me.”
Two of her personal goons come in behind her, standing on either side of the door Riki was due to come in through. Clara’s eyes flickered to the guards like a general surveying her troops—calm, collected, but every muscle ready to snap. She stepped back, smirking like she’d already won some invisible game.
“You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” she said, voice silky but dripping with menace. “But this is my battlefield.”
The two goons cracked their knuckles, eyes cold and hungry, shadows stretching long across the concrete floor. The tension in the room thickened like fog, suffocating and heavy. You kept your breath steady, every nerve screaming fight or flight—but you knew better. The fight wasn’t here. It was coming. And it was coming fast. Outside the heavy steel door, you could almost feel the air shift—the calm before a storm that would shake foundations and burn everything to ash.
Clara glanced toward the door, lips curling.“Tick tock, babe.”
The door exploded inward, steel shrieking on its hinges as Riki stormed through like a bullet—rage crackling in his bones like wildfire.
His eyes locked on you instantly, wide with fury and fear, scanning your face for injury. “Baby—”
“Riki, watch out!” you screamed, voice cracking.
But it was too late.
One goon came at him from the left, the other from behind. Riki ducked, twisted, managed to land a vicious punch to the first one’s jaw—crack—but the second was already swinging with a steel baton, catching him in the ribs with a sickening thud. Riki stumbled, grunting through clenched teeth, his fury barely contained.
He went for the blade tucked in his boot—only for a third man, hidden just outside the door, to grab his arm and twist it savagely behind his back. Another punch came flying, this one straight to his jaw. The force knocked him to the floor.
You cried out, struggling against your bindings, your wrists screaming in protest.
Clara watched it all unfold with the elegance of a queen watching gladiators bleed for sport. “Tsk. You boys and your dramatics.”
“Don’t fucking touch him!” you yelled.
They did anyway. Stripping him of every weapon on him—blades, a small pistol, even the tracker cuff on his wrist. Riki didn’t stop fighting, even as they dragged him up and slammed him into the chair beside you. Blood was already trickling down the corner of his mouth, but his glare was wildfire—aimed directly at Clara.
One of the goons zip-tied his hands to the arms of the chair with force, tightening them until his skin burned red.
“I should kill you right now,” Riki growled through grit teeth, eyes trained on Clara like a blade.
She approached slowly, as if savoring his fury. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Riki.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he snapped. “Touch her again and I swear to God—”
Clara only smiled sweetly. “Swear all you want, son. You’re both right where I want you.”
You turned to look at Riki, both of you battered, bound, but alive.
And somewhere beneath the weight of adrenaline and bruises, your fingers brushed the edge of his chair.
Even now—your pinky searching for his.
He found yours. Linked it. Tight.
You were still here. And so was he.
Clara sent the men out with a wave of her hand as she pulled up a chair to sit down and face the both of you. After a few moments of silence between both of you, she finally spoke. “Wow, fine couple.”
“Bitch, shut the fuck up.” You spat out, rolling your eyes. “What are we doing here? What do you want? More money? We got that. Status, you have it. What more do you want?!”
The older woman smiled at your state. “I want Riki.”
You turned to Riki, who was so far removed from any place you’ve seen him. Your husband was right next to you but the troubled, anxious boy that he’s done such a good job at hiding was making an appearance. But you didn’t know which version of it was.
He bounced his knee up and down with extreme fervor, so fast that you had hardly even seen it moving. Hunched over, the top of his head facing Clara as he shook his head with his eyes glued shut. Lap dampening as what you could only perceive as angry tears misted his eyes and relentless, incessant thoughts bombarded his brain. Riki’s breath was shallow as ever and you could only hear him mutter threats that stemmed from that same fury. More to himself than anyone in the room.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“You’re dead.”
“You fucking—”
“I swear on everything I love, I’m putting you in the fucking dirt.”
His voice cracked beneath the gravel, barely audible through the grind of his teeth. Every muscle in his arms strained against the zip ties, his body trembling like he was trying to hold back an earthquake. The air in the room grew thick, like the moment before a downpour—or an execution.
You watched him, heart breaking and raging all at once. You’d never seen Riki like this. Not even close. The man beside you wasn’t your husband—not the one who made silly faces behind menus or kissed your shoulder every time he passed you in the kitchen.
This was the version buried deep inside. The one he kept scrubbed clean and locked behind five layers of steel. The version built from years of betrayal and bloodshed. The boy no one ever loved right.
And Clara had dragged him out.
“I want Riki,” she repeated calmly, as if she were choosing an entrée off a menu. “Not the man you married. Not this polished little husband of yours. I want the real him. The one I raised. The one who knows how to destroy.”
“You didn’t raise him,” you snapped. “You groomed him.”
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Tomato, tomahto.”
“Let her go,” Riki muttered, voice low and vibrating with rage. “Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want.”
You turned your head so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. “Riki—”
He still wouldn’t look at either of you. His shoulders trembled, breaths sharp and quick.
“Just let her go,” he said again, louder this time. “This isn’t her world. She doesn’t belong in it.”
Clara leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh, honey. She entered this world the moment you put that ring on her finger. And now she’s in it until the end.”
Then she leaned forward slightly, that same maternal voice dripping venom: “Tell me, Riki…do you think your daddy would be proud of the little house pet you’ve become?”
That did it.
The room cracked open.
Riki lifted his head—slowly, deliberately—and his eyes found Clara’s with a fire that could level nations.
And for the first time since you met him, you were afraid of your husband.
You interjected quickly, “Seriously. Why are you doing this?”
Riki glanced at you with calmness behind his eyes momentarily, but something about hearing Clara’s voice sent the wrath of the scorned through him.
“I want my son back.” She hummed as she folded her hands on her lap.
Your brows furrowed, “He’s not your fucking son.”
Clara’s lips curled into a slow, venomous smile, like she was savoring every drop of poison she was about to pour.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she began, voice dripping with sickly sweetness, “you’ve been living a lie your entire life.”
She stood and paced slowly, every step echoing like a death knell in the cold room. “The woman you thought was your mother? The one who died when you were two? She was nothing but a convenient story.”
Your eyes locked on Riki’s, watching his jaw tighten, his entire body tense like a coiled spring.
Clara stopped just inches from him, voice low and deadly. “I am your mother. Your father’s mistress—the other woman. The one he never wanted you to know about.”
Riki’s fists clenched so tight the veins in his forearms pulsed visibly. “That’s a goddamn lie.”
“Is it?” Clara’s laugh was cold and bitter. “You want the truth? You’re my son, Riki.” She fished in her skirt pocket for a photo of her holding baby Riki as she had just delivered him.
You swallowed hard, staring at the photo like it was some kind of sick puzzle piece finally clicking into place. The baby in Clara’s arms had the same sharp eyes and yes—the unmistakable mole just below his lips. “I was able to hold you for fifteen minutes before you were taken from me, son.”
His eyes screwed shut, “I’m not your son! I’m your child. I am not your fucking son! Oh my go—baby you better say something before I—”
“What happened after? Why was Riki taken from you?” You chimed in, in an effort to calm your seething man.
“Because, I was the mistress. In love with your father, wanted a future with him. But he was married. And…”
Clara’s voice cracked just a little, the only crack in her otherwise steel mask.
“He made me promise to keep quiet, to stay in the shadows. But when my pregnancy came to light, everything exploded. The wife…she found out.” Her eyes darkened, haunted. “She made sure I lost you—took you away before I could even hold you properly again.”
The more you looked at her, the more Riki favored her. The same mole, the same unwavering determination in their eyes. The eyes that can be kind when they want to be. “It was either I disappear from your life completely or I stick around as the help and swear to secrecy. And I couldn’t lose you again, Riki. Do you know how much it hurt me to see you call someone else ‘mama’ for the first two years of your life?”
“I don’t give a fuck what hurts! It hurts that you had three big ass men jump me. It especially hurt that you had my wife taken from the safety of my fucking house—that I pay for you to live at—and lay a finger on her when you know how much she’s relied on you.”
Clara’s eyes glazed over, “But you did too. I was like a mom. You came to me all the time, I was your Claraboo. Remember?” She shrugged as she resigned, tears in her eyes.
“When Fumiko died, I thought it was a blessing in disguise.” She stood up. “But then you found her!” She gestured to you with unadulterated disgust. “Saying how great she was, wanting advice on how to dress for dates. So I thought, ‘Okay, this is his first time really taking someone seriously, it’s fleeting. No big deal.’ But then she started coming around. Family dinners, game nights. Then it became her spending the day, then sleepovers, then hearing you two go at it like rabbits when you thought no one could hear you. Fucking disgusting.” She snarled.
You looked at Riki from the corner of your eye, as did he. Both of you purse your lips to refrain from laughter during this serious moment. Lives are at stake here.
“Then, you got on one knee, Riki. At twenty-three, just throwing your best years away for one girl. And I kept thinking, ‘why does my son keep being taken from me? Why, why, fucking why?!” She grabbed one Riki’s pistol from a nearby table and whipped you with it.
The crack of metal against your cheekbone rang out louder than your gasp. Your head whipped to the side, pain blooming instantly along your jaw, your vision fracturing for a second. But you didn’t scream. You didn’t give her that.
Riki did.
“NO!” His chair thrashed violently beneath him, muscles flexing so hard the wood creaked. “Don’t you fucking touch her! Clara, I will fucking gut you—DO YOU HEAR ME?!” His voice cracked with fury, something animalistic and unhinged bubbling up from his core.
You spat blood, your lip split open now, and still you turned to Clara and hissed, “You’re not a mother. You’re just some bitter bitch who couldn’t let go.”
Clara’s hand trembled around the gun as she stepped back, her mask cracking further. “I raised him. I wiped his tears. I was the only one who gave a damn when he cried himself to sleep when his dad would be too hard on him. And you? You think your soft little hands and pretty smile can compare to that?”
Riki had stopped shaking. Now he was still—dangerously still. “You’re right,” he muttered. “You did raise me. Which is exactly why I know how to destroy you.”
Clara froze.
“You forget who you trained, Clara,” he said lowly. “You made me this way. You taught me how to survive. How to outsmart. How to kill.” And then he smiled. Sharp. Unforgiving. Blood drying on his lip.
“So congratulations,” Riki growled. “You just signed your own fucking death certificate. Maybe I really am your son.”
Clara blinked, eyes glassy. The gun trembled again in her hand. And then she raised it. But it wasn’t pointed at you.
It was aimed at herself.
You froze. So did Riki.
Clara’s finger hovered over the trigger, her eyes blank. “If I can’t have you,” she said softly, voice almost childlike, “then nobody will. Not her. Not the world. Not even you.”
“No.” Your voice dropped, pleading “Put the gun down.”
Riki sighed, looking down and mumbling to himself. “Damn bitch let me do the shit myself at least.” Rolling his eyes, knowing only you heard him and you refused to laugh at this moment.
You clenched your jaw to keep the smile from betraying you, even as the absurdity of Riki’s comment floated in the air like a cracked window letting in too much cold.
Clara’s hands trembled now. The gun shook between her fingers, and though it was aimed at her own temple, the tension in the room wrapped around all three of you like barbed wire.
“You think this is funny?” Clara snapped, eyes darting between you and Riki. “I’m baring my soul, and you’re making jokes?”
“Clara,” you said gently, the steel in your voice only thinly veiled by the concern beneath. “This isn’t the answer.”
“I gave up everything,” she whispered. “Everything. For him. For a son who looks at me like I’m a stranger—like I’m some monster.”
“You are some monster,” Riki muttered under his breath again, then louder, “but we don’t need a whole song and dance about it. Just...step away from the trigger, Broadway.”
You shot him a look this time. “Riki, please.”
Clara’s expression fractured—like a mirror that had been held together too long by spite alone. “I could’ve been someone,” she whispered, lip trembling. “I could’ve had a life with your father. With you. But I was the side note. The servant. Claraboo. Never mom.” Her voice broke. “You don’t understand what it’s like to watch someone else raise your baby. To be called help by the child you gave birth to.”
Silence. Then—
“I’m sorry,” Riki said quietly.
Clara froze.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” he continued, gaze steady. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the life you wanted. I’m sorry no one protected you when you needed it most. But this—” he nodded toward the gun, “—isn’t gonna bring any of that back.”
You took a breath. “Please,” you added. “Don’t make us leave here with another scar.”
You heard a low snap from your left where Riki was sitting, your eyes flitted that way. He had made free of the ties. Then, with every ounce of strength in his legs, jutted his calves out to free his legs. He slowly rose to his full height.
Clara’s sobs only intensified, shaking as her eyes squeezed shut and pumped out tears. Her breathing shallow as she trembled, hardly able to even line the barrel up with her chin anymore. She pointed the gun at him mindlessly.
Riki slowly edged to her, “Clara…please.” He nodded, “give it to me. I have a vest on, and I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret.” His voice was low, steady—like a lifeline in the dark. Clara’s trembling hands faltered, the gun wobbled, and then, with a choked sob, she dropped it. The metallic clatter echoed in the cold room as it hit the floor.
You exhaled, relief crashing over you like a wave.
Riki quickly swooped up the gun as Clara plopped down on the chair in complete dejection. She looked up at her son, “are you going to kill me?”
He sighed, “I am,” he nodded with another smile he tried to smother.
She huffed out a laugh despite her tears and mucus, because if she taught Riki anything—it was that sometimes, survival meant knowing when to play the long game.
“Not today, son,” she whispered, voice raw but steady. “You’re smarter than me. You’ll make sure I pay in ways that cut deeper than a bullet ever could.”
Riki’s eyes flickered—half respect, half warning. “I’ll make sure you regret every breath you take until then.”
She nodded, somehow at peace with her fate. “Plus, if it makes you feel better—there was no real leak. I just used Yuna, Jo, and Sohee as pawns. Just distractions when I knew that Ms. Prada—” She nodded to you.
“Chanel.” You and Riki corrected simultaneously.
“...Whatever. But I knew that she was itching to get involved, I made you hyper aware of a leak. When there wasn’t anything to find. A perfect smokescreen to send you chasing ghosts while I set the real trap.”
“So how does that explain their weird behavior?” You leaned forward despite your restraints.
The older woman shrugs, “Sometimes people tell on themselves. But I did tell Jo to keep it from you. Said that you had other obligations and that if anyone got in the way you’d deal with them.”
Riki frowned, “Oh that pisses me off,” he pointed the gun lower and shot her kneecap. Eliciting a blood-curdling scream from the elder.
“Riki!” You yell, eyes wide as he just looks at you with humor in his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?!”
He waves you off, “Sorry,” he holsters his gun as he comes up behind you to free you. In oh-so-convenient timing, here comes Riki’s men down the bunker and into the room
The heavy metal door groaned open, and a squad of Riki’s men flooded in, their faces grim but ready. Flashlights cut through the dimness, illuminating the mess Clara had made trying to stall for time.
Riki didn’t waste a second—he tugged sharply at the zip ties binding your wrists, his hands steady but fierce. “You okay?” His voice was low, but laced with raw urgency.
You nodded, heart still hammering, eyes locked on Clara who was now clutching her injured knee, glaring daggers despite the pain. “Where were they?”
“The perimeter, you really thought I came solo?” He snickered, “I’m impulsive, not stupid.”
Riki’s men quickly secured the perimeter, eyes scanning every shadow. One of them whispered into a radio, “Target secured. Extraction ready.”
Riki glanced back at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re safe now. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
You exhaled, relief flooding through you even as adrenaline kept you wired. Riki called out to all of them in the room as well as on the walkie-talkie he grabbed from one of the men. “Kobun! Clean up the mess. No loose ends. Take the old lady to the infirmary—alive. She’s got answers we’ll need later.”
He turned to you, voice low and steady, “You did good. Too good.” He brushed a stray hair from your face, the heat of his touch grounding you after the chaos. As the team moved efficiently, Riki’s eyes locked with yours—fierce, protective, and full of unspoken promises.
You smiled, “How did you break free?”
Riki smirked, the tension easing just a fraction. He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue to reveal a tiny razor, glinting silver against the dark warmth of his mouth.
Your eyes widened. “You kept that in your mouth? What if you cut yourself?”
He shrugged, “Tongue is the fastest healing muscle. Plus, I’ve done it enough times to not get hurt.”
You blinked, “That’s not comforting.”
He took it out of his mouth and tossed it to the ground. “There. Let’s go home.”
—
Later that night
—
The dust had settled a bit, the kitchen was still destroyed but that was tomorrow’s problem. You and Riki had been patched up on the way here. The moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains, painting silver streaks across the sheets—cold and unforgiving.
Riki moved around the room with his usual quiet precision, the soft click of his boots replaced by the muted sound of him slipping out of his clothes. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t even flinch when he pulled back the covers and settled beside you in just his briefs. He liked sleeping this way.
But you didn’t let it simmer, you sat up. “Are you okay, my love?” You whispered in the still room—the still house.“Mhm, just another day at work.” He yawned as he turned to face you with a gentle smile. But you didn’t buy it. He always did this so he could be a big-bad-strong boyfriend, now he’s a big-bad-strong husband.
“Riki, seriously?” You tilt your head in concern as you run your hand through his freshly washed hair.
He nodded, “Babe-asaurus, I’m cool as a cucumber.”
You snorted softly, the nickname breaking through the tension like a warm breeze. “Cool as a cucumber? More like a slightly burnt pickle after today.”
He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand behind your ear. “Yeah, maybe a little crispy around the edges. But I’m here. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”
You purse your lips, you knew what he was doing. But you didn’t pry, you never liked to. “I love you.”
He sat up, pulling you in for a hug as he kissed your lips gently. “I love you more. You know I do.”
“I know,” You kissed his bare collarbone, nuzzling his smooth skin courtesy of the body scrub you made him use.
“Let’s sleep, yeah?” He laid down on the smooth, clean linen.
You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat sync with your own. “Yeah. Sleep sounds good.”
—
But for some reason, cuddling wasn’t on the agenda. Subconsciously, you two had parted—but it wouldn’t be you or him if you didn’t touch at least. But somehow, you felt the bed tremble a bit—shaking and quivering in the midst of the silence of the room.
You sat up, turning around with furrowed brows. Feeling a little groggy from the meds you were given but still cognizant enough to know what was happening around you.
And with that, your husband is lying down with his back turned to you, on his right side. Chest caving in, breath shallow.
You blinked, confusion curling into worry. That tremble wasn’t just from the meds—it was something else. Something deeper.
Riki’s shoulders shook slightly, the kind of subtle, silent tremor that only showed when no one was watching. Your heart tightened. The big-bad-strong husband was cracked open and raw underneath the armor you both pretended was unbreakable.
You reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing the edge of his arm. Before you could open your mouth, he turned around and fell right into your arms. Wrapping his arms tightly around you as he buried his face into your neck. Letting a sea of twenty-four years worth of pollution fall down your neck and onto your chest.
Finally the dam broke, the iron curtain. The wall of stoicism was no more.
And this one time, you said nothing. You let him have it.
His bare skin pressed hot against yours, every tremble shaking through the thin sheets. The cold night air met the heat of his body, exposed and raw in nothing but his briefs—the armor stripped away, leaving only a man unraveling.
You felt the wetness against your neck before you saw it—the slick, hot tears silently tracing down his cheeks, the first you’d ever seen. His breaths hitched violently, chest rising and falling in ragged waves, his shoulders heaving with a grief he’d never let surface before.
He buried his face deeper, clinging to you like you were the last piece of solid ground. Your fingers trembled as they traced the curve of his spine, as if trying to stitch together the pieces of a broken man.
You held your love through the quiet like you promised—the good, the bad, the ugly. And this was the worst of it and even then you’d rather die than give it up. Give him up.
You rubbed his back as you scooted back to lie down. Letting him put half of his weight on you as his grip didn’t relent. Not that you wanted it to. Your cold hands pressed against his warm body in effort to cool him down. But you couldn’t as seeing the strongest man in your life was at his weakest.
Tears pooled in your eyes.
You kissed the crown of his head, silent and steady—a quiet promise without words. The night held you both close, broken but unbroken, fragile yet fierce. And in that stillness, you understood something true: love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just holding on when everything else falls apart.
And you married a yakuza, but most importantly you married a man who lets you see the cracks—and still chooses to stay.
warningsᝰ.ᐟ public sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), etc.
natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.
statusᝰ.ᐟ 6/9 completed!
you sat cross-legged on the concrete bench just outside the campus café, the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees overhead, bleeding gold through the shifting leaves. patches of light danced across your notebook, catching in the curve of your wrist and the edge of your page, though you hadn’t written anything in over twenty minutes. the coffee beside you had long gone cold, its once-steaming surface now flat and untouched, condensation pooling against the base of the cup. you didn’t have the appetite for it anymore—your stomach was too twisted, your chest too full. your thoughts tangled around themselves like a spool of thread pulled too tight, looping again and again with no end in sight. beside you, nari tapped her phone rhythmically against her knee, her thumb dragging absently across the edge as she glanced from your face to the passing students with increasing concern. her brow furrowed softly, and after another moment of silence, she gently nudged her knee against yours. “you’ve been quiet,” she murmured, tone cautious. “like… more than usual. talk to me.”
you inhaled, slowly, the kind of breath that sits thick in your lungs for a second too long before it sinks. your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers twitching as they rested against the spine of your closed notebook, and for a second you almost didn’t say anything. but it spilled out anyway. “i think i’m gonna quit soon,” you said, your voice quiet—barely above a whisper. you didn’t look up, but you could feel nari shift beside you, her spine going a little straighter, her lips parting like she wanted to interrupt. but you kept talking. “after three more collabs… that’s it. i think i’m done.” the words tasted bitter, not because they were a lie—but because they were starting to feel like the truth. “it’s just getting to be too much. i thought i could keep everything separate, that i could keep it casual. but it’s not. the way they treat me—heeseung, jay, jake… and now sunghoon—none of it feels casual. they’re so sweet with me. gentle. thoughtful. i can’t stop thinking about them, and it’s not just about the videos anymore.”
your throat felt tight, your heart thudding a little faster as you finally looked up, catching the concerned crease between nari’s brows. she didn’t say anything right away, but her silence was thick—understanding, but heavy. your stomach twisted again. “i didn’t mean for it to get like this,” you whispered. “and now i don’t know how to untangle myself.” your voice cracked on that last word, and you felt your face heat, fingers twitching on your lap. nari didn’t say anything for a long moment, just let the silence sit, let it hold the weight you couldn’t.
finally, nari sighed and shifted closer, her warmth pressing into your side as she rested her head gently on your shoulder. it wasn’t her usual playful nudge or teasing lean—it was soft, weighted, quiet in a way that made your chest ache even more. “you don’t have to beat yourself up over this,” she said, her voice steadier than your own thoughts, wrapping around you like something safe. “you’re allowed to feel things. even if you didn’t plan to.” her fingers slipped around your wrist, holding it with just enough pressure to pull you back to the moment, anchoring you to something other than the storm in your own chest. “it doesn’t make you weak. it doesn’t mean you failed at staying detached. it just means you’re human.” the sincerity in her voice cracked something open in your ribs, a sting of guilt slipping through your spine, because part of you hated how much it helped to hear it out loud. “but if you’re really serious about ending it soon,” she continued, “maybe you should do it in a way that’s yours. not theirs.” you blinked at her, lips parting, and she turned to meet your eyes with a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “i’m just saying… maybe go out with a bang.”
you let out a dry, broken chuckle, one that barely made it past your lips before it caught in your throat. “what do you mean?” your voice cracked a little, low and hesitant, like you were already bracing for her answer. nari’s eyes lit up with something quieter than mischief, something closer to knowing, and she tilted her head with the kind of look that said she’d been holding this in for a while. “you ever heard of @watchmesunoo?” the name came out casually, but the sound of it sparked something faint behind your ribs, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. your brows furrowed as the syllables echoed again, this time deeper, pulling a ghost of a memory forward from the first week you created your account. “wait…” you said slowly, squinting into the space between thoughts. “i think i saw one of his previews when i first signed up… but i don’t think i ever followed him.”
you bit the inside of your cheek, remembering it now—how you’d been scrolling late one night, breath held in your throat as you stumbled across a low-resolution preview with dim lighting and soft groans muffled under ambient music. a shot of his mouth. a blurry pull of fingers against skin. it was simple, intimate, unpolished—something that felt almost too real. “it was just one video,” you added, more to yourself than to her, your voice quieter now. “i forgot about him.” nari nodded, a little too quickly. “yeah. that’s him. barely posts. ignores most collab requests. my friend’s obsessed with him—she’s been trying to work with him for months, but he’s a ghost.” she paused, watching the way your brows pulled together, your expression caught between confusion and intrigue. “but i think you should try.”
she didn’t smile this time—didn’t tease, didn’t nudge. she just looked at you, honest and still, like she already knew what your answer would be before you even thought to say it. “maybe that’s the kind of thing you need right now. someone who doesn’t already have a version of you in their head. someone who hasn’t touched you yet.” her words sank deep into your chest, unsettling something you hadn’t realized you’d been trying to bury. you didn’t say anything for a long moment—just stared down at the screen in your lap, the name @watchmesunoo repeating itself like a soft echo. and slowly, almost reluctantly, you felt the weight of it settle behind your ribs. not fear. not excitement. something quieter.
you swallowed down the last of your hesitation, the corners of your lips twitching with something uncertain as you thumbed at the edge of your phone screen. “i’ll look into it,” you said finally, barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might make it feel too real. nari’s eyes brightened just a little—not with excitement, but with a quiet kind of pride, like she knew what it meant for you to even consider it. you didn’t say anything else, just offered her a soft, tired smile as you started tucking your notebook back into your bag. your limbs felt heavier than before, thoughts clouded in a swirl of names, usernames, videos, and that echo of a preview you hadn’t realized had stayed with you all this time. “i think i’m gonna head home,” you murmured, slinging the strap over your shoulder and standing slowly, your back arching in a small stretch as the concrete bench faded behind you.
nari stood up too, brushing off her jeans, but before she could gather her things, her phone buzzed and she let out a short groan. “ugh—wait, never mind. i forgot i have to meet with my psych professor,” she said, glancing at the screen with a scrunched nose. “office hour thing. she wants to go over our project proposals.” you turned to her with a sympathetic smile, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “good luck,” you teased lightly, nudging her hip with yours. “you’re gonna need it if she’s in her ‘let’s dig into your childhood trauma’ mood.” nari snorted, shaking her head. “don’t remind me.”
you lingered for a second longer, the sun starting to slip behind the buildings in the distance, casting long shadows over the quad. something about the way it all felt—soft, slow, suspended in that hour between day and dusk—made your chest ache again. but you turned anyway, waved her off with a quiet “text me later,” and started the slow walk back to your apartment. and even as you walked, even as your bag thudded softly against your hip and your shoes echoed across the pavement, your mind was already pulling back to that name.
—
your apartment feels colder than usual when you step inside, even though the air’s not on. there’s a stillness in the air that feels too aware of you, like the silence has been waiting to settle over your shoulders the second you’re alone again. you toe off your shoes without thinking, barely aware of the way they hit the floor and skid unevenly to the side, and drift toward your desk like you’re on autopilot. your laptop screen glows faintly in the dimness of your room, casting soft blue across the surface of your desk and reflecting in the half-full cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink this morning. the tab for your assignment is still open — blinking cursor, blank page, waiting for your focus — but you can’t force yourself to look at it for longer than a few seconds. your fingers hover over the keys like muscle memory might kick in and guide you through it, but your brain doesn’t follow. instead, your thoughts splinter in the same direction they’ve been spiraling all day, circling back to that conversation on the bench like it left something in your chest buzzing. something about the name — sunoo — stuck to your skin like static, and the more you try to forget it, the louder it seems to echo.
you can’t explain it, not really. it isn’t the way nari said it or even the weight behind her words — it’s something older, something that scratches faintly at the back of your mind like a memory you hadn’t realized was there. your brows furrow as you lean back in your chair, the room dim around you, your eyes falling unfocused to the wall beyond your desk. and then it hits you — a flash, a flicker, the blurry recollection of scrolling through creator previews when you first joined, when the app still felt like a game you weren’t sure you’d keep playing. you hadn’t even clicked it. you just remembered pausing, breath catching for a second too long, before telling yourself to move on. but now it feels different. now his name feels like a thread you’re meant to tug.
you get up before you can talk yourself out of it. your blanket is soft beneath your legs as you sink into the edge of your bed, pulling your laptop close and setting it in your lap with hesitant fingers. the room is quiet except for the low hum of traffic outside your window, the streetlights casting faint amber streaks across your walls, and still, it feels like you’re not alone. you type the handle slowly, breathing shallow as the letters take shape across your screen. @watchmesunoo — plain and simple. your stomach tightens as you click.
the video you clicked on doesn’t start immediately — it fades in, slow and deliberate, like it’s giving you time to adjust before letting you see all of him. he’s lounging in a dimly lit room, the shadows from warm-toned bulbs playing along the open line of his shirt as he drags his fingers lazily over the inside of his thigh. his eyes are low, unreadable but sharp, and the second he smiles — just the corner of his mouth tugging up — something clenches tight in your chest. “you came looking for me, huh?” he says, voice silky smooth and unbothered, like he was expecting you. “good. i was starting to think i’d have to come find you instead.” your breath stutters. there’s no rush to the way he speaks, no performance, no over-the-top energy. it’s quiet. intimate. like he’s talking just to you — and maybe that’s the point.
your thighs shift without thinking, the video washing over you like a slow wave of heat as his hands move down, drawing soft circles over the fabric between his legs. his voice stays steady, low and measured, as he whispers something about patience — about reward — about how good it feels when someone finally gives in and looks at him properly. he doesn’t touch himself. not yet. he just stares, right into the camera, like he’s watching you squirm on the other side of the screen. and when the video cuts to black, there’s no outro, no goodbye. just silence. and your own ragged breathing as you reach slowly for the message button without really deciding to.
@babydollx0: hey… not sure if you’ll see this. but your content was… really something.
you don’t even have time to look away before the dot appears. he’s typing. and then—
@watchmesunoo: took you long enough
your lips part slightly, surprise hitching in your chest.
@babydollx0: wait… you're actually replying?
the response is almost immediate.
@watchmesunoo: of course. you’re kind of hard to miss, babydoll
your pulse jumps. you reread the message once. then again. your fingers hover over your screen, unsure how to respond to the casual, low-glow confidence laced into every word.
@babydollx0: wasn’t expecting that… guess your reputation’s bigger than mine, huh?
his dot flickers.
@watchmesunoo: maybe. but you’ve got a very dedicated fanbase.
your brows knit. your stomach tightens.
@babydollx0: wait what does that mean—
@watchmesunoo: mall on 11th. 8pm. bring something easy to take off.
you blink. the bubble’s gone. no flirty emoji. no “see you then.” just a time, a place, and the subtle kind of suggestion that leaves your skin warm and your mind racing. you stare at your screen, the cursor blinking back at you like it’s waiting for your next move.
your closet groans softly when you tug it open, the familiar weight of fabric brushing against your fingers like it’s offering you comfort — or distraction. the light above you flickers faintly as you scan the hangers, not really sure what you’re even looking for at first, your thoughts still spinning too fast around his last message. something easy to take off. the words circle your mind like smoke, curling into your chest and warming your skin from the inside out, and you feel your throat go dry as you thumb through the hangers. you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard — but you do. you want him to look at you the way he looked into that camera. you want to know what it feels like to unravel under his hands, to see if he’s really as smooth and in control as he seems. and somewhere between all those thoughts, your hand stills.
the dress you settle on is one you’d almost forgotten about — soft, slinky, just long enough to be decent and just short enough to feel like a dare. the fabric is pale and silky, a muted ivory that glows a little under the light, and it clings to your frame in a way that feels like a whisper instead of a scream. it dips gently along your collarbones, straps thin enough to feel like they might slip off if someone so much as breathed too close, and the hem flutters just above mid-thigh, catching the breeze from your open window. you hold it up in front of you for a second, tilting your head, imagining the way sunoo’s eyes might track the shape of your waist or the curve of your legs when he sees you. your pulse kicks. the thought makes you shift in place, suddenly aware of your bare skin and how easily he’ll be able to get to it. you dress slowly, letting the fabric slide up over your hips and settle into place, smoothing it down with shaky hands.
your fingers linger at the base of your throat as you glance in the mirror, adjusting your straps, brushing your hair back over your shoulders. there’s something about the way you look tonight — flushed, expectant, a little nervous — that doesn’t feel like the version of you who started all this. but it’s still you. it’s you with want blooming behind your ribs, with something hungry curling low in your belly, with your lips already parted like they’re waiting for him. you swipe on a bit of gloss, mascara, something soft on your cheeks, but nothing too bold — you want him to see you, not a mask. your perfume comes last, spritzed low across your neck, a familiar scent that feels like a secret when it mixes with your skin. your shoes stay flat, easy to walk in — easy to step out of. and when you finally grab your phone, your keys, your tiny bag, your heart flutters as the time reads back at you.
7:44 pm. just enough time to meet him.
just enough time to lose yourself in someone new.
—
the mall was busy, but not loud. the late afternoon foot traffic had thinned into a more leisurely pace, the kind of rhythm that didn’t rush—just drifted, like everything was suspended in this slow, golden lull. soft chatter drifted between the storefronts, punctuated by the low hum of elevator music and the distant whir of a blender from the smoothie kiosk downstairs. perfume hung thick in the air, clinging sweet and floral to your skin as you stepped inside, your heels clicking faintly against the tile. the hem of your dress fluttered around your thighs, brushing soft against your skin with every step you took. you felt… exposed. not because of the dress—it wasn’t too tight, not too short—but because of what today meant. because of who you were here to meet. because of how your body had already begun to anticipate something that hadn’t even happened yet.
sunoo hadn’t told you much. just a time. a place. no expectations, no explanation. and yet your stomach had been tight since you left your apartment, your chest heavier with every passing minute, your head full of him in a way you didn’t have time to prepare for.
you scanned the upper floor slowly, eyes flicking across passing shoppers, half-distracted by the way your pulse thrummed against your collarbone. and then—without warning—a voice broke through the din.
“wow…”
you turned instinctively, heart lurching, and there he was.
sunoo stood several feet away near a decorative planter tucked beside the escalator, partially hidden by the long vines of a seasonal display, but his eyes were locked onto you like he hadn’t even considered looking at anyone else. like the mall disappeared the second you stepped inside. he looked exactly like his preview—his hair a soft blonde, his frame lean, hoodie pulled halfway up his arms—but nothing had prepared you for how he’d make you feel when he looked at you like that. like he was stunned. like your body, your face, your very presence had knocked the breath out of his lungs.
he didn’t say anything for a second. just stared.
and then, finally—“you’re…” his voice trailed off, his jaw flexing, like he was trying to restart the sentence but couldn’t get it out. “you’re so beautiful.”
you felt heat bloom in your cheeks instantly, breath catching in your throat as he stepped forward. his fingers grazed your elbow, light and careful, and his eyes traced the line of your jaw before settling back on your lips.
“you didn’t have to show up lookin’ like that, now i feel underdressed.” you laugh, and he grins wider, the tension between you thinning just a bit. then, with a small wave of his hand, he gestures for you to follow. “c’mon, i wanna talk to you somewhere quieter.”
you trail behind him as he leads you to a tucked-away lounge on the second floor—a cozy seating area framed by tall indoor plants and dim lighting from overhead skylights. it’s quiet, barely anyone passing through, and sunoo slides into one of the plush seats before patting the cushion beside him. once you’re settled, he turns slightly, legs crossed and arm resting casually along the back of the bench behind you. “so,” he starts, voice soft again, but this time with a hint of sincerity. “i’ve seen you before, you know. something about you... stuck with me.”
you tilt your head, surprised, but he just smiles, eyes flicking down to your lips for a second too long before returning to your gaze. “you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, the compliment falling from his lips like a quiet secret. “and not just in that way. you’ve got something about you... makes it hard to look away.” your heart skips, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress as the weight of his words settles in your chest. and then, leaning in just a little closer, he whispers, “let’s make something worth remembering tonight.”
you trail behind him as he pushes open the glass door of the boutique, the soft chime above signaling your entrance, and something tight curls in your stomach at the idea of what’s coming. the place is quiet—minimal music, soft lighting, not too many people—and sunoo doesn’t say much at first, just offers you a sly glance over his shoulder as he leads you down one of the back aisles. “okay,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “so… this one’s for a challenge my viewers sent in. it’s kind of a favorite.” you blink at him, your heart already starting to pound, but he only leans closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “we’re going to do a few things inside the dressing room. i’ll pick the clothes, you try them on, and then—” his voice drops lower, breathier, “we see how far we can go without getting caught.” your eyes widen slightly, the adrenaline kicking in fast, but you can’t help the heat rising in your chest as he takes your hand and leads you toward the fitting area, his grip warm, steady, and just a little too excited.
he doesn’t give you time to ask questions—only hands you a couple of hangers with a cheeky little tilt of his head, his eyes scanning your expression like he’s enjoying how nervous you suddenly look. “relax,” he murmurs, lips barely parting as he takes a step closer, “you’re in good hands.” the words shouldn’t sound as comforting as they do, but something about the way he says it—light, teasing, and sure—makes you feel strangely safe despite your nerves. the soft click of your heels on the hardwood follows you both as you make your way toward the fitting rooms in the back, the hallway narrow and lined with curtained booths, none of which seem occupied. sunoo pauses at the end of the row and peeks through the curtain before gently tugging it open, motioning for you to go in first with a simple wave of his hand. the room is small—three mirrored walls, a little bench, and a hook for your things—but it’s clean, neat, and quiet. you step inside slowly, nerves buzzing in your chest, but when you turn back to face him, he’s already pulling the curtain closed behind him, one brow arched. “you trust me?” he asks softly. and even though your stomach twists, you nod.
the curtain sways gently behind him before it falls still, sealing the both of you in a small, quiet world muffled by the distant hum of the store beyond—hangers clinking, footsteps fading, the occasional voice dulled by fabric and walls. the dressing room is tight, just enough space to move, to breathe, to feel everything more acutely, and it’s only made smaller by the weight of sunoo’s gaze. he pulls his phone from his pocket without a word at first, the screen lighting his face in a soft glow before he sets it on the small bench beside him, angling it slightly. “no bulky cameras,” he murmurs, his voice light, almost playful, but the look in his eyes is anything but. “figured you’d like that,” he adds, and the way he says it—confident, casual, like he already knows you—makes your cheeks grow warm, a quiet blush spreading up to your ears as you instinctively turn away, facing the mirror to ground yourself. your reflection stares back, wide-eyed and flushed, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering slightly from the chill in the air or maybe the nerves tightening in your chest. you don’t see him move until he’s already behind you, his presence a slow, delicious pressure, his hands settling low on your waist, thumbs grazing your sides like he’s marking the moment. his fingers move with purpose, slipping down to the hem of your dress and lingering there as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you look so beautiful, my god…” he breathes, the awe in his voice sending a tremble down your spine.
his eyes meet yours in the mirror, heavy and hungry, and you can barely hold the intensity of it—how he looks at you like he’s seeing something sacred. the hem of your dress lifts inch by inch beneath his touch, soft fabric peeling away from your thighs, slow enough to make your breath catch. he hums low in his throat, a sound thick with approval when the delicate lace of your panties comes into view, and he leans in even closer, the tip of his nose skimming your shoulder as he exhales against your skin. “fuck…” he mutters under his breath, so quiet it’s almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it, but the heat behind the word sears into you anyway. he continues to slide the dress upward, over your hips, across your stomach, careful not to rush, not to miss a second of it, like unveiling you is some kind of ritual. the moment stretches, drawn out by his hands and the thrum in your chest and the way your reflection trembles slightly in the mirror. when the dress finally slips past your arms and off completely, his hands glide down your sides again, slow and reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve now exposed to him. “you’re perfect,” he says simply, like it’s just a fact, and in the quiet closeness of that dressing room, with the heat of his body pressing behind you and your eyes locked in the mirror, you almost believe him.
his hands never leave your skin as the dress falls to the floor, pooling silently at your feet like a forgotten secret. the mirror fogs faintly from the closeness, from the heat building steadily between you, and sunoo’s gaze lingers in the reflection, eyes locked on the curves now bare before him. “they asked for a challenge,” he whispers against your neck, voice warm and teasing, “so i told them i’d deliver.” you shiver as his fingers trail along your hips, gliding forward until his palms rest low on your stomach, holding you there with gentle control, like he doesn’t want you to move unless he says so. “no sounds. no slips. no getting caught,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear with each word, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin. his thumbs stroke slow, measured circles into your lower belly as he watches you melt under his touch, the mirror catching every twitch, every flicker of need that crosses your face. “you can do that, right?” he asks, voice soft but edged with something heavier—something that makes your thighs press together in anticipation. you nod, barely, and he chuckles once, quiet and pleased, before pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his hands sliding down between your legs with deliberate care.
his fingers skim the front of your panties, featherlight, just enough pressure to make your breath catch, and he watches the way your lips part in the mirror, the way your legs shift instinctively for more. “so sensitive already,” he murmurs, dragging the lace aside slowly, exposing the slick heat between your thighs as he drags two fingers along your folds, collecting the arousal there like he’s savoring it. the air feels heavier now, the muted sounds outside the dressing room fading beneath the pounding of your heart and the wet sound of his fingers teasing your entrance. “stay quiet,” he warns gently, and you nod again, one hand reaching out to steady yourself on the wall while the other clutches at your own thigh, your knees weakening with every stroke. he sinks one finger in, slow and careful, curling it just right as your body arches back into him, your mouth opening on a silent gasp that never quite escapes. the rhythm he builds is steady, teasing—just enough to have you trembling, not enough to let you fall apart—and his breath is warm on your neck as he watches you, utterly transfixed. “fuck, you’re so good like this,” he whispers, lips brushing the edge of your jaw, “like you were made for this.”
his second finger pushes in without warning, stretching you wider, deeper, and your breath stutters as you fight the moan building in your chest, your thighs shaking with restraint. the wet sounds fill the small space, echoing just enough to make it feel dangerous, filthy, like someone might hear if they walked too close to the door. sunoo’s free hand wraps gently around your throat—not tight, just there, grounding you, tilting your head slightly so you can’t look anywhere but the mirror, at the way you’re unraveling in his hands. “eyes on yourself,” he murmurs, voice low and sharp, and you obey, barely holding back a whimper as he fucks you slowly with his fingers, the drag of each curl brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl. his thumb presses to your clit now, circling in slow, wet strokes, and your body jerks in his hold, your hand flying to your mouth to smother the cry that threatens to spill. “shhh, baby, don’t ruin it,” he coos, kissing the back of your shoulder, “not yet.” your eyes blur in the mirror as the first wave builds inside you, hot and heavy, and all you can do is grip his wrist tighter, silently begging him not to stop.
your breath is shallow, lips parting against your palm as you try—fail—to suppress the tremble of your thighs, the full-body shudder that rolls through you each time his fingers thrust a little deeper. you feel soaked, ruined, slick dripping down your thighs in thin trails, and sunoo’s fingers are relentless—patient, but unyielding. he keeps the pressure steady, dragging his fingertips along that spot inside you again and again until your knees nearly buckle, until your toes curl hard enough to ache. the soft, obscene sounds of your cunt being worked fill the cramped dressing room like static, blending with the sharp, wet flicks of his thumb against your clit. he doesn’t speak now, doesn’t have to—not when his mouth is open against your shoulder, his warm breath fanning over your skin with each exhale like he’s barely holding back from devouring you entirely. your free hand scrabbles for purchase, landing uselessly on the mirror as your body jerks again, your chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate bursts.
you can feel it—feel your orgasm winding tight, coiling low in your stomach like a fuse that’s about to blow. and maybe he can feel it too, because his pace slows just slightly, not to tease, but to keep you right on that edge. to draw it out. his hand around your throat squeezes just a little—not choking, but firm enough to anchor you, to remind you who’s guiding your body to this breaking point. “not yet,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like a warning stitched with affection. “you’ll wait until i say.” your nails dig into his wrist, eyes glassy in the mirror, lips trembling as you nod, even though your whole body is screaming to let go. his thumb rolls tighter circles now, fingers curling up perfectly with each pump, and your legs tremble harder beneath you. every movement, every sound, every breath feels amplified in the silence—your arousal making the room feel smaller, hotter, like the walls might cave in if you moan just once too loud.
you whimper again, barely audible, and he hums behind you, his nose brushing against your neck as he slows his fingers just enough to keep you tethered to the moment, your release still just out of reach. “you’re being so good for me,” he whispers, voice honeyed with praise, “i know it hurts to hold it in, baby. but you can do it, can’t you?” you nod again, shakily, blinking fast to stay focused on your reflection—on the way your body trembles under his touch, on how wrecked you look already without even being allowed to finish. sunoo’s smile turns indulgent, one kiss pressed to the corner of your jaw as he resumes his pace, slower now, deeper, like he’s rewarding your obedience with pleasure that teeters just this side of torture. your hips roll down against his hand instinctively, chasing it, chasing friction, chasing the permission you’re still waiting to hear. your clit pulses against the pad of his thumb, swollen and throbbing, and you know you can’t last much longer. but you wait. because he told you to.
and because it’s him—you want to be good for him more than anything else.
you don’t realize you’ve started shaking until his hand steadies you, firm on your waist, the warmth of his palm grounding you even as your body threatens to give out. your forehead presses to the mirror now, damp with sweat, your breath fogging up the glass in uneven bursts. your thighs ache from holding yourself upright, and your clit pulses with every twitch of your hips, your body practically begging for release. he’s still behind you, pressed close, his mouth at your ear and his fingers so deep you swear he’s memorizing every inch of you from the inside out. “just a little longer,” he whispers, voice thick with restraint, but you can hear it—how wrecked he sounds too. how hard he is behind you, cock pressed hot against your ass through his boxers, twitching every time you clench around his fingers. it makes you wetter, needier, your moans hiccuping into little broken gasps that you can’t even muffle anymore. it’s too much. you’re too full. too close.
his thumb rolls over your clit again, tighter this time, firmer, and your whole body jolts, your hand slamming into the mirror for balance. “fuck—sunoo—” his name slips out like a sob, high and breathless, and that’s when he finally gives it to you. “you can let go now,” he says, a low murmur laced with something wicked and warm. “come for me, pretty thing.” and the second the words hit, your body seizes with it—your orgasm crashing over you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs. your thighs squeeze together instinctively, your back arching, your mouth open in a moan that barely makes it past your tongue as everything inside you contracts at once. you clamp down around his fingers, pulsing and spasming as he fucks you through it, his hand unrelenting, milking every last bit of pleasure until your legs completely give. he holds you up, both hands now wrapped around your waist as you slump against the mirror, whimpering into your arm while your body continues to twitch from the aftershocks.
your reflection is a mess—cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised, eyes glassy and unfocused as you pant against the fogged-up glass. your panties hang low around one thigh, the hem of your dress wrinkled up around your ribs, and your skin is covered in sweat and the faint tremble of being completely undone. behind you, sunoo presses one more kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then just behind your ear. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, and there’s nothing teasing in his voice anymore—just awe, soft and sincere, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing. “you did so good, baby. so fucking good for me.” your knees nearly buckle again when he says it like that—when the praise comes without hesitation, when it feels like he means every word with his whole chest.
his hands slide down, one of them reaching between your legs again—not to start anything, but just to feel, to swipe gently through the mess between your thighs like he’s admiring what he caused. “messy girl,” he mutters, smirking now, a kiss dropped to your temple. “hope you didn’t think we were done.” and then he’s lifting you, gently but firmly, turning you in his arms so your back presses to the mirror and your chest rises against his. the phone is still recording in the corner, forgotten but running, capturing every angle, every gasp.
you kiss him before he can say anything else, hard and sudden, like the craving in your chest has finally boiled over and you just can’t hold it in anymore. your lips crash into his with a force that nearly knocks the air from both your lungs, and for a second, he doesn’t move—just stands there in surprise, mouth parted beneath yours—before he groans low in his throat and grabs at your waist like he’s been waiting for it all along. his body meets yours in full again, no space left between you, his chest rising with a shudder as he kisses you back deep and slow and messy. you can taste the leftover sweetness of your own release on his tongue, can feel the urgency building again in the way his hands slide down the curve of your ass, gripping tight, kneading like he’s trying to ground himself in you. your fingers weave into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp into your mouth, and you swallow the sound with a whimper of your own as your thighs press together, aching for more.
you barely feel your back hit the mirror—just the cold of it ghosting down your spine as sunoo shifts your bodies again, angling you toward the corner where the bench meets the wall. “you’re not tired?” he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief and hunger, his forehead pressing to yours as he pants. you shake your head, your breath hitching as his fingers skim up your thigh again, finding the damp lace that’s still clinging to you. “not even close,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear.
his mouth drags down your neck, kissing and nipping gently, the pace slower now, more intentional, like he wants to savor the way your body reacts to him. his hands roam again, over your ribs, your hips, the swell of your thighs as you shiver beneath his touch, letting out a soft gasp when his fingers slide past your panties once more. “still so wet for me,” he hums, a smile curling against your skin as he sinks down to his knees between your legs like it’s where he belongs. he kisses along the inside of your thighs, tongue flicking teasingly close before pulling away just enough to make you whine, your fingers curling in his hair.
“stay still for me, baby,” he whispers, and before you can even think to respond, he’s pulling your panties to the side and licking a long, slow stripe up your center.
your knees nearly give out.
his tongue is hot, slick, devastating in its precision as he laps at your clit with soft, rhythmic flicks, then dips lower to fuck into you with long strokes that make your hips jerk forward. you feel it build again so fast—too fast—and you brace yourself on the mirror behind you, one hand still tangled in his hair as he moans against your cunt like he’s starved. “fuck—sunoo,” you breathe out, your voice cracking as your head tips back, the heat in your stomach coiling tighter with every flick of his tongue.
he doesn’t stop. doesn’t let up. he keeps going until your legs are shaking, until you’re gasping and twitching under his mouth, until the words slip out in a messy, broken whisper: “gonna come—fuck, i’m gonna—”
but then he pulls away.
you sob, your body lurching forward at the sudden emptiness, but he’s already standing, already pulling you into another kiss, messy and wet and still tasting like you. “not yet,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand reaching for his phone to quickly angle it slightly, making sure you’re both still in frame. “you said you weren’t tired, remember?” he grins, voice low and playful now, and you nod desperately, your hands sliding down his chest until they reach his cock, hard and flushed and already leaking against his thigh.
he groans as you touch him, your hand wrapping around his length and stroking him slowly, teasingly. “then fuck me already,” you whisper, voice shaking, and his eyes darken completely.
“turn around,” he tells you, breathless, and you do, pressing your hands against the mirror as you arch your back, offering yourself to him.
he slides in with one deep thrust, both of you gasping at the stretch, the sudden fullness.
“round two,” he pants, thrusting again, slower now. “let’s give them a show.”
his hands find your hips first, steadying you as he sinks in inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper as your palms flatten against the mirror for balance. he hisses behind you, hips stuttering once before he sets a pace, slow and purposeful, every thrust deep and dragging like he’s determined to feel every inch of you again. your reflection catches your eye for a second—cheeks flushed, mouth parted, eyes already glazed—and the sight makes something flutter low in your belly. behind you, sunoo lets out a shaky breath and slides his hand up your spine, flattening it between your shoulder blades until your back arches more for him, the angle sending heat flashing through your core. “fuck, you’re unreal,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp that vibrates down your spine as his hips snap forward harder, the sound of your skin meeting echoing faintly in the tiny room. your thighs tremble as he picks up the pace, his other hand moving to your clit again, circling in tight, controlled motions that have your knees buckling. he groans when he feels your body clench around him, a deep sound that shoots straight through you, and your nails scrape softly down the glass as your moans grow louder. “they’re gonna lose their minds watching this,” he breathes out, lips ghosting against your neck, “but they’ll never feel you like this.”
his words hit something deep, and your body trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full, so close, so wrecked already—and the way he keeps watching you, eyes flickering between your reflection and the spot where you’re joined. you try to hold on a little longer, but his fingers on your clit work relentlessly, syncing with every hard thrust of his cock until it feels impossible not to break. you whimper his name, breath catching in your throat, and he tilts his hips just right, driving into that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt forward with a strangled moan. “that’s it,” he whispers, “come on, baby, i feel you—come for me again.” your legs tremble violently as your orgasm crashes over you, your head tipping back with a cry, heat exploding in your belly as you clamp down around him, body pulsing and twitching. sunoo gasps, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he groans and buries himself deep, hips jerking as he spills inside you, warm and thick and drawn-out. his hands grip your hips so tight you know it’ll bruise, his breath ragged against your neck as he rides it out, murmuring soft curses between gasps. you both stay like that for a moment, bodies pressed together, hearts racing, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and something that feels too good to name.
you blink slowly at the mirror, seeing the flush on your chest, the red bite blooming at your shoulder where he’d kissed too hard, and the way his cum begins to trickle slowly down your thighs.
his breath is still shaky when he finally pulls out, cock twitching as he watches the mess they’ve made of each other glisten between your legs. he reaches past you slowly, arm brushing your waist, and taps his phone screen twice to end the recording, the screen dimming to black with a soft click. silence blooms between you both for a second—thick, heavy, and intimate—until he exhales and gently cups your hips, turning you around with soft hands. “you okay?” he whispers, his voice warm, his touch even warmer as he brings one hand up to smooth back your hair, thumb brushing over your cheek. you nod, still catching your breath, and he leans in to kiss your forehead so tenderly it makes your chest ache. he crouches to the floor without a word, grabbing a tissue from his pocket and using it to carefully clean you up, his eyes flicking up every few seconds to make sure you’re not flinching. you feel the gentleness in every stroke, the reverence in every glance, like even now he’s still trying to memorize how soft you are. once he’s done, he helps you slip your panties back on, then pulls the hem of your dress back down, fixing the sleeves on your shoulders with a careful tug.
“you were perfect,” he murmurs, standing again, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips—less heated now, more thankful, more full of something you don’t dare name just yet. he doesn’t rush you, just keeps holding your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he needs to ground you again. your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer, and he smiles into the kiss before whispering, “you wanna get out of here?” the way he says it makes your stomach flutter—not dirty, not demanding, just soft, full of care, like he wants to wrap you up in warmth and carry you out of this room. you nod again, and he takes your hand, guiding you slowly out from behind the curtain with a final glance over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear. the mall noise trickles back in as you step into the hallway, but it all feels muffled—like the world’s gotten quieter just for the two of you. he leans close again as you walk, lips brushing your ear with a tiny smile as he whispers, “you really are dangerous, you know that?”
he turns to you slowly, his gaze flickering across your face like he’s memorizing it again, and then he leans in—his lips brushing yours so tenderly it makes your chest stutter. “i’m fucked,” he whispers, barely louder than the wind, his voice low and quiet and almost like he hates admitting it. “but there’s no way i’m backing down… not when it’s you.”
you don’t answer. you just stare, lips parted, heart slamming too loud in your chest as your brain struggles to catch up—but your body moves before you can think. you tilt forward, pressing your mouth to his with a softness that surprises even you, your hands rising to curl against his chest as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. the kiss doesn’t burn—it lingers, aching and slow and full of everything neither of you are ready to say out loud, your breath mingling in the cool night air. and when you pull back, his eyes are still closed, his hands still holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. you blink up at him, throat tight, but before anything else can be said—before he can speak or you can think—a sharp buzz cuts through the air from your phone in your purse, jarring and urgent. you both go still. the moment teeters at the edge of something bigger. and then your phone buzzes again.
natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ omggg sunoo my heart >.< honestly didn't proofread this either but i wanted to update this quick for you all, hoped you all enjoyed!
SYNOPSIS: When you are assigned as a psychiatric nurse in a quiet, unsettling and remote town, you expected lonesome, boredom even, and not the creeping sense that something was wrong. Then you are asked to temporarily monitor Sim Jake, a long term patient, when his regular nurse takes sudden leave. At first he's just another case for you, then you started noticing strange behaviors unfolding within the hospital walls, and now you're not just questioning your patient's mental state, you begin to question what's real, what's hidden and if you're turly safe.
• PAIRING: Sim Jaeyun x Psych nurse afab!reader
• WORD COUNT: 20k
• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, hospital settings, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, patient x nurse dynamics, forbidden romance core, mental illness (refer warnings section), suggestive, reader-insert, sorry attempt at writing a medical based au (I'm not a medical student so please forgive me), reader is always confused the tf out of her mind, not proofread.
• WARNINGS: MDNI, Antisocial Personality Disorder, violence, stalking, breaking in, paranoia, reader faints a couple of times, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of restraints, mental breakdown, manipulation, coercion, fear of abandonment (not reader), kidnapping, borderline yandere behavior, violation of rules and personal boundries, aggressive and obsessive behavior, stealing, making out, dry humping, needy reader, let me know if I need to add any<3
• AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really not sure about this one but I hope you guys will enjoy it. This is a work of fiction and whatever is happening is happening for the plot. In no way I am trying to depict how an actual psych hospital works in this fanfic, it's more of a vague setting to build up the plot. Your comments, reblogs and ask would mean so much to me. Thank you for giving so much love to my previous work, hope you will like this one too. Happy reading♡♡
You stepped outside of the train station, head held high, eyes hidden behind sunglasses that barely hung on your face. The strap of your backpack slipped off your shoulder ruining your nonchalant persona in the blink of an eye. Adjusting it back you stood right in the middle of the road searching for any sign of life, the town was so quiet you could even hear a pin drop. The street lights flickering on and off like they were sponsored by your bad decisions. You look around, trying to spot a ride to your new apartment. The place felt like it was straight out of Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA music video, but an emotionally constipated version. You swore you even saw a single dried leaf flowing along with the dust across the road from your peripheral vision.
You leaned your weight on your right leg, hands on your hips as you took in your surroundings. It's understandable that it was evening but not even a single soul could be seen in your near vicinity. It wasn't even dark yet. The only human interaction you had after stepping foot on this worn-out town was with the maintenance worker who gave you a nasty side-eye when you crossed paths with him and the old man sitting inside the ticket counter who maintained eye contact with you till you were out of his sight.
You grunt, making your way back inside the station to interrogate the ticket counter. He looked at you up and down through his frameless glasses, folding his hands comically slow before heaving a sigh. You tapped your foot in sheer annoyance, he decided to finally bless you with some words of wisdom and direct you towards a local diner located not too far from the station. You threw a tight smile at him, dramatically making a turn and off you went towards the diner.
The local diner's neon sign buzzed half heartedly, you nodded solemnly at its state, the poor thing looked like it gave up on life ages ago but was still showing up for work because of money. It almost reminded you of your nursing school days, where you would show up to school regularly just because you paid the tuition fee in advance. You ran your fingers through your hair, huffing a breath, at least you could hear human voices from inside.
"Hello, is anyone there?" You did the best you could to bring out your practiced cheerful voice when you opened the diner's door, grinning like you're trying to sell toothpaste. The cashier, a middle aged bald man with a mustache, and a relatively younger boy, locked you in place with a deadpan face and eyes staring with premium disinterest. "Unfortunately, yes." You made your way inside, removing your sunglasses as you approached them. The smile wiping off your face faster than the wifi signal during zoom meetings.
"Does this place have any cab or bus facility? The person at the ticket counter sent me here." You awkwardly tapped against the counter waiting for their reply. Both of them exchanged glances at each other before they focused right back on you. And, now, somehow you were second guessing ever agreeing to come in this ghost of a town. "You're new here?" Now it was your turn to fix them with a deadpan look, "Unfortunately, yes." The younger guy sighed at your words, making his way towards you.
"You came here on purpose?" He raised his eyebrows at you, his eyes taking in the luggage beside you. You furrowed your eyebrows at his response, hands on your hips as you were left baffled by the sheer judgemental tone of his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" The old man just shook his head and went behind the door, leaving you standing there alone with the boy.
He shrugged in response, leaning against the counter. A small smirk appeared on his face, "No one really comes to this town, considering there's literally nothing to attract any entity. The town is small, location so far off no one gives a fuck about it." You just sighed, dragging your feet towards a chair and slouching against it. "What brought you here anyway?"
You massaged your head a bit, perplexed at the situation you've gotten yourself into. Your mind drifting back towards the questionable choices you made before you ended up being assigned to be a psychiatric nurse located in a place you haven't even heard about. "I'm here to work as a nurse at Second chance psychiatric hospital." His eyes widened in surprise before a toothy smile graced at his lips. "Oh you'll be working with my friend Sunoo."
You gave him a tight look, clearly having zero idea about this Sunoo guy he was referring to. He ignored your obvious disinterest and sat on the chair beside you. "I'm Jungwon, I work here because I have nothing else to do. The guy I'm talking about is also a nurse at the hospital you're joining." That gained your interest as you turned towards him, "Help me go to my apartment, I've morning duty tomorrow." He beamed at you, nodding before making his way inside a room and coming back later with his apron off. "Let's go!"
"You're dropping me off?" He grabbed your luggage like it was made of thin air and made his way out of the diner. You just looked at him, not making a move to stop him cause honestly you were glad he was chivalrous enough to do that. You were as good as Macdonald's ice cream machine to even argue about moving your own luggage. You ran after him as he made his way towards his beat up car, your legs falling in rhythm with his as you told him your name.
You reached the apartment the hospital's staff had given you information about. You made your arrangements and agreements with the owner a few weeks prior. For which you mentally gave a pat on your back because the apartment was pre-cleaned for you. You thanked Jungwon, he waved it off saying everyone knows everyone in his ghost town to help anyway, and made your way up the stairs to unlock the door. You punched in the code you'd set through your mobile app, kinda high-tech to have such security given the conditions of the town, you made your way inside the apartment.
You set your luggage aside, deciding that unpacking was inevitably going to be a problem for tomorrow. You freshened up, throwing yourself on your bed as flashbacks for today's event slid through your mind like a scheduled Tumblr post. This town contained a type of quiet that felt like the universe had hit a forgotten password button, left isolated and on its own to function, except instead of bringing peace with the isolation, it just gave off a serious 'what's wrong with it' vibes. Basically this town was a kind of place where even the squirrels look like they are plotting world domination.
Sleep comes easily when all you did the entire day was travel and struggle, rinse and repeat. Waking up on the other hand was a struggle you didn't realize you'd face on literally the first day of your job. You sat on the edge of the bed, eyes empty, motivation still buffering. It wasn't until your second alarm went off that you finally broke out of your daydreaming and got ready to go to the hospital. You know how much struggle you put up with your will to live every morning, so you know how to deal with that too.
You found yourself back to the same situation you were in when you stood in front of the local diner, now looking up to the rusting, 'Second Chance Psychiatric Hospital' sign barely hanging above the main entrance, threatening to fall but still somehow keeping it together. You pushed open the gate, the loudly squeaky noise of the metal gate raising goosebumps on your skin. You physically crumpled at the noise, gaining looks from a few of the staff and patients spread across the entrance of the hospital and its surrounding area. You meekly smiled at them as you continued making your way towards the hospital's door, their eyes hardly leaving yours. What's up with people of this town and the constant staredown competition they engage themselves into?
The exterior of the hospital was painted blue, almost fading, getting drowned by veils of climbers and creepers you don't want to learn about. The front yard was draped with dead leaves which had fallen on the ground like the hope you had when you were assigned to this hospital. You sighed heavily, decided to turn around and take in the state this hospital was in. It sure looked like a type of psychiatric hospital you'd hope to see in a horror movie. What were you going to tell your friends back home? Second chance? More like Secondhand misery on your part.
Stepping through the glass doors which barely sensed your presence (you had to give them a bit of manual labour) you were met with a waiting room which silently screamed at you to leave. Rusty chairs, mandatory fish tank with no fishes but a suspicious looking worn out castle inside it, few statues which had more cracks on their surface than you had on your phone screen. You made your way towards the reception area, not entirely surprised to find the receptionist having the time of her life in her sleep. You lightly banged on the surface of the counter to get her attention. She woke up agonizingly slow, looking like she had seen too much and was running purely on instant coffee and bad choices. She didn't even look surprised, yawning as she pulled out a form and slammed it against the counter in front of you. You looked at her, completely at loss. "I'm a new nurse here, not a patient."
"Oh?" She gave you a wary look, eyebrows furrowed as if she'd heard something she shouldn't have. You rummaged through your bag, huffing slightly as you handed her your joining letter. Her eyes widened when she verified your details, sighing in resignation as she typed in something on her computer. You stood there, watching her fill out your details in the staff registry, expressions on her face changing like the slideshow of a presentation you made when you were in sixth grade. "I just need to understand," she started, giving you the joining letter back, she briefly made an eye contact and you nodded at her to continue, "what life crisis led to this?"
"Should I be worried? Why does everyone keep on asking me this question?" You were starting to believe you hit the wrong subscribe button at this point. This town was sketchy, far off the map, with zero to limited amount of transportation, every single place in this town gave off vibes of bad decisions and pure paranoia combined. The receptionist waved your concern off, getting out of the reception area, sliding her hand around your shoulder and pushing you towards the staircase leading to the first floor.
"The patients on the ground floor are usually handled by seasoned nurses, fresh meat like you are assigned on the first floor to deal with patients with reduced care demands who have less complex cases." She explained as she stopped you in front of a door, labeled Dr. Byeon Hyunwoo, knocked three times and left you in your misery. Your eyes followed her till she was out of your sight, not moving an inch, mind malfunctioning. It wasn't until you heard a very awkward and intended cough that you got out of whatever trance you were into. "Would you like to come in?"
"Yes, I'm sorry." You followed him in his personal office, the condition inside of it surprisingly much better than the entire hospital. He invited you to take a seat, smiling curtly you sat in front of him. He was clad in white coat which seemed to have seen quite a few things. The wrinkles on his face are a clear indication of his expertise. He smiled at you asking questions about your whereabouts since you arrived. You'd be working under him along with a few other attending physicians and nurses. You learned he's the director of the hospital, which immediately led you to straighten your back in response. Overall you were happy to finally interact with someone who was so humanly mediocre.
Before you could open the office door a soft creak heard from outside the door halted your steps in place, followed by faintest movements of shadow flickering from the bottom gap of the door. You sighed, opening the door quicker than the lightening speed and watched three heads stumbled across the office. They bumped into each other like dominoes, frantically trying to find their footing. Then successfully stood right in front of you, awkward smiles plastered on their faces. You turned around to look at Dr. Byeon only to realize he wasn't even slightest bit interested in what was happening in his office, so begrudgingly you shut the door behind you.
You took in the sight of them, the receptionist from earlier, another girl with short hair and then the taller guy who sheepishly smiled at you, his foxy eyes turning into crescent moon as soon as they met yours, then came the classic move, 'the awkward cough' as they looked at each other to telepathically discuss who'll be the first sacrifice. You could feel the 'we weren't trying to listen' vibes radiating off of them like wifi signals. Honestly, the entire moment of catching them eavesdropping on you and Dr. Byeon was awkwardly theatrical.
"A little birdy told me we have a new nurse, we were too excited to wait," the guy smiled cheekily at you and despite your better judgement his energy brought a laugh out of you. Three of them exchanged looks before the guy grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards a cabin at the left side of Dr. Byeon's office. He informed the cabin on the right side is for the physicians. The cabin where you were dragged to was a bit larger than Dr. Byeon's, probably because it was for the use of multiple people.
"Is the little birdy Ms. Receptionist?" You chuckled as you roamed around the cabin till you placed your belongings in an empty area. The guy religiously shook his head making his way towards you, extending his hand, "the little birdy is Yang Jungwon, my friend, he informed me a new nurse was joining." You shook his hand with a puzzled look on your face which then turned into a happy one when you recognized the name, "Jungwon? The diner guy?" The fox eyed guy threw his head back, laughing. "Yes, that one."
Your interaction was cut short when the short haired girl came from the other side and clung to your arm, "I'm Yerin, your fellow nurse. Then this guy, who didn't have a basic courtesy to introduce his name first is Kim Sunoo, also a nurse and the lady standing there is Jia, our receptionist." She smiled softly at you before letting go and dragging Jia where you and Sunoo were standing. "We knew you would be joining but we assumed just like many other staff you'll ghost us too, we really didn't expect you to show up." You nodded at Jia, understanding what was up with all the questionnaire and glances but her words left you with a plethora of questions.
"Is the reason they ghost because of the very obvious suspicious location or is this place that horrific that no one wants to stay?" You all sat around each other, "and don't you have to go back to the reception area in case someone comes?" Jia just laughed at your question, waving you off yet again, she explained how the hospital rarely gets a new patient to be admitted so everything is chill.
"Okay, now back to your earlier question," Sunoo looked at you with his big eyes as he clapped his hands to get your attention towards him, "honestly I think the main reason is the location itself, you get to learn many things, have hands on experiences and everything but it's a small town, nothing much to explore, plus this town gives a little bit of icky vibes so that adds to everything else." Little bit icky vibes? More like a movie setup for a budget horror film.
They gave you instructions about the working of the hospital, Jia bidding you goodbye to continue with her work at the reception, Yerin helped you with printing out your schedule, and Sunoo brought your uniform scrub and ID card. You changed into your scrub, and wore your ID card, smiling in the bathroom mirror to officially start your journey as the nurse. While talking with Sunoo and Yerin you learned that Jia has been working here for 7 years, Yerin for 2 years and Sunoo just joined 4 months ago. "Jia looks younger for someone who worked for 7 years," you wondered out loud, Sunoo nodded, "She was very young when she joined here, she was in need of money and the hospital needed someone desperate enough to do the job." You pondered over his words, he suggested giving you a quick and vague hospital tour before you ask any more questions.
The hospital's air smelled faintly like a mix of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol and existential crisis. You wondered if you'll become one of the patients of this sorry excuse of a hospital if it continues to give off these weird vibes even after working here for months. While you were walking down the hall of the first floor, somewhere a door squeaked dramatically, as if to assert its dominance and make its presence known. Sunoo just shook his head, laughing slightly and mumbling about how you'll get used to it.
The walk through the first floor was easy, uneventful but insightful regardless. You'd be working on this floor for a good portion of your work, so you hung onto every word that left Sunoo's mouth. He suggested you shadow either him or Yerin for the first half of the day so you could get a hang of how everything works, and you were glad for his regards. He gave you a tour of the therapy room, which was further divided into group, individual, occupational, art/music and recreational units. You met a few patients of the general ward Sunoo was assigned for the day, realizing it will take some time for them to get comfortable with your presence. You didn't mind their rejection towards you, considering you chose this field by your own wish to help the socially marginalized individuals of the society.
He then led you towards the ground floor, the stairs creaking below your feet. Jia looked up from where she was sitting at the corner smiling, you gave her a wave with the same level of enthusiasm. One side of the ground floor was filled with medical and support facilities like; consultation rooms, medication rooms, emergency care rooms, and pharmacy. Behind the reception area had a lounge area, dining area, and bathrooms. Aside from the rusting chairs in the waiting area, you spotted a vending machine from the 90s functioning on duct tape and sheer will, and a wall clock permanently stuck at 03:33; well at least it shows correct time twice a day, truly an overachiever.
The other side of the ground floor was what seemed to pull your gaze back at it, time and again. The large 'Intensive Care Psychiatric Unit' sign glaring at you in red, the hallway was dark even in broad daylight, shadows clung to the walls as you walked towards it. Sunoo stopped you from going further when you reached near the entrance of the patient's wards. "New nurses aren't allowed to enter this area, only the veteran nurses are allowed. You'll need to get your ID card updated with access to this area to enter."
Your eyes were trained on the hallway, the longer you looked at it, the heavier the air felt as if something was waiting for you to dare to indulge in it. You turned your head towards Sunoo, gulping slightly, "Are the patients that volatile?" Sunoo shrugged his eyes scanning the hallway which he never once entered in his 4 months of working here. "Maybe they are, I haven't seen any special case or event with my own eyes since I've worked here but I've heard stories."
He gave you a tight smile before urging you to follow him to continue the rest of the touring, and as you nodded your head at him in agreement you felt something move, barely visible, a shadow. A nameless fear settled in your chest, sending sharp, cold ripple down your spine. You couldn't help but lean against the glass doors to find where the movement came from, but there wasn't a single soul in sight. You flinched when Sunoo called out your name, your steps retracting back towards the waiting area but your mind still hooked towards the ICPU.
Working for the hospital was much better than you had initially imagined, although severely understaffed, the environment of the hospital was thankfully healthy and supportive. Dr. Byeon, albeit strict and a man of few words, always guided you with patience, though sometimes it would wear thin. Patients were reluctant at opening up at first but once you gained their trust, you started enjoying your job more. The patients on the first floor were easier to manage at most, they maintained a sense of self awareness and would be cooperative with the treatment. So you never had to struggle too much while doing your job.
So after several weeks of working in the hospital, and living in this ghost town there were few things which you had gathered. For instance, Dr. Byeon was not only the director but also the co-founder of the hospital, at this point if anyone told you he was also the mayor of this town you wouldn't be surprised. Some of the attending physicians here wore their egos on their sleeves for some reason. There were only two veteran nurses and both of them were assigned duties on the ground floor for ICPU, you found both of them very scary even when they showed nothing about kindness to you when you occasionally crossed paths with them. Patients here, to put in simple words, were here for a reason.
The people of town were, you don't even know how to describe. Earlier when you walked on the uneven and cracked sidewalks, people would smile at you the way they do when you accidentally wave at someone who wasn't waving at you, awkward and suspicious. Even the cats looked at you with that, 'I know what you did last summer' stare. Now they are friendly enough to ask you for a tea and ask about your dating life before you even sit down. Everyone in the town knows about each other, their allergies, their nicknames and the story behind it. Secrets here longed as long as a cough. Still you loved how uneventful and slow it was, or maybe you're just getting Stockholm Syndrome with this town.
"Mrs. Lee's son got into an accident, she left earlier in emergency," You along with Sunoo were huddled around Jia during your break time when you heard about Mrs. Lee, a veteran nurse assigned at ICPU. "Poor her, I've never seen her so worried before, he's her only son." You nodded at Sunoo's words, it wasn't like you could give your 2 cents into the conversation since you knew very little about everything. You wondered how Mrs. Hong was going to handle everything on her own, when Dr. Byeon called you inside his office.
Dr. Byeon opened his door before your fist could even touch it and made his way towards his chair, you peered at him up and down before shrugging and making yourself comfortable in front of his desk chair. He heaved a sigh, adjusting his glasses as he gave you a look that screamed 'help' but in a more professional manner. You smiled awkwardly at him fidgeting in your seat, the more the silence stretched the more difficult it became for you to maintain your commercial smile. "You must have an idea what happened with Mrs. Lee right?"
You reluctantly nodded your head and the way he looked at you made warning bells ring in your ears, "I'll get straight to the point. We are short on staff for ICPU, I was hoping you'd take the responsibility for the meantime." You let out a laugh which sounded like a broken tape record, high-pitched, off-key, powered entirely by denial and borderline fear. As usual, Dr. Byeon patiently waited for you to come down from your high with an expression which lacked all the seasoning and spices. You eventually stopped when you noticed he wasn't laughing with you, you put your head down on his desk.
"What? You'll be taking over Mrs. Lee's duty?" Yerin screeched, you hushed her putting your hand on her mouth. Sunoo just stared at you, looking for more information. "Why would he appoint you though?" He wondered, "Yerin should've been his first choice, you're comparatively new." You glance at him, finally releasing Yerin from your hold, "He said first floor is mainly handled by her so she was out of the picture, and as for you," you jabbed your index finger on his chest till you backed him off against the nearest wall, "he said one time you were allocated to work in ICPU for few hours and you got so scared you turned that place to a disastrous zone in five minutes."
Sunoo gulped, avoiding your eyes like you were terms and conditions, "I...that place is shady! I couldn't help it. The patient who I was tending appeared out of nowhere and touched my feet. I jumped and dropped everything, the patient got triggered and grabbed my hair, then I screamed and Mrs. Lee had to clean up after my mess." You shook your head, slouching against your chair. Sure the ICPU gave off some serious 'don't fuck with me' vibes, but Mrs. Lee and Nurse Hong had survived years of working in that unit outstandingly. You could survive too if you only did what you were told and didn't cause much disturbance in the daily routine of the patient's admitted at that part of the hospital. Plus your legs could use some rest.
When Nurse Hong, a sweet and soft spoken woman, gave you the temporary schedule, you did not expect to have constant rotations in your shift timings. She gave you head pats and a hug, smiling sympathetically at your baffled expression, "I heard a lot of good things about you from Dr. Byeon, I believe you can handle it well. Just be focused on your responsibilities and call for me when trouble arrives okay?" With the amount of softness her voice and eyes contained when she said those words, you'd have said yes to even rob a bank for her. But she was getting old, already had so much on her plate, you decided to be the strong independent woman you've already dreamt of being and handle your issues yourself.
You had always watched the ICPU whenever you talked with Jia on her counter, or whenever you kicked the vending machine to get your energy drink. Your eyes followed that section wherever you were in the near vicinity. The section always called for your attention, maybe it felt that way because you were prohibited from entering that area. A forbidden apple, tempting you to take a bite with its bright red colour. Now you stood in front of the glassdoor which was once a barrier to your curious heart, sweat formed at the palm of your hands, you wiped it on your white coat and placed your ID card over the sensor.
The sensor beeped, the sound sharp and unforgiving, it pierced through your ears. The glassdoor separated and you entered the area. Your hand unconsciously reached for your pen neatly tucked at your scrub's pocket as you forced yourself to take a step forward. The unit was unnaturally quiet, the air suffocating, not with the smell of medications or ethanol, but with the memories. The lights flickered on and off, casting a yellow light on the walls which were once white. The paint peeled off in strange patterns through the hallway. You made your way deeper into the unit, hands tight around the trolley you were moving with you.
The hallway stretched like it had no end, doors lined up each side, differently numbered, all identical, all shut. The hallway carried an uncertain heaviness, like it remembered every scream, every breakdown, every cry for help. You could hear some muffled noise as you made your way further into the hallway, a laugh, a whisper and sometimes a scrape against the wall. Normally, sounds calmed you, grounded you but this time it only increased your heartbeat. Each little noise made you shiver. The wheels of the trolley screeched against the worn out tiles of the hospital as you moved forward, and suddenly silence wrapped around you.
For a moment you had forgotten that you weren't alone, that everyone else could sense your presence too. Being confined into a box makes you overly sensitive towards any sort of noise, it didn't surprise you that everyone inside the rooms could detect the presence of a new person with the sound of your footsteps alone. You moved ahead till you reached the far end of the hallway, room no. 015 glaring back at you. You've heard about the infamous room no. 015 in passing before, something along the lines of too violent, too hysteric, too cruel. You recalled Sunoo telling you something about the patient's history, an outcast, admitted to the hospital by his family who then left the town and never returned.
You gulped, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door to let your presence be known, then sliding in the key. Your eyes studied the room, it was pale, off-white, no decorations. The bed sat at one corner of the room, sheets crisp with practice precision, a single pillow, and a blanket. A chair and fixed desk were placed on the adjacent corner of the bed. A built in light fixture high on the ceiling, out of reach even if one stood on the chair. You made your way towards the window that was covered by off white curtains. You wondered why would there be a window without grill for a patient who was admitted at ICPU. You moved the curtain aside, you could see the security guard's cabin from up here, well you guessed there's no way the patient would try to run without getting noticed.
The slow creaking of the door behind you followed by sudden movements startled you as you turned around, wide-eyed, hands on your chest. You took a deep breath, carefully watching the stranger who stood opposite of you, coming out of the bathroom, steps halted midway, eyes mimicking that of yours. He analyzed your appearance, white coat, boring scrubs, trolley inside the room, hospital's ID card hanging from your neck. His eyes met yours, and you gulped, unconsciously clutching the notepad in your hand, a corner of his lips twitched. "I'm here for your routine check up, is that okay with you?"
The slight tremor at the end of the sentence didn't go unnoticed by him. He studied you for a few seconds before he wordlessly made his way towards the bed and sat on it. You dragged the chair towards his bed, sitting on it promptly as you studied his medical record.
▪︎ Name: Sim Jake
▪︎ Gender: Male
▪︎ Date of Admission: November 16, 2018
▪︎ Diagnosis: Antisocial Personality Disorder
▪︎ Assigned Psychiatrist: Dr. Byeon Hyunwoo
▪︎ Assigned Nurse: Mrs. Lee Siyun
▪︎ Mood/Behavior: Patient appeared withdrawn and agitated
▪︎ Appetite: Normal
▪︎ Interactions: None
▪︎ Agitated/Aggression: High
▪︎ Nurse comments: 1. Patient has shown a recurrent pattern of agitation. 2. Cooperative during check ups though slightly sensitive and annoyed. 3. Extreme shifts in moods.
"How are you feeling?" He clicked his tongue in irritation, leaning back against the bed, "Mrs. Lee?" You looked up, his voice hoarse and rough due to lack of use, full of exhaustion. His eyes were dull, yet sharp as they peered at you. His face was framed by soft, dark hair, a bit messy but it gave him a boyish look. He had a well-defined jawline. He was handsome in a way that made your breath catch without even realizing. You shook your head, keeping your thoughts in check before you looked down at your notes, "she's on leave," you muttered checking the previous notes.
"Irritated." Your eyes shot up as he spoke, his jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed. Your eyebrows knit slightly in confusion before they relaxed realizing he answered your initial question, you noted it. You cleared your throat, "what kind of thoughts are occupying your head today?" He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest, "nothing important." You sighed at his vague answer wondering if he's the same with Mrs. Lee.
"How do you feel about being here?" You questioned, writing down his previous answer. He scoffed watching you write down what he said word to word, "not thrilled." You sucked in a breath, you have to remain calm for patient's sake, this wasn't even worse but somehow you'd have preferred him lashing out a whole monologue than the single word answers he threw at you. You took out your stethoscope, placing one end of it in your ears, "I'm going to touch you, is that okay?"
He moved a bit closer, "hurry and leave." You rolled your eyes, your hand slipping beneath his shirt, your fingers were steady, practiced as they pressed gently against his chest. You felt his breath hitched before you could detect it through the stethoscope. "Breathe in, hold it." Surprisingly he did what was said, your ears filled with the irregular thump-thump rhythm of his chest. "Breathe out, slowly." Your hand shifted slightly, inspecting another spot. There was no rush, no distraction in your movements as you continued monitoring his heart beat. "Your heartbeat is slightly irregular. Try taking a deep breath slowly a couple of times so it slows down a bit."
The rest of the routine check up went by smoothly, he didn't answer any of your questions verbally, but was cooperative for most part. He showed annoyance but wasn't aggressive. You noted everything, gave him his prescribed medicines, checked his vitals again after taking the medicines, made sure he didn't have any injuries or health concerns and the routine check up for room no. 015 was completed successfully.
A deep breath escaped your chest as soon as the door closed behind you, relief flooded your body like sunshine through a cracked window. Your eyes flickered towards the wrist watch on your hand, lunch time. You informed Nurse Hong about your schedule and made your way out of the ICPU towards the cafeteria after her approval. You spotted Sunoo, Yerin and Jia sitting at the far corner of the cafeteria. "Hey!" Their eyes shot up in your direction, you waved at them before making yourself comfortable beside Jia. "Wow, you look like you could use some chapstick, your lips are drier than your text when you're ignoring me." Your hands immediately reached out to touch your lips, "ah, it's because I kept on biting on it while I was doing my routine check up." You thanked Sunoo when he passed you the chapstick.
"So," Yerin leaned towards you, her expression serious but you could see the underlined lightheartedness behind her doe eyes, "Tell us brave soul, what was it like in the land of darkness?" Sunoo and Jia nodded, huddling around you, "I heard you were assigned the infamous room no. 015." You nodded, leaning back against the chair, digging your food, lost in thoughts but continued, "It was okay, it wasn't as scary as we have heard in the stories, perhaps not scary at all," you studied their confused expression, "he was a bit annoyed, reserved for most part, but he complied. Unlike all the stories we've been hearing from the past."
"Is that true? I was half wondering if I should prepare a strecher for you." Jia smacked Sunoo arms as she hushed him, Yerin turned towards you, "maybe the stories are dramatized and exaggerated in order to keep everyone in check, so that no one would go in the ICPU area, kind of like to protect the patients and not disturb them?" You shrugged looking towards Jia who shook her head at Yerin's words, "I've seen a handful of instances myself where extra security had to be called because he was getting out of control. I've seen Dr. Byeon running inside ICPU frantically to room no. 015, those instances can't be staged."
You solemnly nodded at her words, you couldn't decide how anyone was with only one single interaction with them, but then again, the man in front of you in room no. 015 was far off from someone you imagined a person with ASPD would behave like when you did your case studies. "How does he look? Is he scary?" Yerin asked, her eyes wide as she looked at you. "He doesn't look scary, just exhausted." You mumbled quietly as your mind wandered back to his eyes, the soft puppy-like eyes, though the sparkle in them was dulled but you were sure they must've looked the prettiest when they sparkled. Jia looked at you lost in your thoughts before deciding to answer Yerin's question, "he's not handsome, he's ethereal, would've 10/10 hit on him if he wasn't a psycho."
Sunoo and Yerin gasped, gaining a look of annoyance from people surrounding the area you were occupying, you apologetically smiled at them. Sunoo sighed, dramatically face palming himself, "Why are the hottest people always the biggest red flag?" Everyone else shrugged, continuing to eat in silence for the rest of the lunch time. Maybe there was something more to the picture than it seems, you'd heard from Nurse Hong that Jake was aggressive, he was manipulative, that before getting admitted here he was notorious for breaking rules and creating havoc. Your mind juggled between those words and what you saw in room no. 015, maybe you were judging the book too fast, maybe all you were doing was judging a book by its cover.
The rest of the week went by the same, though Jake's irritation turned into mild annoyance as he got accustomed to your presence. Nurse Hong explained to you about your duties in the second half of your lunch time which you would be spending on providing mental health assessment and therapeutic counselling towards the patients she entrusted you with. You were thankful she was mindful enough to not overwhelm you with each patient of ICPU, cause you swore they were there for a very good reason, and you had a very long way to go before you could handle them like Mrs. Lee and Nurse Hong did.
"You're smiling weirdly," Sunoo eyed you from where you were gathering your notepad and stethoscope while simultaneously wearing your coat. "What do you mean?" You shot him a side-eye that could curdle the milk. Sunoo shrugged, still eyeing you with suspicion laced in his eyes, scrutinizing you, "you seem way too excited for someone who's working an early shift on Monday morning, it's because of Jake right?" Your eyes widened as his words sank in, you threw a crumpled paper in his direction, he dodged it, "It's nothing like that! Don't make up things. I've to go. I'm getting late for my rounds. Bye!" You didn't give Sunoo another chance to speak as you bolted out of the cabin and into the ICPU. Sunoo shook his head, clearly enjoying your denial about your growing attachment towards Jake. He could detect the shift in your energy from miles away whenever Jake was mentioned and he wondered if you'd ever realize it and if you did what would be your next step.
"Good morning." You greeted Nurse Hong who smiled at you softly greeting you back as she continued her routine. There was a faint skip in your steps which you didn't realize. Even though you were denying looking forward to being back in ICPU, you couldn't help but agree with the fact that you were looking forward to seeing Jake. You were starting to believe in your abilities in handling complex cases like the patients from ICPU, especially Jake. Over the course of a week you noticed the little changes that happened in his behavior, his shoulders were less stressed, he didn't cross his arms over his chest tightly and did not isolate himself whenever you were present with him. By the end of the week he had started answering your questions without rejection. The answers were still a bit vague but they were better than the single worded answer he gave you initially. He even laughed at something you said once, which was very brief and he instantly denied doing that, but you were happy he was opening up to you anyway.
As you were making your way down the hallway your steps halted when the lights lining up the hallway started flickering followed by a loud thunderstorm and then silence. You gulped, the smile wiping off your face at the dull atmosphere that suddenly surrounded you. You stood in the middle, eyes trained towards the door at the end of the hallway. Hushed voices could be heard from the rooms near you, patients getting anxious due to sudden power failure. You heaved a sigh of relief when the hospital's tired and true companion of a thousand years, the generator, finally started working, lightening up the hallway again. You made your way towards room no. 015.
As usual you knocked on the door before sliding in the key, your heart still racing slightly. The thunderstorm had quiet down a bit, but it had started raining heavily creating loud echoes of rain hitting any possible surface. You hesitated for a moment, hand wrapped around the doorknob, you took in a few deep breaths and pushed the door open. You entered the room, the curtains drawn back, and raindrops from the open window splattered against your face. You closed your eyes, not anticipating the unexpected intrusion. You looked around the room, everything was the same as you remembered. You closed the window to stop the rain from entering inside the room but decided to keep the curtains drawn.
The sudden movement of the door behind you caught your attention, you flinched, not because you didn't anticipate it but because of the sheer amount of force applied for the door to be yanked open. You turned around, hands still on the window, as you watched Jake eyeing you up and down. His clothes were disheveled, his shirt crumpled, two of his top buttons were open, showing a bit of his collarbone. His hair was messier, like he had been pulling them for sometime. His chest heaved heavy breaths, his lips chapped.
Everything about him was different from the Jake you met last week but what startled you most was his eyes. They were cold and sharp, an unfocused gleam beneath the eyelids. He looked at you, eyes staring into yours like he wanted to look at your soul. There was almost a magnetic charm in his looks, something you hadn't seen before. "Jake?" You called softly when he made no attempts at moving from his place, his eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head at you. "I'm here for your routine check up, is that okay with you?" He closed the bathroom door behind him, slowly, step by step making his way towards you. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Ye-yes! How about you sit on your bed while I do my routine?" He stood a couple feet away from you, hands inside his pockets, resting his weight lazily on one leg. His eyes were relaxed now, pupils slightly dilated, he bit his lower lip as if he was in deep thought. "Bed feels like a good option," a lazy smirk graced his lips as he moved closer to you. You took a hesitant step back, then again, till your back hit the window. His steps never flattered, he walked with an ease you never thought he had, he stopped when he was mere inches away from you. Sweat formed on your palms, your fingers automatically digging inside your scrub's pocket to curl around the pen in panic. His hand rose, steady and purposeful, as he wiped a few of the raindrops from one side of your face, slow and careful, like he was afraid you would break if he was harsh.
Your breath hitched, eyes falling shut for a moment. He scanned your face, smoothing your hair behind your ear, he stepped back till he reached his bed. "Aren't you going to check up on me pretty?" Your eyes shot open, he sat on the bed, hands behind his head as he smiled at you. You studied him for a moment, he was way more relaxed at chatty than he normally was. Normally Jake never talked with you more than necessary, and was pretty much closed off. But the Jake now in front of you was much more talkative, laid back even, his eyes carried a glint you couldn't pinpoint. You made your way towards him, deciding to sit with him on his bed instead. You did your routine, asked him various questions and he gave you the answers with practiced ease. You checked his vitals and everything was normal. No irregular heartbeats, breathing regular and unlabored.
You knew something was off, he wasn't behaving like he normally did. Still, somehow, the reports were abnormally normal. You noted everything, and he watched you like a hawk all throughout with a lopsided smile. You gave him his medicine, checked his vitals again, everything was normal, yet there was a voice deep in your mind which told you that no, this wasn't normal. But hospitals never worked on gut feelings and instincts, they needed observations which you had but it suggested a completely different conclusion. You sighed, packing up the things and making sure there weren't any potentially harmful things left behind.
As the medication took effect, Jake laid down ready to drift off to sleep, one of his hands hanging down the bed. You made your way towards him, pulling a blanket over as you watched him before putting his hand under the blanket. That's when you noticed, faint purplish marks encircling his wrist, you inspected his other hand which bore similar bruises. You knew those scars very well, the unmistakable imprint of being restrained by chains. You got out of the room, locking it behind you as you made your way out of the ICPU. You don't recall Nurse Hong informing you anything about restraining Jake with chains, surely if he did have an episode, you'd have been informed prior. The fact only confused you more.
You spotted Nurse Hong talking with Dr. Byeon at far corner of the waiting area, their faces contoured and voices hushed as they discussed something. You stood near the staircase, scanning the notes in your hands, there was something you were missing surely but couldn't point out. You greeted Dr. Byeon when he passed by you and stopped Nurse Hong to have a chat, "the patient from room no. 015, Jake Sim, has he been restrained before?" She looked at you nodding her head, "yes, why? He did try to hurt you?" You shook your head no, informing her about the marks you saw on his wrists. "When he becomes violent, he breaks everything in this close vicinity so it's necessary to apply physical restraints as a precaution."
You thanked her for taking her time to answer you amidst her busy schedule. She smiled, patting your shoulder in comfort, "It's great that you think about your patient's health this much, though Jake has been assigned to Mrs. Lee, I've monitored him too, I'm sure Mrs. Lee knows much more about him than any of us will ever do." You smiled at her words, and she bid you goodbye to take care of other things. So the stories about him being physically violent were true, but the Jake you met on your first week of working at ICPU didn't exhibit any violent tendencies. That was weird because he wasn't violent when he first met you, just cautious. Maybe he just didn't want to get restrained yet again. Moreover, he always had his hands crossed over his chest, so maybe you just never noticed the marks around his wrists.
The rest of the week went by with the same level of unease you felt on Monday, you initially thought it was because you were meeting Jake after a long time but clearly you were wrong. Every Time you went to monitor him, he had this smile, beautiful yet cunning plastered on his face which would make your skin crawl instead of raising goosebumps in flattery. He was very open to have any sort of conversation with you, often going off the topic and more into you. He was charming, his eyes gleaming as he teased you during monitoring. He was behaving so far off from the Jake you met first, and that made you rethink about everything you'd learned about him. You still noted as much as you could, maybe a discussion with Dr. Byeon would do. But it wasn't easy to do, due to the hospital being understaffed, he was pretty much busy all the time to come and sit with you and discuss it.
You sighed, the pen in your hand clicked in a rhythm only your thoughts could follow, as your mind reflected on the interaction you had with him earlier today, "you look cute when you're nervous." That's what he said as you were auscultating him, you looked up, your fingers twitching around the cold disc you had placed on his chest. His heartbeat was unbearably steady, even as he spoke and watched you with those intense eyes of his. One of his bruised covered hands tugged the stethoscope down your neck, his other firmly wrapping around your hand which was on his chest. You gulped, sitting up straight. You couldn't pull yourself away, it was like he had cast some unspoken spell over you. He laughed at your bewildered expression, hands releasing you from its hold.
You stood up, heart beating loudly while grabbing the medication and handing it to him. His touch sends shivers down your spine. You watched him take the medicines, your eyes focused on his wrist, he gave you a wink as he settled back on his bed. You packed your things ready to go out of the room and away from him when he called out your name. You pushed the trolley out the room as you made your way back towards him. He leaned lazily against his elbow, a smirk forming on his plush lips, his eyes were drowsy and unfocused but they were still undeniably focused on you, "your left eyebrow twitches when you get nervous, and there's something so honest about you getting nervous, it's kind of beautiful. Don't hide your nervousness from me, I like it when you're unsure and a little shaky."
"What an odd thing to say, Jake." You deadpanned as you turned towards the door to leave. His laugh anchored you mid-step, turning back you saw his head thrown back before his eyes once again locked with yours, his hair fell haphazardly on his forehead due to his abrupt movements, face turned completely cold, his eyes losing their focus as the time passed, the medications kicking in. "I believe you're forgetting something, pretty." His hand rose till it was eye level, fingers curled around a pen as he casually twirled it, the corners of his lips twitching slowly as he eyed you.
You tapped your hands over your scrub's pocket unconsciously recalling your pen to be the exact same model, your movements getting frantic as you couldn't feel your pen. Your hands dived inside your scrub's and coat's pocket, trying to locate your pen, eyes widening in realization that during the course of your routine with him, he had somehow managed to steal your pen away without you noticing. You rushed towards his bed and snatched your pen from his hands, "taking what doesn't belong to you without the owner's permission can lead you to serious repercussions both by the hospital board and law. I'm warning you right now before you engage in more trouble Jake." He laid back on the bed, a lazily smile hung upon his lips as you warned him about his actions, he just shrugged after you were done explaining, a light teasing tone in his voice when he said, "I like watching you lose control, it makes me feel good to know I'm getting under your skin."
"You're going to murder that pen." You were pulled back from your thoughts by Sunoo's voice, the clicking of pen halting, you threw the pen in your coat's pocket as you made your way towards him. "I think I'm losing my mind Sunoo," you whined as your steps fell in rhythm with his. "Honestly that's shocking, I thought I'd hear this on your first day of working in ICPU not the second week," you pushed him a little, your thoughts jumping back and forth between your and Jake's interaction. You weren't sure how your future interactions with Jake would unfold but you hoped it wouldn't be anything worse than it already was, "I can't wait to go home and get some well deserved sleep."
Your apartment wasn't too far away from the hospital and you preferred walking so you could have time to mull over things. The sidewalks were cracked, a little bit uneven in their placements, as you walked over it. Evenings in this town would always be your roman empire, the town was beautiful and welcoming in the mornings but turned solemn and hostile as darkness consumed it. Some of the street lights flickered while others gave up on their life long ago. You sighed as you spotted your apartment building, grunting as you made your way up towards your floor. You stood still in front of your door, struggling to breathe, maybe you should start daily workouts soon.
Your hand shot up to enter the password when you felt a heavy, invisible weight on your shoulder. The air around you suddenly thickened. You turned around, eyes and ears alert as you scanned the area surrounding your apartment, yet there was nothing. Blaming it on your exhaustion from work, you punched in the code and welcomed yourself inside your apartment nonetheless. You hung your jacket and removed your shoes, dragging your feet towards the kitchen to drink some water. You made your way inside your bedroom, placing your backpack inside the closet, you grabbed a tshirt and shorts and made your way inside your bathroom to take a shower.
You sighed a breath of relief as the warm water hit your skin, your hands massaging your shoulders as you whined in pain. All of the tension melted as you lost yourself into the feeling of warm water running down your skin. You squeezed some amount of shower gel on your palms, gently lathering it on your body. You rinsed it off, turning the water off as you stepped outside of the shower area. You wrapped a towel around yourself and grabbed another to dry yourself off. The bathroom mirror turned foggy, steam clinging onto the glass due to the heat of the shower. You lift your hand to swipe across it, the reflection of your face clearly visible now. You smiled tiredly at your reflection, you could see the weight of the everyday exhaustion in your eyes. You shook your head, deciding to continue your nightly skincare routine and changed into your comfort clothes.
You made yourself comfortable on your bed, eyes staring at your ceiling as your mind drifted off towards Jake again. You shut your eyes close, turning on your side trying your best to think about something, anything other than the person occupying room no. 015. You would be lying if you said he didn't occupy most of your thoughts even after you left work, in fact he has been a constant part of your mind ever since you first interacted with him. There was no doubt he was insanely handsome, and somewhere deep down you knew Sunoo was right about your growing interest towards him.
He was already consuming your thoughts when you first interacted with him, but even in his cynical form you couldn't help but let your mind wander back towards him. When you first met him, he was stoic, reserved but he was endearing. He was soft in a way it tugged at your heart. But now, with his constant flirting, advances and even his tucked up self was making your heart race unbelievably fast. You were about to lose your mind after working in the hospital but not in the way you initially thought you would. Whatever thoughts and interest you had towards a patient you were tending to, wasn't very professional of you. Your eyes shot open in denial, no, you had to stop whatever that was growing inside your heart. You couldn't possibly get romantically involved with one of your patients, let alone a psych patient at that.
Monday rolled around quicker than you imagined, your mind still hazy from the weekend's leisure. You stood outside the hospital's main gate, the security guard giving you a small smile before resuming his duty, you made your way towards the hospital. Jia greeted you as soon as she saw you from the glass door, you quickly pulled her into a hug. "Thank god I can see your spark back, last week it was almost as if someone had suck your soul out." You laughed at her words but didn't disagree. You mind was still fresh with memories of last week but weekend soothed your head like a balm. You were sure being back at the hospital would probably make you stressed for another week to come but you knew this is exactly what was waiting for you when you decided to become a psych nurse anyway.
In a well-worn pattern, you checked in with each patient that was assigned to you for the week, like a clockwork, you knocked on the door of room no. 015 before unlocking it. This time, Jake was sitting on the desk chair, blanket wrapped around him. He looked at you when he heard his name slip past your lips. A soft, barely there, smile graced his lips, "routine check up? Is this place fine or would you like me to move to my bed?" For a moment you just stood in your place, looking at him with curious gaze, he mimicked your expressions when you didn't answer him. "Are you okay?" You questioned as you made your way towards him, his head tilted up when you moved close to where he was sitting, his puppy-like eyes staring back at you.
"I'm okay!" He nodded, eyes drifting away under your scrutinizing gaze. He sat crossed legged on the chair, covered fully by the blanket, his hair was messy but it reminded you more of the Jake you met on your first week. His eyes were soft around the edges even though they carried a guarded look. What proved to be more unexpected to you was how closed off he was, he neither tried to invade your personal space nor he threw any flirty remarks at you, just casual conversation.
You made your way towards his bed, sitting on the edge of it, as you asked him some questions. He moved so his chair was now facing towards you, answers sliding off his tongue like honey on warm bread. You noted his answers, studied his body language, observed the room for anything remotely suspicious, "Can you remove the blanket so I can monitor your vitals?" He nodded wordlessly, opening his arms but not removing the blanket completely. You gave him a look but didn't press further as you checked his heartbeat, irregular thump-thump rang in your ears.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what was even happening? "I think I'm catching a cold, that's the reason I have draped the blanket over me." You nodded at his words, administering him his medication and bid him goodbye. You locked the door behind you, slowly making your way out of the ICPU for your lunch but your mind was, yet again, left inside room no. 015. He showed very distinct shifts in his behavior every week, you don't remember any of the physicians or nurses notes providing any insight on this very specific observation of yours. Or maybe you were just overthinking it, patients do tend to show shifts in mood.
You fell into the familiar routine, yet again, for the rest of the week. Jake had been down with a cold but got better with medications as days passed. He was covered in a blanket most of the time, even when he was inside the bathroom. You made fun of him for looking like a goofball and the way he pouted at you made your heart skip a beat or two. You liked this version of Jake, reserved but amiable, you didn't feel intimidated by him like you did last week. He didn't bluntly flirt with you, maintained a safe distance and didn't do anything which would make you work up. Still you couldn't forget how distinctly different he behaved as weeks passed by.
You pushed your trolley inside Jake's room, it was friday, your last routine check up for the week. He smiled at you from where he was seated on his bed. "How's Mrs. Lee's son?" You were surprised he initiated the conversation, he hadn't done that at all this week, yet you smiled at him, "he's recovering well but since Mrs. Lee is his only family, she needs to be with him till he recovers well enough to function on his own." He thoughtfully nodded at your words, you made your way towards him and sat on the edge of the bed. "How about we skip all the formalities today and speak with each other like friends? How does that sound?"
His gaze lingered on you as he thought about your question, "okay...." You smiled, holding your notepad in your hands regardless, "how's your cold now?" You asked, playing with the clip of the clipboard. "It's gone, I'm feeling much better now. I don't think I'll need this blanket as my 24/7 support system now." You laughed along with him as you asked him a few more casual questions to keep the flow of the conversation. He answered each of your questions diligently. "Okay a few more questions and then we can end this session with monitoring your vitals and administering medications okay?"
He nodded at your words and you continued, "can you tell me how are you feeling now as compared to last week?" You noticed Jake's breath hitching before he mumbled, "I wasn't in my best state, my mind was clouded. I don't remember most of it." You took note of the slight tremor at the end of the sentence. "You aren't planning on stealing anything now right?" His eyes widened as if he heard the sentence for the first time, "stealing? No, like I said I wasn't in my best state." You laughed softly, reminding him that you don't mind if he's regretting what he did. "You were quite chatty last week, I would say bold, to put it more clearly and you even touched me a decent amount of times, do you remember any of that happening?" You could see the sweat forming on his face, he shifted a bit, avoiding your eyes, "I don't remember it, I'm sorry. But I don't want this session to continue, can you please proceed further?"
You sighed but accepted his wish nonetheless. His comfort was your priority over anything, you didn't want him to feel agitated and lose control. You checked his vitals, his heartbeat haywire, at this point eveb Jake knew how obvious he was being, his nervousness as clear as day. But you didn't press, he didn't question why you didn't. You asked him to sit up straight so you could give him medicines. He did as you ask, his movements making the blanket pool at his waist. Your hands froze mid-air, your eyes trained on Jake when he lifted his hand to grab the medicines from your hand, a flicker of confusion crossed your face before shock sat in like ice on a cold morning.
You put the water bottle and medicines back on the trolley, your feet working before your mind did. You took both of his hands in yours, were you shocked? Bewildered? Confused? Borderline creeped out? You weren't sure. Words spilled out of your lips before you could stop them, Jake's eyes widened as he pulled away from your hold, sliding back towards the wall, "answer me Jake? What is happening?" You could see the panic on his face, the way his eyes shook, the way his hands trembled as you kept asking questions after questions. You should've stopped when Jake asked you to as he covered his ears, but you didn't.
You were sure you were losing your mind, if you kept working on Jake's case you'd probably end up as one of the patients of this hospital too. There was not a single thing which made sense in your mind, you were spiraling more than Jake. Your breaths came out laboured but you didn't move, you wanted, no needed answers and Jake was the only person who could give them to you. "Jake answer me, I'm here to help you, if you'll hide things from me how am I going to help you out?" Your words only fueled the fire in the wrong direction and before you could comprehend Jake hand was wrapped around your throat as he pushed you against the wall.
Your eyes widened, your hands wrapping around his wrist to free yourself, he didn't apply pressure, didn't even hold it tightly but his hold was firm, "don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong." You gasped, pushing him away with one hand and he let you. His hold loosened as he stepped back. Your hand instinctively made its way up your neck, you slumped against the wall, frozen by the shock of it all. Your eyes met Jake's glassy one, his face was stoic but the way his lips trembled ever so lightly, the way he was clenching his fists to stop the trembling of his hands, and the way his chest heaved heavy breaths, they told a different story.
A single tear escaped his eye, and in a violent motion he slammed his hands against the trolley, the metal clattering across the floor. You hissed when a sharp object cut through your skin, albeit not that deep. The sound loud enough to be heard from outside. Still you were perched upon the floor, eyes locked with his. He clicked his tongue, "stay away from me." That was the last thing you heard before the room was forced open by the security guards, taking in the condition of the room and you, they immediately pulled Jake away from you. He did nothing to stop them, his eyes never leaving you even as Nurse Hong gently supported you and helped you out of the room.
Dr. Byeon and a few attending physicians ran past you and into room no. 015 and you didn't want to imagine what was going to happen in that room. You were still in disbelief, your mind couldn't wrap around anything that happened inside the room. One minute you were laughing with each other and the next minute he was throwing things at you purposefully. The last thing you remembered before exhaustion took over your body was what triggered this whole ordeal in the first place, the faint lines of restraints which caught your eyes last week were now spotless, almost unnaturally so.
When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by Sunoo, he handed you an energy drink while sipping his coffee. He didn't ask you questions, didn't even acknowledge the situation that brought you to the hospital bed with an IV drip inserted in you and you were grateful to him. After a while Dr. Byeon made his way towards you, "how are you feeling?" You tried to sit up but he waved you off before continuing, "I'm sorry you had to experience that, I should've sent someone with better experience than you to handle him, even though the injuries you got aren't life threatening I'll give you next week off so that you can heal properly, okay?" You nodded your head and he made his way back towards his office. Honestly, whatever happened was terrifying and you definitely need a week-long leave to get your head straight but you were determined to find out everything you could about Jake Sim after your return, that was for sure.
"It's still Wednesday but I miss you so much!" You pouted hearing Sunoo whine from the other end, walking towards your apartment after going out to a local diner to have some coffee. Sunoo has been in contact with you daily since last friday, never letting you feel alone. You were glad to have a friend like him in an unknown town. He visited you every weekend, sometimes alone and sometimes Jungwon would tag along with you both. You avoided talking about the incident with both of them but the town was small and you knew Jungwon would be well aware of everything. None of them broke your little bubble, your wounds were fresh at that time. Still you were glad that Sunoo called you daily after his shifts ended to know about your whereabouts. Yerin and Jia did too, but their schedules were more packed than Sunoo's.
"I'll be back in no time," You smiled, "don't rush yourself, if you feel like you're not ready Dr. Byeon said he can extend your leave." You were glad everyone was being supportive but if you're in a profession which handles mental health patients, cases like this would continue to happen and you can't forever hide from them. You ended the call with Sunoo when you reached your apartment building, making your way up the stairs. The wind howled in the hallway of the apartment building, rattling the railings and windows which were left open. You felt relieved that you reached your apartment before the weather got tricky. You welcomed yourself in your apartment, removing your shoes and hanging your jacket you made your way towards the living room.
You stared at the store-bought snacks you never picked up from the coffee table while you were binge watching movies earlier when the loud bang of your bedroom window being slammed open caught your attention. You hurriedly made your way towards your bedroom, it had started raining heavily, grimacing, you struggled to tame the wildly flying curtains and shut the window close. You roughly wiped the droplets of water from your face, looking down to see your clothes being soaked. You made your way towards your bathroom for a quick shower.
The thunderstorm continued even after you were done with your shower, along with the heavy rain, frequent lightning, and loud claps of thunder. You made your way towards your window, water streamed down the glass, the sky dark with grayish hues. Suddenly the thunder cracked again, loud and close, you flinched hard backtracking your steps, hands pressed hard against your ears. The lights went off and then turned back on with the thunder, and then after a moment everything stilled. You relaxed in yourself, taking a few deep breaths to calm the erracting beating of your heart. Everything was quite quiet, too quiet, your stomach churned with unease or maybe just hunger, you weren't sure. You could hear your own breath clear in your ear and in that momentary silence you heard it, a soft crunch.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you stayed glued to your place, maybe you were hearing things, then another soft crunch. You gulped, slowly inching towards the noise, the lights went off again, you looked side by side, eyes scanning the darkness, something felt weird. A chill rushes down your spine and the uncanny pressure of being watched makes you sweat. Then from the shadows of your bedroom door, a low voice, calm and amused, speaks, "Come on, pretty...don't take all night to react. I've been waiting for you here for a while now." A loud gasp escapes your lips, the voice too familiar, too close. You turn towards the voice, steps backtracking slowly. The light flickered once, dimly, casting shadows on your face, then it came fully.
"Jake?" You whispered as you stepped backward, heart beating loudly. You couldn't even bring yourself to speak any louder. Your left eyebrow twitching as you spoke, "who- how the fuck did you enter my house?" He laughed throwing his head back as he started closing the distance you were creating between you two. His eyes dark, sickening smirk engraved on his lips mocking your defense, "you aren't much careful when you punch in your code, not your fault, I'm just very good at what I do, pretty." He pouted enjoying watching you panic.
You gulped watching him inch closer, and closer. Your mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. Your thoughts trailed over your apartment's main door before your eyes did and without wasting another second you dashed towards the door, barefoot, hastily rotating the door knob. Jake's steps were rushed but not hurried as he approached you, the door opened and you made a run towards the stairs, repeating 'don't look back just run forward' as a mantra. It was late in the evening, no one normally roamed outside at this hour, and fresh smell of rain was still lingering in the atmosphere, it almost impossible for someone to be out, but maybe, just maybe you could find someone for help.
You jumped down from the last three stairs, wincing when your foot landed on a sharp rock, you looked side by side, and desperately banged the door of the old man who lived on the ground floor, you ran towards the street, searching for a presence when the door didn't open. Your thoughts wandered towards how he would've left the hospital in the first place, they would've surely sensed his absence by now, maybe they are on the way. You sighed in relief when you saw a person walking down not too far away from you, "Hey! Please help me!!" You yelled, running and waving your hand frantically in the air as if it would somehow gain their attention.
The person's footsteps halted in the middle of the walk, he took one of his headphones out and turned back to see if he was hallucinating someone calling out in the middle of night. He shrugged when he found the whole street empty, putting back his headphones on as he made his way towards his home.
Your back stung as the wall scraped against it, tears streaming down your face as you watched Jake apply more pressure on your mouth to make you quiet. You winced when your head made contact with the grainy wall due to his movements. He strained his neck to look for anyone, sighing in relief as he managed to get a hold of you before anyone could see you. He held both of your hands behind your back with one hand and pressed another one on your mouth. Your vision was blurry, blood oozing out of the foot that got injured, your hand ached with the banging of the door, your throat itchy and horse with all the yelling.
Jake's breaths were shallow and quick, he turned his head towards yours, "no one's here to help you pretty, this place is mine, I know how this town works." You twisted your hands, trying to break free which only resulted in his hand wrapping more tightly around yours. His other hand glided from your mouth to your throat in a quick motion. The tight grip making it hard to even say a single word. You gasped for air, his eyebrows furrowed and pupils dilated. His eyes were sharp, gaze strong enough to lock you in your place. His body was pressed tightly against yours so you won't move your legs. He leaned down enough to graze his lips on your ear as he whispered, "be a good girl and walk back to your apartment with me, don't try to be smart, I won't hesitate to hurt you, pretty."
You sucked in air like you were drowning, like you'd been underwater for hours, his grip lifted but its memory stayed in your throat, bruising each of your breaths with fear. "I can be harsher than that," he huffed as he brought your hands in front, pulled out a strip of white plastic with a ridged surface, one swift pull and it tightened around your wrists like a noose. He wrapped your mouth with his handkerchief and picked you up bridal style, "thought I wouldn't be prepared?" You closed your eyes bracing for whatever that was going to happen with you. Your head rolled back in exhaustion, your vision blurring on the edges of your eyes as you slipped into darkness, and he just pulled you closer so your head would fall on his shoulders.
Jake watched your face as he made his way back to your apartment, then let his eyes scan the street as if it personally offended him. He chuckled at himself, he thought you would fight more than you did. You looked pretty sleeping in his arms and he could almost imagine his future with this image. He stopped near your apartment, leaning against the apartment wall, he pulled off the handkerchief from your mouth. He made his way upstairs, deliberately checking if anyone woke up from all of the commotion. He knew the old man living on the ground floor took sleeping medication at night, he had made sure of that while he kept his eye on you from past 3 days. He didn't like doing things without being sure of everything. He loved destroying things with plan.
He entered your apartment, made his way towards your bedroom and laid you against the headboard. He searched for your phone, keeping it in his pocket he moved back into the living room. He pushed the loveseat of your couch towards the entrance, huffing, as he straightened his back and finally secured it against the main door, now even if you were to run, you would struggle a bit till he caught up to you. He walked back towards you with a glass of water and put it on the night stand. He searched for a first aid kit in your bathroom, then in your nightstand, making his way towards your leg. He cleaned up your wound and bandaged it. The wound wasnt deep, you could still walk better. He pulled out your desk chair when he was done and sat as he waited for you to wake up.
You opened your eyes, neck sore from the weird position, you wince a bit. "Thought you would directly wake up tomorrow..." your eyes snap towards Jake smiling at you from where he was sitting, a half eaten apple lying on the desk behind him. Everything that had happened in the last few hours crashed down on you as if someone had thrown icy water at you in the middle of the winter. He made his way towards you, plopping himself beside your trembling form, he raised his hand to brush your hair out of your face, eyes gleaming in satisfaction as you coiled into yourself. He wiped the tears that escaped your eyes, his other hand guiding the glass of water to your lips. His finger dragged through your hair and harshly tugged at it, your head tilting upwards as he helped you drink the water.
"Why are you doing this? All I wanted was to help you," your voice was almost inaudible if Jake wasn't sitting so close to you, he chuckled, shaking his head at your words. "Help me?" A crease formed between his eyebrows as he tilted his head, you broke eye contact, staring at your lap as you fiddled with your fingers. His hand made their way towards your bounded ones, his thumb brushing around your wrist where the zip tie was irritating your skin. Your eyes landed on his wrist then on your own, noticing the similarities, only his had faded lightly. His hand cupped your jaw, locking your head in place so you won't have any other choice but to look at him, "is that what you said to me when you came to check up on me last friday?"
"Why? You don't remember what you did?" You retorted, eyes sharp as you looked at him. A flicker of recognition crossed his mind and he laughed, the sound coming straight from the bottom of his heart. You looked at him like he grew some extra heads on his shoulders. "Can't believe this..." he muttered under his breath but you heard it, his eyes locked in yours, the smile never fading off his lips, "you're very likable pretty, wish we could've met under different circumstances."
"Why are you doing this? I never did anything to hurt you! How did you ever escape the hospital? You realize that they will find you wherever you go, right?....you won't escape this, you won't get away with this." Your lips trembled as you spoke, voice cracking, as you tried to compose yourself in front of him. "No one will find out about me, not even the hospital." You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. He cupped your jaw, his eyes his intense but soft around the edges as he wiped the tears, his lips brushed your forehead and he pulled you in his embrace.
"Go back to the hospital, don't do this to yourself, I know you don't mean harm, please, I just want to help you." You pulled away trying to coerce him into believing that you're on his side. He looked at you then back at the zip tie, he broke it with the help of scissors and threw them back inside the drawers. "I want to be with you, not the hospital." You shook your head, placing both of your hands on his cheeks, "get better for me? We can live happily after..." his eyes snapped towards you, letting your words skin down in him, "you wanna do so?" You nodded your head, thinking of the ways you could turn this around, "I do. I really like you Jake," he sighed as he leaned his head on your forehead, "we can run away, we don't have to go back to that hell-hole." His words muffled as he kissed your cheeks, your eyes closing on instinct. He continued to shower your face in kisses, your heartbeat erratic as you let him be.
He pulled away, his eyes scanning your face as if he wanted to commit your face in his memory. You sighed shifting your hands on his wrists as he cradled your face, "Jake, you can sleep here today but tomorrow we will go back to the hospital and I'll help you get better, believe me? Hm?" He looked at you, and for a minute you thought you almost had him where you wanted. He closed the distance between you, your lips parting in surprise. He waited until you reciprocated and he deepened the kiss. His one hand travelled back to hold your nape and bring your body closer, your hands found your way towards his hair. He groaned as he moved your body till you were lying on your back. His kisses soft as compared to how roughly he held you.
His hands travelled down your body, squeezing and grabbing as they travelled across your body, you moaned into the kiss. Your body reacted heavily towards his actions, back arching off the bed as you melted into his. You were hot, breath ragged as he lips travelled down your throat, harshly sucking and biting on your skin, inevitably leaving marks. Your eyes were focused on your ceiling fan, your mind haywire with everything. Your wrist was still stinging because of the zip tie. You gasped when his teeth grazed a sensitive spot behind your ear.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you let him hold you, there was something wrong. You had dreamt of this moment ever since your eyes landed on Jake, it didn't feel it same as it did in your dreams. But that was the difference, between dream and reality, reality always slaps you in your face. After a while he pulled back, kissing your lips once before hiding his face at the crook of your neck. You closed your eyes and ran your fingers down his back to help him sleep. You don't remember how long you waited, but you did, till Jake turned in his sleep and you were free from his hold.
Your foot still burned because of the injury, you sat up slightly to find it already being patched up. Your eyes landed on Jake who was peacefully sleeping beside you, mouth agape as he snored lightly. You couldn't locate your phone, groaning slightly as he may have hidden it. You slipped out of your bed, half limping, half tiptoeing across the room, turning every 2 seconds to see if he was awake. You slowly closed the bedroom door behind you and locked it from outside, wincing when the lock made an obnoxiously loud sound. You made your way towards the door to see it blocked by the loveseat, you tried your best to move it enough to get out of the apartment.
You were almost done, a little more, and you'll be able to open the door. You sighed, pulling on the loveseat one last time when you heard a loud bang against your bedroom door. "You're gonna regret doing this, I will make sure!" You turned around flinching hard at his voice, chest heaving but thankful that the bedroom door was closed. You pulled the loveseat, opening the door as wore your shoes hastily and ran out. Your foot was paining but it was now or never, you couldn't risk getting caught by him this time around.
Halfway through you weren't even sure where your steps were taking you, it was late at night, the local diner was closed hours ago. You decided hospital would be your safe space. You ran and ran and ran until your legs gave out. You looked back to check if he was coming but there wasn't anyone in sight. You pushed yourself to run towards the hospital, the rows of houses and shops fading away as the hospital was situated at the end of the town. You were scared, the road was slippery because of the rain, your feet led you towards where the hospital was located as if it was a muscle memory, you turned to look back every minute in case you needed to hide.
Your legs buckled and you lost your balance when your injured foot landed on rock again. You closed your eyes to brace yourself from the impact but a strong pair of arms caught you before you could land face first on the slipper road. You could feel your heart in your throat, every ounce of energy leaving your body. The hospital was close, close. The hands holding you up helped you in stabilizing yourself, your hands grabbing theirs to ground yourself, for a second you froze, a flicker of hope burning at the back of your mind, but then you looked up, "you alright?" And saw *him*. The world seemed to tilt as your throat closed, the arms which held you now felt like a trap.
"No...let me go!" You yelled, eyes wide, voice cracking. Your body reacts before your mind could, you shoved him, hard, with all of the power left in you. He stumbled back, his eyes wide in shock as he found his footing back on the ground. Desperation surged through your body like electricity, you were just afraid you were functioning on your pure need to survive. You staggered back, hitting your heart with your hand to somehow make it less frantic. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn't dare to fall. 'This place is mine, I know how this town works' his words from earlier echoed in your mind, your lips quivered, there was no escaping him.
"Why are you doing this to me? All I ever wanted was to help people like you, leave me alone, I beg you, please." You fell on your knees as you sobbed knowing well that he had been a part of this town longer than you had, he knew this town, you were stupid enough to think that you tricked him. You felt him kneel in front of you but he didn't touch you. "What are you saying?" You glared at him as much as you could with your slight blurry vision, you grabbed the collar of his shirt as you choked on your words, "I hate you." Your fingers released his shirt in exhaustion and he immediately pulled you towards him, and held you close, his breaths heavy. He didn't speak much, just rubbed your back and let you cry your heart out right in the middle of the road.
"Hate me all you want, but I need to know the reason behind it," his voice was laced with pain as he pulled away from you, his hands on your shoulder as he watched you wipe your tears. You took a sharp breath and he held his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your shoulder. His touch was soft, as if he wasn't the reason your life was a havoc. Your eyes met his, and he urged you to continue, your mouth opened, mind filled with thousands of questions yet you weren't sure how to start. Did he get episodes like this where he completely forgets what he did before? He was looking at you like it is physically hurting him to see you like this.
His eyes wandered towards the road behind you when he caught a movement, eyes widening in realization as he looked at you, now alert, before moving back towards the road, "can you walk?" His question caught you off guard but you shook your head no, the pain in your leg was unbearable. He frantically got up, crouching down to pick you up bridal style as he started walking in the opposite direction from where you were coming. "Trust me please, I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was almost begging you to cooperate, you tried to look over his shoulder but he turned around a corner just in time. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the hospital, or at least somewhere safe." Somewhere safe? He wants to go back to the hospital? You almost ask him what he meant by that when a voice cut through the air, "going somewhere?" Jake's steps halted in their place, he put you down carefully and stood in front of you as if shielding you. "It's none of your concern," Jake gritted off his teeth, his hand holding yours firmly. You looked over his shoulder, limping slightly as you stood beside him. Your breath caught mid-inhale, confusion cracked through you like lightning, your vision blurred, not from tears, but from your exhausted mind who couldn't differentiate hallucination from reality.
Your world split into two, there he stood, the man in front of you, who had the same height, same face, same eyes that haunted you. Your thoughts tangled with the mix of terror, confusion and disbelief. Same face, different souls? Your body screamed to run, but your feet won't move, your mind swirling with different possibilities. Was this a trick? Or the truth? What if they were together in this, playing with you from the start? Everything clicked together like missing pieces of puzzle as your eyes moved from the man standing in front of you to the man standing beside you. Your eyes landed on the hand that was wrapped around yours, fresh bruises adorning his wrist reminding you of it had been the one holding you who attacked you last week.
"Why are you out of the hospital?" The man in front of you said, gaining your attention, your head started hurting at this point. "Why are YOU out of the hospital? You were supposed to be inside this week!" Jake, who stood beside you hissed, the other man just laughed sarcastically, his eyes growing narrow before they landed on you, "I just missed her, was thinking why she didn't show up," You hid behind Jake as the man in front of you stepped a bit forward, the grip on your wrist tightened slightly, firmer hold, "leave her out of this, Jake! Why are you playing with her?"
"Can't you see Jaeyun? I like her!" Though there was a visible facade of hurt on Jake's face, you could clearly see the fury behind his eyes threatening to overtake any minute. "Like her enough that you were going to abandon your own brother?" The hand that was holding you made its way towards your cheek, he leaned forward to whisper, "I'm so sorry you got dragged into this, I should have protected you better." You could see how hurt he was, the slight tremble of his lips, the hesitation when he touched you, the slight glossiness of his eyes, the shallow breaths. These twins, Jake and Jaeyun, were so alike yet completely different from one another.
Suddenly Jaeyun was pulled backwards by his hair, his feet scrambled beneath him, thrown off balance by the push. Your hands instinctively reached forward to grip him but a sudden, tight and strong grip on your throat held you in place. You screamed in pain, accidently putting your weight on your injured leg due to the sheer pressure of his actions. "You're supposed to be mine, mine to hold, mine to keep....you understand?" Your nails scratched his forearm, "I-I can't b-breathe." You could almost see whites behind your eyes due to the force he was exerting on your neck, and you heard Jaeyun before you could even see him throw a punch on Jake's face, "I warned you to leave her out of this didn't I?" Your hand found its way towards your neck as you coughed and Jake stumbled back.
"Did you just-? Did you just hit me?" Jake looked at his twin, baffled by his actions. Between both of them Jaeyun had always been the tamed one, the one who was shy, quiet, reserved and soft in a way everyone liked him whereas Jake was the bratty one, the one who was confident, loud, reckless and harsh in a way he always called for trouble. He remembers constantly being compared to his twin who was much better than him in everything, yet Jaeyun was kind enough to always see the good in him and forever stand by his side. Jaeyun never abandoned Jake, not when the school expelled him for constantly breaking the rules, destroying school's property and harming few students and a teacher in a fit of rage, not when he broke the neighbors front door when they were out because they complained to their parents about loud noises when he played games at midnight, not when his parents contemplated about sending him to psychiatric hospital when he got diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder.
He remembers his mother crying day and night over his actions, and his father consoling her. Jaeyun was by his side through everything, he made sure his brother knew that he had someone by his side. Their parents stopped him from going out all together so he won't hurt anyone, and despite Jake becoming an outcast Jaeyun was the only person keeping him grounded. He remembers Jaeyun fighting with their parents to stop them from sending him to a psychiatric hospital, and how shocked he was to find Jaeyun knocking on his window one fateful night after months of being in no contact with any of his family members. Jaeyun believed all Jake wanted was to be treated like a normal person, he couldn't imagine his brother confined into a single room for heaven knows how long. Their parents abandoned him so Jaeyun abandoned them in retaliation.
That's how it all started, Jaeyun would switch with Jake in the hospital for a week so Jake could live like a normal person. It was a point in Jake's life when he realized his brother would do anything for him, and he couldn't be more thankful to have him by his side. But Jake has always been selfish, and he knew Jaeyun's soft heart would never really understand how twisted he really was. Jaeyun was the only person who Jake trusted with all his heart. Jaeyun never really questioned him whenever he went a little too far with his actions. That was a new normal for them, Jaeyun sacrificed his own freedom and let Jake have half of it.
Jaeyun was the first brother you met, and like a clockwork, he acted indifferent towards you like he did with everyone, but he couldn't help his heartbeat around you, couldn't help how drawn he was to you. And Jake knew Jaeyun like the back of his hand, he notices every little change, so he noticed the changes in Jaeyun's behavior too. Jake found you interesting when he first saw you, so unguarded, so serene, he couldn't help but want to taint your calm. It gave him an adrenaline whenever he watched you get flustered, nervous, a mess in front of him. It made him feel something after years of feeling nothing.
Then the following weeks came, when he started noticing more about your and Jaeyun's bond, he watched it all, through the bathroom's crooked door space. That's the place they always switched their presence without anyone noticing for years, the worn-out, rusty ventilation window of the bathroom, big enough to climb and pass through. The security guard was always asleep during night time anyway, and both of the brothers were precise in their actions, years of sneaking in and out making them more sleath. Jaeyun knew his twin all the same, he could sense something was going on in his head when Jake started being more chirpy about the idea of meeting you.
But Jaeyun shrugged it off, Mrs. Lee or Dr. Byeon never caught up to their switches, all both of them had to do was stay indifferent, answer shortly, avoid speaking too much. Sometimes Jake would lose cool, which would end up with him being chained up to safeguard everyone and him. But it was a passing problem, Jake realized that soon enough, manipulating his behavior to gain the trust and go back to the routine, the handful of nurses and doctors of the old hospital were too tired to bother about minute differences in details anyway. And both of them thought no one would even bother with their little slip ups, so when you questioned Jaeyun about the previous week's checkup and about the disappearance of the bruises on his wrist, which he never really paid attention to before, he was terrified. He did what he could think was the best for you in those few seconds, he scared you, just like they did with every other new nurse who showed even the slightest bit of suspicion. Jaeyun thought it would be best if you leave, he did it to protect you from getting cornered by his brother, even when it broke his heart to treat you so poorly.
"I told you to stay away from her Jake," Jaeyun softly pushed you behind him with his hand on your stomach. His other hand was still clenched in fist, aching from the punch he threw at Jake. He felt betrayed by Jake in a way, he waited for him to show up to switch places like usual but he was nowhere to be found. Now, Jaeyun agrees there have been instances where this had happened before and it wasn't a big deal, but Jaeyun was scared Jake knew about his feelings for you and he was afraid it wouldn't do any good for either of you. He waited and waited but his anxiety took the best of him and he left in search of his brother, but stumbled upon you in the middle of the road instead.
From where you stood behind Jaeyun, you could see Jake's gaze trained on the way Jaeyun's hand held you, then back towards you face. His lips twitched, a scoff of disbelief escaping him as he glared at you. You recoiled a few steps away, hands instinctively going up towards your neck, which was now sore and had definitely started forming bruises. He took a few steps towards you and Jaeyun cut him off by firmly standing in between you, the tension between them palpable.
"Can't you see Jaeyun? I really love her, I want to be with her, she feels the same, I visited her in her apartment," you could see the slight tension in Jaeyun's shoulder as those words left his brother's mouth. He took a deep breath trying to rationalize with Jake, "you're not in love with her, you're being obsessed, there's a difference, and following her and breaking into her house isn't normal." Jaeyun's voice was low but steady, almost as a warning waiting to be heard. Jaeyun took a few steps back, your hand finding his, he turned his head towards you for a brief moment, his fingers intertwined with yours in a subtle way to assure you he's with you. Jake took a few more steps forward, the gleam in his eyes was dark and calculating as he glared at Jaeyun, "oh so now I get it, when she smiles at you, it's destiny. But when she talks with me, I'm obsessed and it's not normal?"
Jaeyun's breath hitch, "you're twisting things, you always do this-" Jake cut him off, "because you make it easier for me to do that. Don't you think she'd want to be with someone who is confident like me? Someone who will do anything for her? You think being the good one will make her choose you because of some moral obligations?" He leaned closer towards Jaeyun, "you know she kissed me in her apartment, she even promised to help me heal and be with me." Jaeyun's expressions faltered for a second and that was enough for Jake to know he's got his brother where he wanted him to be.
"See?" Jake whispered, "she doesn't want you the way she wants me, she's just a bit rattled. Maybe deep down she knows the one who's willing to fight for her love at all cost might love her harder than the one who's currently trying to be her knight in shining armor." You limped forward, pulling Jaeyun towards you to break the tension in between them by creating some distance. Jaeyun stepped back, his face void of color but his eyes burning, "don't drag her into this, don't try to turn her into a prize just because she was able to ignite some emotions in you. And I won't let you break her just so you could win to satisfy your ego."
"Are you hurt because you thought I'm abandoning you for her? I wanted to get you out of that hospital and we could've lived happily after. But you just ruined that by running away from the hospital." At Jake's words Jaeyun exploded, lightly removing your hands from him before grabbing his brother's collar, "you weren't going to do any of that, you don't care about anyone else but yourself! You only want her because you know that I do! For you this is just another game, to win, to let your ego know that you're the better twin!" Jake stared back, cold and composed but you could feel the anger threatening to spill out from his eyes, "is that what you think? You finally agree that you'd choose a girl rather than your brother's happiness? I think you're starting to finally show that you hate me. Maybe you silently prayed that I never existed."
Silence stretched between them, both of them just waiting for the other to back down, then Jake huffed a breath, "you've always been the favorite child, the golden one if you asked me. Everyone loved you, trusted you, spoke highly of you. They never cared about me, never really heard my story unless it was you who narrated it. I'm tired of you." Jaeyun released his hold, breathing hard at Jake's confession, "I did choose you, Jake. Everytime you rebelled, everytime you destroyed things, everytime you hurt someone, I covered for you, I stood by your side. I even abandoned our parents because they abandoned you. I came back to you, agreed to give up everything so you could get an ounce of freedom and what did you conclude? I've loved you more than you ever deserved Jake!"
Jaeyun continued, "You've always found a way to let things go your way...I won't let that happen with her. Not because I want to win against you but because I know you'll destroy her." Jake's eyes travelled towards you then back at Jaeyun, "you think I'm that fucked in the head?" Jaeyun's eyes wandered towards the sky before they landed back on Jake, "I know you are." You stood quietly, letting them have their moment, it was funny really, two brothers fighting over you yet you didn't have a say in it. But as Jaeyun hugged Jake tightly, holding him close as if it was the last time he'll ever hold his brother like this, you realized who you had chosen after all.
Jake's eyes wandered towards you as he hugged Jaeyun back, taking in your condition. The dirty clothes, the bruised hands and neck, hair messy, face smudged with a mix of tears and dirt, your shoe bloodied due to the injury. Jake broke the hug as he made his way towards you. You took a step back, eyes darting towards Jaeyun who nodded reassuringly at you. "Will you be by his side forever?" His eyebrow arched as he waited to hear your answer, a hint of confusion gracing your features, "why are you asking me that?" You weren't sure if he would once again trick and harm you so you maintained your distance.
Jake took out your phone from his pocket, dangling in front of your face before continuing, "do you have feelings for him or not?" You tried to grab your phone when he stretched his hand out of your reach, "you need to answer first pretty..." you shivered at the pet name used, eyes trailing towards Jaeyun then back at Jake's, you nodded your head reluctantly, eyebrows creasing in awkwardness because this is the first time you've admitted about your feelings in front of other. Jaeyun's breath hitched and Jake looked down for a second, deep in thought. For a few minutes, all of you just stayed still, processing everything, then Jake cleared his throat, opening your phone and typing something before tossing the phone back in your hand.
He put his hands in his pocket, turning around towards his twin and just took in his presence. Jaeyun looked at him confused, his steps leading him towards where you and Jake were standing. Screeching of tyres and car engines disrupted the stillness established, you and Jaeyun exchanged glances as no one dared to move. Two cars stopped right in front of you, your eyes widening in realization, 4 security guards, Dr. Byeon, and Nurse Hong made their way towards you. Their gaze confused as they landed on Jake and Jaeyun, your stopped breathing, trembling hands unlocking your phone to check the last activity. Jake had messaged the hospital about his whereabouts.
Jake made his way towards the security guards, to enter the car when Jaeyun stopped him, his eyes filled with tears as he hugged his twin. Jake sighed as he briefly hugged Jaeyun then pushed him in your direction, then turning towards Dr. Byeon to explain everything. You took a step forward, hands sliding in Jaeyun's in silent comfort. You could feel the pain, the love, the longing he felt as he watched Jake enter the car to go back to the hospital, his words loud and clear even from the distance, "maybe it's time for me to actually get better, I promise I'll be out of the hospital in no time in a much better state." Jaeyun sobbed in your shoulder as he watched the cars go.
You decided it would be best for you to have a long vacation before you rejoined the hospital, Jaeyun was by your side taking care of you the whole time. The town was still the same, but it didn't feel that detached because he was by your side. You don't feel lonely now. You and Jaeyun decided it would be better to find another apartment for you since that place gave you nightmares, and it was only after all your injuries were healed that Jaeyun discussed his need to go for therapy. You assured him that it was the best decision and that you supported him. Your new apartment was right beside Sunoo's so now you had a companion to be with while going to work. His mom occasionally sends you food and invites you home so you don't feel homesick.
The hospital authority finally decided to renovate the building, and more alert security was placed around the hospital. The room no. 015 was now completely sealed and turned into a storage room. It was safe to say everyone was baffled to their core when they learned how the brother's used to swap the places. More staff were appointed to the hospital to not burden the current staff to the point that mistakes like this happened again. And as for Jake, Jaeyun occasionally visited him, who was reluctant at first to meet his brother but then eased off since Jaeyun was very persuasive. Dr. Byeon decided he himself would monitor Jake and had informed you about his progress and cooperation and even though you still get chills from that night, you still hope he'll recover fast.
"Hello, is anyone there!" You grinned when you enter the local diner, Uncle Noh, the middle aged cashier just gave you his signature deadpan look, "your smile gives me chills, but to answer your question unfortunately, yes..." you closed the door and made your way towards him anyway, now completely immune to his edgy personality. He called out Jaeyun's name before you could even reach him, a mop of dark hair peeking from behind the back door. You waved at him enthusiastically and he lit up as he rounded the counter and hugged you tight.
"Gross, children nowadays make me sick with their pda," you laughed in Jaeyun's chest as Uncle Noh made his way inside the backroom, again. You felt Jaeyun kiss the top of your head, you pulled back slightly, your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He kissed your temple before leaning in to put his forehead against yours. "You're done with your work early today," you smiled at his words as you kissed his nose, "I wanted to spend some time with you, so I completed my work with more enthusiasm, it's the weekend now." Jaeyun laughed at your excited tone, ruffling your hair a bit, he excused himself to gather his things so you could go back to your house. Initially Jaeyun decided it would be better to live separately, he wanted to learn how to live his life on his own and not be dependent on you. When you felt confident that he could survive on his own, you asked him if he would be okay with moving in and he agreed.
Jaeyun cooked dinner and while you finished taking a shower, you made your way towards him. He jumped slightly but relaxed when he felt your arms sneak inside his shirt and rest. He relaxed his body as you prepped kisses on his neck and shoulder. Your fingernails gently scratching his skin from his chest to his hips. He shuddered at your touch, biting back a whimper when you bit his ear. His hands held yours as he exhaled and let you continue. He would be lying if he said he didn't miss having you like this.
"You visited Jake today, right?" You felt him nod his head, "he says Mrs. Lee told him he's improving." You smiled at his words and listened as he carefully told you about his visit. "He says he wants to apologize to you, but isn't sure if you're okay with it..." Jaeyun's voice was careful and cautious as he said those words to you, you stilled for a moment, though you acknowledged and encouraged Jake's will to get better you were yet to gain courage to face him. But maybe it was time to put all those things in the past and start anew.
Jaeyun turned around in your arms after turning off the stove, then lifting you up and placing you on the counter. Your hands found home around his neck, his hands squeezing your plush things before sliding towards your knees. He pulled you towards the edge of the counter, parting your legs and smirking while slotting himself in between him. A small whine left your lips when he rubbed against your sensitive spot, a small smirk playing on his lips as he dipped his head low and captured your lips with his. Your one hand slid through his hair, scratching at his scalp while the other held onto his shoulder for dear life. He slid his tongue across your bottom lips and you parted your lips to let him deepen the kiss. One of his hands wrapped around the nape of your neck to pull you closer while his other roamed around your body till it reached your boobs.
You moaned in his mouth when he gently squeezed it, hips grinding against his to create some friction to your aching core. He groaned sensing your needy state, his mind contemplating between eating the dinner or eating you out instead, his personal favorite was the latter. He secured your legs around his waist and carried you towards the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. He hoisted you against the closed door of your bedroom, a bit impatient, his hands searching for the door knob as he trailed kisses from your jaw to your neck and collarbone. You whined as he bit your sensitive spot, then soothe it with his tongue. It was messy, the way he made love with you but it was endearing nonetheless.
He sighed deeply, opening the door and placing you on the mattress, his steps clumsy but you were too needy for his touch to even care. He climbed on top of you, your hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt and opening them with your trembling fingers, he chuckled lightly at you before helping you with the rest of the buttons and threw his shirt somewhere behind him. Your fingernails trailed down from his chest to his stomach and he shuddered, leaning down till he caged you in between his arms. His lips met yours again, his hands pulling at the hem of your (his) shirt that you were wearing. You pushed him a little bit, getting up to pull the shirt off of you. He hissed when he saw that you wore nothing underneath the shirt.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured against your skin as he lapped at the sensitive skin of your breast, purposefully ignoring the spot you needed him to pay attention to. Your back arched off the bed, wanting, needing, craving his mouth around your nipples. You pulled his hair, hard, your action making him moan, you could feel him grow hard from where he was situated in between your thighs, your hips rutting against it. "You're being too impatient today baby," yet he couldn't help but grind his hips against yours to maximize the friction. "Need you Jae, so bad," his lips met yours to drown out your moans. Your neediness makes him lose control, "yeah baby? How bad? Can't even wait to take the clothes off before you cum?"
You nodded your head, your eyes glassy with lust. He groaned, adjusting his position so his clothed bulge was pressed directly upon your clothed pussy, he spread your legs wider, folding your knees for better access. You pulled him close so his body was pressed against yours as he began moving back and forth against your pussy. "So needy," he huffed and you closed your eyes feeling overwhelmed by the emotions. Jaeyun, ever the sweet guy, noticed your actions, he put his forehead on yours, not once stopping the movements of his hips against yours, "you close baby?" you moaned in response, your body trembling as you reached your climax, your breath heavy as you opened your eyes, he followed right after you, collapsing on top of you.
You rubbed his back while he caught his breath. His head nuzzled at the crook of your neck. He pulled away slightly to kiss you softly, "I love you baby." You smiled at his shy expression, cupping his cheek as you mumbled a quiet, "I love you too." He ran towards the bathroom, changing into clean sweatpants, and came back with a wet cloth to help you clean. You stayed sprawled on the bed as he removed your shorts along with your panties and cleaned you up. He threw the cloth on the laundry basket and helped you get dressed into clean pajamas. You spread your arms when you were done with everything, he happily obliged, head nuzzling on your chest as he let himself rest.
"You know," He started after a few moments of silence, you hummed in response, feeling tired, "even though we met in very unusual circumstances, I'm glad I met you. You're one of the best things that has happened in my life." Your heartbeat quickened at his unexpected confession, knowing that being vulnerable is something he had always struggled with. He chuckled at your raised heartbeat, "I can hear your heartbeat you know, it's kinda funny it's you who is flustered." You pushed him off of you, grabbing the pillow at hitting him, "you should be glad I love you, don't forget how your heartbeat used to get hiked up whenever I used to perform an auscultation on you." He laughed at your words, grabbing your hands and pulling your body flush against his, "I know, I found you so pretty I couldn't help myself, God forbid a man is utterly infatuated by the love of his life." You just shook your head, hands wrapping around his torso, you could get used to this.
warningsᝰ.ᐟ (more porn than plot) overstimulation, oral (f & m), cumplay/creampie, double penetration, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, soft dom enha, etc. (wc 12.401k)
natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.
the air hangs heavy.
not just hot—but thick, suffocating, like breathing through syrup. it clings to your skin, coats your lungs, turns each exhale into something shallow and slow. outside, the city glows white with heat. the windows are shut, but the sun still bleeds through the curtains, stretching long and golden across the floor of the dorm like it’s trying to burn its way in.
inside, it’s unbearable.
the a/c had sputtered out three nights ago with a pitiful mechanical cough and never came back to life. the repair guys were booked out for a week, maybe more, and the seven boys you live with have tried everything—ice packs, wet towels, rigging fans to face every direction, but nothing works for long. the heat always creeps back in, curling into the corners of every room, wrapping itself around your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake off.
you're sprawled across the living room floor now, limbs heavy, skin sticky with sweat, wearing the thinnest clothes you own. a tank top—paper-thin, already damp—and a pair of boyshorts that cling between your thighs. your body feels too much—every inch oversensitive, too warm, flushed from the inside out. breathing is difficult. moving is worse. so you lie there, staring at the ceiling fan that spins uselessly above you, blades barely shifting the air.
around you, the boys are in various states of sweaty disarray.
jake’s shirtless, lying on his back with a pillow shoved under his neck and one arm slung over his eyes. heeseung’s face-down on the couch, tank top rucked up to expose the toned strip of skin above his waistband, a bottle of lukewarm water dangling from his fingertips. ni-ki is sprawled near your feet, wearing nothing but gray sweats that sit low on his hips, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck.
“no,” jay replies flatly from the kitchen, “you’re just dramatic.”
“i’m melting,” sunoo insists.
“we all are,” sunghoon mutters, tossing a crumpled t-shirt across the room. it hits the floor with a quiet thump, joining the growing pile of abandoned clothes no one has the energy to clean.
jungwon walks in shirtless, a towel around his neck, chest shining with sweat. he carries a bowl of ice cubes, already halfway melted. the sight of his skin—golden and flushed, muscles defined in the summer glow—shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t, but it does.
he pauses beside you, crouching low.
“ice?” he asks.
you nod, lips parted, already leaning into the cool promise of relief.
jungwon picks up a cube, wet and slick between his fingers. you brace yourself for the contact, and when it comes—trailing slow down the back of your neck, across the dip between your shoulder blades—you actually moan. softly, involuntarily. just a little noise. but it feels that good.
you don’t realize your eyes had fallen shut until you open them again—and catch them staring.
jake, now peeking out from under his arm. sunghoon, lips slightly parted. ni-ki, gaze stuck to where the cube trails down your spine. jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look away. he just lets the ice melt against your skin, eyes trained on the shiver that rolls through you in response.
“feels good, huh?” he says softly, voice low, almost amused.
you swallow hard.
“mhm,” you manage.
heeseung sits up slowly, squinting at you through the haze of heat. “you should sit in front of the fan. you look like you’re about to pass out.”
but when you try to move, your body protests. your skin sticks to the floor, to your clothes, to the heat in the air. you groan and collapse again, pressing your cheek to the cool hardwood.
“don’t wanna,” you murmur. “too hot.”
“then stay there,” ni-ki says from beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. “you look good like that.”
your eyes flick toward him. his tone is teasing, casual, but his gaze lingers—on your thighs, your tank top, the way the fabric sticks to your chest. you’re not imagining it. you’re sure you’re not.
you shift slightly, pressing your thighs together. not from discomfort—from something else. something that’s been creeping in alongside the heat.
because it’s not just the weather that’s making your skin feel too tight.
it’s them.
it’s the way they’ve been looking at you these past few days. the way they move around you—closer than before, slower. the way their fingers brush against your arms when they pass by. the way jake murmured “you’re so warm” last night when you accidentally leaned on him during a movie. the way jungwon didn’t move away when you pressed your bare thigh against his under the blanket.
it’s building.
you can feel it.
the heat. the want. the silence that's not really silence at all.
and no one’s saying it—not yet—but it’s there. in every drop of sweat. in every sideways glance. in every breathless pause when your shirt clings a little too tight, when your moan is just a little too soft, when you catch one of them watching you with something more behind their eyes.
you’re all stuck in the same heat. the same space. the same slow-burn pressure that’s starting to boil.
and it’s only a matter of time before something gives.
jay walks into the living room, collapsing beside you with a dramatic huff, his skin glistening under the low golden hue of the lamps. sweat trickles down his temple, catching at the edge of his jaw before dripping to his collarbone. he groans, tossing an arm over his eyes.
“i feel like i’m being cooked alive...” he mutters, his voice slightly breathless, laced with exhaustion and heat.
the room echoes with soft laughter, a ripple of amusement that quickly fades into something heavier—quieter. you rise from the couch without a word, skin sticking slightly to the cushions as you stand. your fingers weave through your damp hair, lifting it away from your neck, twisting it up into a loose, messy bun. your thin tank top clings to your curves, nearly transparent with how soaked it is, nipples pressing unapologetically through the fabric. your shorts have ridden high up your thighs, exposing even more of your flushed skin, but you don’t bother adjusting them.
you can feel the weight of their stares before you even glance up—curious, lingering, hungry. the laughter dies out completely now, swallowed by thick silence and shared tension.
you move toward the kitchen, grabbing a napkin with trembling fingers, and dab at the sweat lining your forehead. when you return, you sink down beside niki, who’s sprawled out across the floor, back pressed against the base of the couch, legs stretched wide and bare.
he looks at you, his lips parting slightly as his eyes scan your face. then, without asking, he reaches out.
“let me help you...” he murmurs, taking the napkin from your hand.
his touch is gentle, slow, almost too intimate. he dabs at your forehead first, then drags the cloth down the curve of your cheek, along your jawline. you hold your breath when he moves lower, wiping away the beads of sweat gathered at your neck, his knuckles grazing your collarbones. his fingers dip lower still, lingering at the top of your chest—just above the valley between your breasts.
you feel everyone watching, feel the air thicken with every soft swipe. and still, you don’t stop him.
niki’s hand stills at the top of your chest, the napkin long forgotten against your thigh. his fingers rest there like he’s holding back, like the tiniest nudge from you would send him spiraling—and truthfully, it would. he’s not even looking at what he’s doing anymore. he’s looking at you, eyes searching your expression for a flicker of permission, a whisper of need. and he finds it—of course he does. you can feel it all over your skin, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way your eyes don’t move away from his, not even for a second. your entire body feels like it’s buzzing, trembling under his touch that still manages to be so gentle, so teasingly patient. it’s maddening. like he’s trying to learn you inch by inch, like every bead of sweat he wipes away is a part of some secret map only he’s allowed to read.
the room behind you feels quieter now, heavier. no one speaks, no one laughs—not like before. the shift is palpable, undeniable, like someone flipped the switch from playful to dangerous without warning. the air is thick, sticky with heat and something heavier than humidity. you don’t even have to look to know the others are watching—watching everything. you can feel it in the way your skin prickles, in the way your body suddenly feels exposed despite your clothes still technically being on.
you feel his fingers trace along the delicate line of your collarbone, slow and featherlight, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. his touch lingers at the strap of your tank top, toying with it absentmindedly, though there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes stay locked on yours. they’re intense—burning, almost—and they don’t waver, not even for a second. the air between you crackles with something electric, something unspoken yet painfully understood. your breath comes out shallow, your lips slightly parted, and you know he sees it. he feels it, too.
the tension in the room grows thicker with every passing second, every shared breath. it coils in your stomach, tight and low, pushing against the walls of your sanity until it blurs the line between fantasy and reality. somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you acknowledge what’s happening—that this pull you’ve been feeling, this dark, magnetic need clawing at your chest… it’s not one-sided. the constant battle you’ve fought with yourself, trying to separate friendship from desire, comfort from craving—it’s unraveling right in front of you. and the truth hits you hard: you were never the only one who felt it.
niki doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. the way your body reacts to him—how your breath catches when his fingers graze your skin, how your thighs subconsciously squeeze together, how your eyes grow heavier with lust every time he leans in—tells him everything he needs to know. and when he does move closer, when his breath warms your cheek and his lips press teasing, featherlight kisses there, you don’t pull away. you tilt your head slightly, allowing him more access, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.
his lips trail down the curve of your jaw, lower and lower, until he reaches the damp skin of your neck. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hold back—his mouth finds purchase just above your collarbone, where he nips gently at first, then sucks harder, tongue flicking over the skin he’s claiming. the sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you can’t help the breathy whine that escapes your lips, high and helpless.
then—another presence.
you feel it before you see it. a new warmth pressing against your back, a body close and commanding. strong hands reach around you, fingers urgent as they tug your damp tank top down in one smooth, deliberate motion. the fabric sticks to your skin, clinging with heat and sweat, but it finally gives—and suddenly, you’re bare. your breasts spill out, nipples hard and flushed, fully exposed to the open air… and to their eyes.
the response is immediate.
groans sound out around you—low, guttural, strained. a few soft curses, a sharp inhale. it’s too much and still not enough. you feel like you’re on display, and somehow, that makes the ache between your legs even worse.
“looks like you’ve been wanting this…” jay’s voice comes from right beside your ear, deep and low, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through your body. his breath is hot on your skin, his words curling around your spine like smoke. but you can’t form a reply, not when niki’s mouth is back on your neck, sucking harder now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. he’s not teasing anymore. he’s marking. claiming.
you whimper—soft, breathless—your head falling back slightly against jay’s shoulder. and then his hands are on you, curving around your waist and up to your chest, palms broad and warm as they cup your breasts fully, fingers splaying out like he wants to memorize their weight. he groans under his breath, fingertips rolling your nipples between them, slow and careful, like he’s trying to feel how sensitive they’ve gotten just for him.
your hips buck involuntarily, body trembling under their touch, under their eyes, under the growing tension that’s so thick it feels like it could swallow you whole.
and still, you want more.
your pleading eyes scan over each of them, one by one, heart hammering against your ribcage as the room feels heavier with anticipation. they’ve all moved now—no longer scattered or distant, but gathered directly in front of you. another couch sits across the room, and all of them are seated there, watching you with eyes clouded by lust and hunger.
jake sits at the center, and his gaze is the most desperate of all—dark, intense, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something but can’t form the words. your eyes trail lower, catching the way his shorts are tented obscenely, his bulge straining hard and obvious, pulsing with every breath you take.
beside him, heeseung’s jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed slightly, focused completely on you. his hand is already between his legs, gripping his cock through his sweats, and you notice the way he slowly strokes himself, almost unconsciously, as if he's hypnotized by the small whimper that escaped your lips just moments ago. he doesn’t even seem aware of what he’s doing—like the sound alone was enough to send a rush straight through him.
sunoo is next, and he looks like he’s barely hanging on. his lips are parted, chest rising and falling in rapid waves, each of your soft sounds pulling a helpless whine or breathy moan from him. his thighs are pressed together, tense, like he’s trying so hard not to touch himself, but you can tell it’s getting harder with every second.
sunghoon sits beside him, posture stiff and serious, but the thick bulge in his jeans betrays him completely. he hasn’t said a word, hasn’t made a sound, but the way his eyes devour you says everything. it’s like he’s trying to keep control—to be the composed one—but your bare body is testing the very limits of his restraint.
you notice one of them is missing, a small flicker of confusion settling in for just a moment—until you feel it.
a pair of lips suddenly press against your inner thigh, soft and warm, and your breath catches in your throat. jungwon. of course it’s him. you gasp as his hands slide up your thighs, strong and steady, gently but firmly spreading them apart to make space for himself. his presence is calm but commanding, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
niki shifts beside you, only slightly, adjusting to give jungwon more room. his head turns, eyes locked on you as his lips press right back against your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper again. you feel him smirk against your skin.
"you look so beautiful..." jungwon breathes, the words almost to himself, like he’s not even aware he said them aloud. his eyes stay locked on yours for a beat longer before his hands slide up, cupping your cheeks so gently it almost makes you dizzy. and then he kisses you.
his lips are soft, slow at first, like he’s savoring the taste of you. but the heat flaring across your skin only intensifies—the room already hot, stifling, the broken a/c leaving a heavy, sticky warmth clinging to every surface. your skin is damp, flushed, and burning—not from embarrassment, but from the oppressive summer heat mixing with the feverish touch of each boy around you.
jay’s hands move with purpose now, rougher, needier. he’s behind you, arms wrapped around your body as his palms knead at your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they’re stiff and aching. his breath fans against the back of your neck, his chest pressed to your spine, and each squeeze sends another pulse of heat straight through your core.
you’re surrounded, consumed by them, the heat of the room and their hands melting together into something unbearable—something addictive. every touch is fire, every kiss gasoline, and you're burning for them all.
before you can even think, even breathe, everything shifts in a flash of movement and heat. one second, you're standing on trembling legs, and the next—your world is flipping upside down.
strong arms wrap around your waist, and you're effortlessly lifted off the floor. the room spins for a dizzy second before your back hits the couch with a soft thud, the cushions dipping beneath your weight, catching you like a trap. the warmth of the fabric kisses your bare skin, but you don’t even get a moment to settle before your clothes are being stripped away—ripped, torn, tugged down in one swift, desperate motion.
your boyshorts give first, threads snapping as fingers yank at the waistband with no care for gentleness. your panties follow, the delicate lace shredded away like paper, the soft sound of tearing fabric drowned out by the pounding of your heart in your ears. a gasp escapes your lips—sharp and unfiltered—as the cool air of the room rushes against your now exposed skin.
you’re bare. completely, utterly bare. open in front of all of them. your thighs are spread, your pussy glistening under the low light, wetness clinging to the insides of your legs—dripping, aching, ready.
your eyes lift instinctively, already searching for someone—anyone—to ground you in the chaos. and that’s when you see him.
heeseung.
he’s not on the couch anymore. not lazily jerking himself off like he was moments ago. he’s right there now—kneeling between your legs, already settled into place like he was meant to be there, like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted. his eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocks the breath out of you. it’s dark. wild. hungry.
"already so wet, baby?" he says, voice low and dripping with amusement, but there’s something reverent behind it. like he’s in awe of the state you're in—of the way your slick shines in the heat-heavy room, glistening like something sacred. like he can’t believe this is real.
his fingers come next. they trail down slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before finally pressing against your folds. the contact is light, almost maddeningly so, but it still sends a jolt through your entire body. he spreads you open with his fingers, gently at first, slick coating his fingertips as he traces your pussy, spreading the arousal that’s already leaking out of you.
you whimper when he presses closer, his touch deliberate now, spreading your lips apart to expose your soaked entrance. the air hits you harder here, your core pulsing with heat and need, and you watch as heeseung stares—stares—like he’s looking at the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
and then, without warning, he dives in.
his mouth crashes onto your pussy with no hesitation, tongue dragging through your folds like he’s starving for it. a choked moan rips out of your throat as your back arches, every muscle in your body clenching from the sudden, overwhelming sensation. his tongue is hot, wet, relentless—moving with long, deep strokes that make your legs shake around his head.
he grips your thighs tighter, spreading them wider, anchoring you to the couch as he buries his face between your legs. the heat of his mouth is unbearable, and with the room already sweltering, already boiling, you feel like you’re melting beneath him—sweat slicking your skin, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath.
heeseung moans into your pussy like he means it. like the taste of you is something divine. his tongue curls just right, licking into your entrance before dragging up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth with obscene slurping sounds that echo in your ears and bounce off the walls. you can barely hold still—your hips twitching, instinctively grinding up into his face—but he holds you in place, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.
he feasts on you like a man possessed, groaning lowly against your pussy with each flick of his tongue, each swallow of your slick. the vibrations of his voice send jolts through your core, and it only makes you wetter, the pressure building with every second that passes. he’s so into it—so deep, so focused, so completely drunk off your taste that it’s like nothing else exists.
his lips move to your clit again, tongue flattening against it and dragging back and forth in slow, torturous strokes. his nose presses into your mound, breath hot and ragged, and you can hear the way he’s panting against you—moaning against you—like just being here, just tasting you, is enough to make him cum untouched.
you glance down, and the sight alone nearly makes you fall apart—his face buried in your pussy, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, hips grinding subtly against the couch as if he’s desperately trying to relieve the pressure in his pants. he’s getting off on it. every moan you let out, every twitch of your body, every droplet of slick he licks up—he’s devouring it like a man in heat.
you throw your head back, a loud, broken sob tearing out of your chest as his tongue circles your clit again, faster this time. the pleasure is unbearable. too much. not enough. your thighs tremble violently, muscles tensing and relaxing all at once, your hands flying down to grip his hair—fingers tangling in the strands, pulling without meaning to, holding him there.
heeseung groans in response, like your reaction only fuels him, like it drives him even deeper into his obsession. he shakes his head slightly, the motion sending his tongue in unpredictable directions, and you cry out again, thighs squeezing around him.
“fuck, heeseung—” you gasp, voice cracked, strained, barely even there.
but he doesn’t stop.
he just keeps licking.
before you can let out another moan—another broken, needy sound—your mouth is suddenly full. your lips stretch wide, a heavy weight pressing onto your tongue before sliding deeper, and your eyes flutter open in shock, the gasp you meant to release now muffled completely.
a low, breathy moan fills the room—but it’s not yours. it’s his.
“fuck…”
you know that voice. the soft, desperate whimper that slips out again, paired with a shaky exhale that makes your throat tighten instinctively. it’s jake. you don’t even need to look to be sure—it’s in the way he sounds completely undone already, his voice dipped in honey and lust, trembling as he slowly begins to thrust into your mouth.
his cock drags across your tongue, thick and hard, the weight of it heavy as it sinks deeper with each roll of his hips. he moves slowly at first, testing, savoring, his pace unsteady like he’s holding back from completely losing control. your lips wrap around him automatically, cheeks hollowing just enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and the noise that slips from him is pure heaven.
“oh fuck, y/n…”
his voice cracks as he tilts his head back, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. you glance up at him through heavy lashes, just in time to see the way his brows draw together, his expression one of blissful torment as he watches himself disappear past your lips.
his hands are on you in the next second—reaching down, greedy and firm, squeezing your breasts in both palms. his thumbs brush over your nipples, circling them roughly before pressing in harder, and the contrast between his soft moans and rough touch makes your body jolt with need. he groans again as his hips rock forward, pushing deeper, your throat tightening around the head of his cock.
you gag slightly, tears instantly welling in your eyes, but you don’t stop. your mouth stretches, your jaw aches, and your tongue presses flat beneath him as he begins to fuck into your throat with shallow thrusts. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin as he fucks into you more desperately, the wet sound of it obscene and addictive.
“shit, you feel so fucking good—so warm, so tight…” he rasps, voice nearly broken as he watches his cock vanish between your lips again and again. “fuck, you were made for this.”
you can’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full of him, but your body gives every answer it needs to. your throat constricts, your tongue curves, and your lips press snug around the base every time he sinks in deep. you moan around him, and the way his body shudders in response makes your core clench hard.
as if he can feel that too, heeseung doubles down between your thighs.
his tongue plunges inside you again, thick and slick and sinful, dragging against your walls in deep, swirling strokes. he groans into your pussy, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine as your hips jerk in response. your walls flutter around him, sucking him in with every movement, squeezing around his tongue so tightly it makes him whine into your cunt.
“fuck, you taste so fucking good…” heeseung pants, his voice muffled against your dripping pussy, and the way he says it—raw, reverent, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter—makes you feel like you’re going to explode.
your body is trembling now, caught between two different kinds of pleasure—your mouth stretched and used by jake’s throbbing cock, your cunt dripping and devoured by heeseung’s skilled tongue. their moans mix with yours, lost in the thick, humid air, the heat of the room making everything feel stickier, hotter, needier.
sunoo is the first to lose control.
his breaths come out shallow, chest visibly rising and falling as he stands frozen for a moment, eyes locked on you like he’s in a trance. there’s a look on his face—wide-eyed, mouth parted, almost like he’s staring at something holy. he can’t look away. he doesn’t even try. the sounds, the sight, the heat of the room all pull at him like a magnet, dragging him under until his self-restraint shatters completely.
his hands move to his waistband, quick and impatient. fingers fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans, so rushed that he nearly stumbles as he kicks them down his legs. his underwear follows in a frantic tug, fabric caught around one knee for a second before he shakes it off entirely. and then he’s bare—exposed and trembling, his cock already flushed and leaking, twitching against his stomach.
precum glistens at the tip, thick and shiny, dribbling down the shaft until it pools faintly at the base. he doesn’t hesitate. one hand wraps around himself immediately, fingers curling tight as he gives his cock a slow, needy stroke. the slickness makes it easy—his hand gliding with little resistance, wrist twisting just slightly at the top in a rhythm that’s far too practiced.
but his eyes. his eyes never leave you.
you’re sprawled out, thighs shaking from the way heeseung is eating you out like a man starved. your fingers tangle in his hair, your hips rolling helplessly against his face, and the filthy sounds he makes—wet and relentless—only echo louder in the hot, stifling air. every time his tongue dips into you, your legs twitch, and sunoo swears he can feel the aftershocks through his own body.
his hand moves faster, slick noises joining the chorus of moans and groans already filling the room. he strokes himself steadily, breath hitching with every wet slurp he hears, every moan that falls from your stuffed mouth. he watches your throat flex as you try to take more of jake’s cock, eyes glassy as you struggle to breathe around the thickness of him.
and jake—he's a mess above you.
his hands are buried in your hair, knuckles white from how tightly he grips. his hips jerk forward in short, shallow thrusts, barely able to hold back as your lips wrap around him. your mouth stretches wide, tongue flattened underneath his shaft, your eyes fluttering as tears gather at the corners. and when you gag softly around him, the tight clench of your throat makes him snap.
his whole body trembles. a loud, broken moan tears from his chest as his hips stutter forward, cock throbbing against your tongue. you feel the first hot spurt of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another—each pulse of his cock sending more of him spilling down your throat. he’s panting through it, voice high and breathless, like he can’t believe how good it feels to cum inside you.
“fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my god, y/n…” jake chokes out, head thrown back as his entire body locks up, abs tightening, thighs shaking where they frame your face. his cock stays in your mouth as he rides it out, groaning shamelessly as more cum pours from his slit. thick, salty, warm. you swallow what you can, the rest slipping past your lips and dribbling down your chin in slow, messy rivulets.
and that’s all it takes for sunoo.
his mouth falls open, a soft, broken sound leaving him as his body jerks forward. his hand keeps moving, faster now, desperate, chasing the edge he’s been teetering on for the last several minutes. his eyes stay fixed on the way your spit-slick lips still suck around jake’s softening cock, the way your pussy clenches around heeseung’s tongue, dripping and pulsing like it’s begging for more.
then he cums—hard.
his back arches as a strained, almost whiny moan spills from his lips. “fuck—fuck, i’m cumming—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as thick ropes of white shoot from the tip of his cock. it hits his stomach first, warm and wet, then drips down his hand as he strokes himself through it, chasing every last wave of pleasure until his thighs are trembling. his breath stutters in his chest, sweat beading at his temples, and he keeps going even after he’s spent—milking himself for every drop as his head lolls back, completely wrecked.
cum paints his hand, his skin, his chest. sticky and hot, pooling just below his navel as he stands there, cock twitching in his grasp, body slowly coming down from the high.
but even then, even while he pants and shakes and tries to steady himself—he doesn’t stop watching you.
the coil in your stomach tightens fast—too fast. it winds itself tighter with every flick of heeseung’s tongue, every filthy moan that vibrates against your soaked pussy. your thighs are trembling now, uncontrollably, muscles twitching with each wave of pressure that builds low in your core. your breathing is uneven, mouth hanging open, panting like you’ve just run miles, but all that fills your lungs is the thick, heavy heat of the room and the scent of sweat and sex.
your hands shoot down instinctively, fingers weaving into heeseung’s hair. your grip is desperate, nails digging into his scalp as you hold him in place, as if pulling him closer could somehow save you from falling apart. but it only encourages him—drives him deeper.
jake’s cock slips from your lips with a wet, sticky sound, strands of saliva stretching between your swollen mouth and his flushed tip. your jaw aches, your throat sore from how deeply he fucked into it, but the only sound that escapes you now is a hoarse, broken moan. it cracks in the back of your throat, raw and breathless, but it makes heeseung groan into your cunt like it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.
he doesn’t stop. doesn’t pause. he takes your reaction as fuel, tongue moving faster, more frantic now as he chases your orgasm like he needs it to breathe. his mouth finds your clit again, tongue flicking up against it with practiced precision—over and over, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure straight through your body.
and then he seals his lips around it.
he sucks.
hard.
“shit—!” your cry rips through the air like lightning, loud and unrestrained, and your entire body jolts forward, hips bucking off the couch as the orgasm slams into you. it’s not gentle. it’s not slow. it hits—a tidal wave crashing down all at once, flooding your veins with molten heat.
your body shakes, spasms, back arching off the cushions as your climax tears through you. your legs clamp around heeseung’s head, not even consciously, but he doesn’t pull away. he groans into your pussy like he wants it—wants your thighs trembling against his ears, wants to be trapped between them while you fall apart on his tongue.
the coil inside you fully snaps, unravels, breaks into a thousand shattered pieces that ripple through your blood, through your chest, your spine, your fingertips. your vision blurs, your body going rigid before collapsing into trembling pieces as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you.
your moans dissolve into quiet whimpers, breath stolen, skin flushed and damp, and yet heeseung still doesn’t let up. his tongue slows, gentler now, soothing your oversensitive clit with soft, languid strokes as your body twitches beneath him, still caught in the aftershocks.
you can’t think. can’t breathe. can’t do anything except fall back into the cushions, legs sprawled and chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum inside your ribs.
heeseung finally lifts his head, his face shining with your slick—lips swollen, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with satisfaction. he smirks at you, cocky and proud, his expression dripping with confidence as he slowly leans back on his heels. he takes his time dragging his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring the last taste of you like it’s something divine.
his hands slide off your thighs with a final, reverent squeeze, leaving behind heat and a tingling ache that lingers as he shifts away.
but you barely have a moment to recover—barely even draw in a full breath—before another shadow takes his place.
sunghoon.
he steps forward, quiet and composed, but there’s a different kind of hunger in his eyes. something deeper. darker. his hand is wrapped firmly around his cock, long fingers stroking slowly as he positions himself in front of you. his tip is flushed, leaking, and when it touches your soaked pussy, your body jolts at the sudden contact.
he doesn’t push in yet.
he teases—rubbing the head in slow, deliberate circles over your swollen folds, smearing your slick around with an agonizing lack of urgency. the contrast between his calm exterior and what he’s doing to you is maddening. you twitch, hips jerking just slightly, needing more, but he just smirks down at you, amused by how wrecked you already look.
then, without a word, his hands come down to your waist. strong. commanding.
and in one smooth motion—he flips you over.
your gasp is sharp as your body is turned and positioned like it’s nothing. your knees dig into the plush cushions of the couch, your palms bracing in front of you, back instinctively arching to balance yourself. your ass is in the air now, completely exposed, dripping and still twitching from your last orgasm.
but the shift isn’t just for sunghoon.
beneath you, there's movement—another presence.
jay.
he slips between the couch cushions, positioning himself directly underneath you. his hands slide up your sides, slow and sensual, until they’re gripping your back and pulling you down. his face is beneath yours now, his mouth just inches away, and without a second thought—he kisses you.
it’s not soft.
his lips crash against yours in a messy, consuming kiss, tongues meeting immediately, teeth clashing. there’s heat behind it—hunger, desperation. you moan into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays firm on your lower back, grounding you in place.
sunghoon’s hands grip your waist like he owns it—like it’s his to mold and shape and use however he pleases. his touch is firm, possessive, thumbs pressing into your hips as he guides your body back toward him. behind you, his cock presses into your entrance, thick and pulsing, already slick from teasing you moments ago. you can feel every ridge, every vein, twitching with anticipation as he begins to push forward again, slower now, savoring every inch.
underneath you, jay keeps you anchored. his hands glide over your back, up your spine, as he stares up at your flushed face. his gaze is heavy, intense—like he’s trying to memorize you. memorize every expression, every sound. and then, his cock nudges at your entrance too, slick with precum and already hard, ready. he doesn’t hesitate. he lines himself up alongside sunghoon, and together, they push in.
the stretch is unbearable.
your body seizes, walls fluttering violently as they try to take both of them at once. it feels impossible at first—like your pussy wasn’t meant to hold this much. like your body should be breaking. but then your breath catches, and the heat from the room and the overwhelming fullness melt into each other, creating a sensation that borders on euphoric.
your nails dig into the couch cushions. your eyes screw shut, jaw slack as a strangled cry tears from your throat. jay shushes you softly, his lips brushing over your collarbone, placing light kisses across your skin to soothe you even as he presses deeper inside. sunghoon grits his teeth above you, low groans spilling from his lips as your walls stretch tightly around them both.
“fuck—” sunghoon hisses, his voice thick with arousal. “you’re so fucking tight… can feel him inside you too.”
jay can barely breathe beneath you. “she’s squeezing us both so hard… shit, baby…”
you feel everything.
the press of their cocks rubbing together inside you, the stretch of your walls trying to accommodate the impossible girth of both of them, the way your pussy grips every inch like it’s the only thing it knows how to do. they move slowly, rocking their hips in shallow thrusts, trying to ease you into it, but the stimulation is too much. your head falls forward, resting against jay’s chest, and your entire body trembles.
each thrust feels deeper than the last, their rhythm syncing perfectly—sunghoon pushing in as jay pulls back, only to slide back in together. your pussy is so wet, the obscene sounds of it echo with every movement, the slick, slapping rhythm blending with their groans and your breathless cries.
sunghoon’s grip tightens as he starts to move faster, his thrusts harder now, greedier, making your ass jiggle from the force. every time his hips slam into yours, it sends a ripple of pleasure through your entire body. jay meets the force from below, hips rolling upward, cock dragging against your inner walls as he fills the deepest parts of you.
your vision starts to blur. the pleasure is sharp, molten, setting your nerves on fire. you can feel the way their cocks rub together inside you, the pressure almost painful, but it feels so good—so complete, so consuming.
jay’s arms wrap around your waist, hugging you tight as he fucks up into you, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re taking us so well… so perfect, baby…”
you sob out a broken moan in response, your walls spasming around them as another wave of heat rushes through your bloodstream. the couch creaks beneath you from the force of it all, the room thick with sex, with sweat, with bodies moving in sync under the weight of your shared need.
sunghoon leans over you, chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your neck as he starts pounding into you. no longer holding back. his hands grip your ass, spreading you wider to push deeper, to fit more. jay groans beneath you, fucking up into the space that sunghoon leaves behind with perfect timing, the stretch never easing, the fullness never fading.
their rhythm is brutal. your body bounces between them, trapped in the middle of their overwhelming hunger, your pussy stuffed full, stretched wide, used completely. and you love it. you feel owned, claimed, completely at their mercy—and there’s nothing else you’d rather be.
your moans dissolve into whimpers. your pussy clenches hard around them, sucking them in deeper, so much so that they both groan at the same time, voices rough and strained.
“fuck—gonna cum,” jay gasps, his voice low and shaking. “she’s gonna make me fucking cum—”
“fuck,” sunghoon growls, fucking harder, sweat dripping from his temple. “shit—feels so fucking good—”
your body quakes between them, your second orgasm already creeping up on you, fast and hard. your toes curl into the cushions, arms trembling as you grip onto whatever you can, heart thundering in your chest as you drown in the feeling of being completely, utterly full.
your body convulses where you sit, trembling as jay and sunghoon finally slide out of you. the emptiness is instant and jarring, like you’ve just lost something you weren’t ready to let go of. you twitch where you’re sprawled, thighs sticky with slick and cum, the evidence of everything they gave you now dripping slowly from your swollen pussy. the room is thick with heat and sex, a haze of sweat and heavy breathing filling the space. your body is twitching, too used and too sensitive to move, but the ache between your legs doesn’t ease—it burns. it pulses. it begs for more. your limbs are jelly, your thoughts barely stringing together into anything coherent, and yet the hunger inside you refuses to die down. it builds in your chest, in your core, that desperate desire still flaring to life again like they haven’t already ruined you—like you’re still starving for everything they want to give you.
sunghoon watches the mess between your legs with dark, hooded eyes, sweat dripping from his temple as he drags his fingers down your slit, gathering the thick mix of his and jay’s cum. you whimper, back arching instinctively as the mess is pushed back inside you, two fingers pressing into your raw, stretched pussy without warning. the sensation sends another jolt through your body—sharp and overwhelming, yet somehow, you welcome it. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and you still want more. your breath shudders out of you, your head lolling to the side, too weak to lift it. your mouth is parted, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the second your legs start to tremble again from overstimulation, he finally pulls away.
and then… there’s him.
you barely register jungwon stepping in until you feel the warmth of him in front of you. he kneels slowly, patiently, his expression soft but unreadable as his hands come to rest on your thighs. he’s calm in contrast to the wreckage around him, composed even as his eyes drink in your ruined state. he leans in, placing the softest kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another to your hip, your stomach, your ribs—each one purposeful, almost reverent. he doesn’t rush. every kiss feels like a quiet apology for the ache still rolling through your body. and maybe it is. or maybe it’s just his way of showing that he’s going to ruin you next—but on his terms. his lips brush against your skin like they’re worshiping it, like you’re something precious, fragile, and holy. you look down at him, eyes glossy and half-lidded, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper that melts into your ears like warm honey.
“gonna make you feel so good, princess. do you want that?”
you nod before you can even form words, your mouth too dry and your throat too wrecked from moaning. your body leans into him like it recognizes him—like you need him now. your eyes catch his, and it’s like everything else blurs away. the chaos, the overstimulation, the ache—they all fall into the background the second jungwon cups your face and helps you settle into his lap. his movements are slow, tender, like he’s handling you with care, and it makes your chest ache. he slides onto the couch and brings you with him, letting your legs straddle his thighs as he holds you steady. his cock rests against your ass, heavy and leaking, already painfully hard. he wraps one hand around the base, guiding it beneath you, while the other stays planted at the small of your back, anchoring you against him.
he teases you with the tip first, sliding it through your folds, collecting the slick and cum still dripping from earlier. your cunt is flushed, red and glistening, still twitching with every little brush of contact. you can barely handle the teasing, your fingers curling against his shoulders as your hips jerk forward in response to the pressure. he doesn’t push in—not yet. just rubs the head of his cock against your entrance again and again until you’re practically shaking, whining for more with broken breaths.
“just do it, wonnie,” you whisper, voice raw and needy, every nerve screaming for him.
he huffs a breath, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips, though there’s still a softness behind it—an admiration in the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants in the world. “so fucking desperate, aren’t you?” he murmurs, the words dragging along your skin like velvet.
and then finally, finally, he lets you sink down.
the head of his cock pushes inside first, thick and slow and unforgiving. your pussy stretches around him, still puffy and sore, but eager to take him in. the stretch is deep and immediate. you gasp, clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body trembles from the sheer fullness of it. jungwon groans beneath you, fingers digging into your waist as your heat envelops him, inch by inch, your walls clenching down like you never want to let go. the slide is slow, both of you shaking with the intensity of it, and it feels like your body is molding to fit just him.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking, his head falling back as he bottoms out. “you’re still so fucking tight…”
his hips stay still for a moment, buried deep, letting you adjust. the tip of his cock is pressing against the deepest part of you, and you can feel every throb, every pulse as he twitches inside of you. your walls flutter, wrapping around him like a vice, squeezing him in, and your body is burning again—so overstimulated you’re not sure where the pain ends and the pleasure begins. but you don’t care. you want it. you want him. you want everything, all of it, every drop they have left to give you.
and from the way jungwon’s holding you so tightly, from the way his breath stutters against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your skin—you know he’s going to give you everything.
“you’re so fucking good for us, princess…”
his voice drips against your ear like honey laced with poison—warm, slow, addicting. jungwon’s breath is hot against your skin as he holds you flush against him, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your soaked, overstimulated pussy. his words curl in your chest, crawl down your spine, and settle deep in your core like a flame catching on gasoline.
his hips jerk up into yours again, sharp and deliberate, and you gasp—your head falling back, your throat dry from moaning, yet still begging to make more sound for him. the slide of his cock inside you is enough to make your toes curl, your walls pulsing tightly around him as your body struggles to keep up with the relentless pleasure. your muscles twitch, still sore, still shaking from the last orgasm that tore through you, but none of it matters—not when jungwon holds you like this, fucks into you like it’s the only thing that will keep him breathing.you can feel the slick mess between your thighs—his cock gliding easily from how soaked you are, from the cum already inside you, from your body’s desperate need to take everything he's giving and more. it’s filthy. it’s too much. and it’s perfect.
jungwon’s eyes are locked on yours, dark and intense and impossibly focused. there’s no smirk now, no teasing glint—just raw hunger. reverence. like you’re the only thing in existence.
his brows twitch when he feels your cunt clench again, and a choked sound escapes his throat. “fuck…” he breathes, almost like he’s in pain. “you feel so good—so tight, baby. you’re not gonna let me go, are you?”
you shake your head weakly, the motion barely there, too overwhelmed to form words. your hands are clutching his shoulders, nails dragging across the damp heat of his skin, desperate for something to ground yourself with. but there’s nothing. the couch beneath you is shaking with every thrust. the air is too hot, too thick. you’re floating somewhere between ecstasy and exhaustion, and still—your hips roll into his, still—you beg for more.
his cock drags along your inner walls so deeply you swear you can feel it in your stomach. every movement hits something devastating, something that leaves you gasping and arching into his chest. your nipples brush against his skin, the friction sending tiny sparks up your spine, your whole body lit up like a live wire.
he grunts again, his pace beginning to pick up, each thrust more urgent now, more needy. he’s chasing something—so are you.
“fuck, look what you do to us…” he growls into your neck, voice cracked, his rhythm faltering slightly as your pussy flutters around him again. his hands travel down, grabbing your ass hard, squeezing handfuls of flesh as his hips snap upward, forcing you to take him deeper. “you know what you’ve been doing to us, walking around like that… acting so fucking innocent…”
you whimper as he pulls back just enough to slam back in, the impact making your tits bounce with the force. his hands don’t stay still—one lands sharply against your ass with a smack that echoes across the room. you cry out, your body jolting from the sting, and he moans at the way your cunt clenches immediately afterward.
“dressed like a fucking tease,” he growls, voice right in your ear now, low and dangerous. “those tiny shorts… that shirt with your tits practically falling out… you knew what you were doing.”
his other hand slides up to your throat—not choking, just holding. his thumb presses gently beneath your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his. and when your teary eyes meet his again, everything else blurs.
“you’ve been begging for this, haven’t you?” he whispers. “all this time… just waiting for one of us to snap.”
you can’t even speak. you just nod, broken and desperate, your whole body quivering in his hands.
“say it,” he demands softly, voice so calm it makes you shiver. “tell me you wanted this.”
“i—i wanted it,” you manage to gasp out, your voice wrecked. “fuck, i wanted all of you—so bad, i—”
you can’t even finish the sentence before he thrusts up into you again, harder this time, sharp enough to knock the breath right out of your lungs. his eyes flutter closed for a second, like he’s overwhelmed by the way your pussy clenches around him, like he’s feeling everything you just confessed.
and then he breaks.
his hips lose rhythm, turning erratic, frantic, his hands gripping you tighter as he fucks into you like he can’t hold back anymore. your bodies are slamming together now, the wet sounds of your cunt swallowing him over and over filling the space between your moans. your thighs shake where they straddle his, completely worn out but still clinging to him like you need to be filled, need to be owned, need to be his.
and he gives it to you.
all of it.
with each deep, brutal thrust, jungwon tears you further apart—stretching you, overwhelming you, dragging another orgasm from your body before you even know it’s coming. it slams into you with no warning, your vision going white as your pussy clamps down around him, tight and pulsing and wet. you scream his name, sobbing against his shoulder, and he holds you through it—fucking you through it—never stopping, never slowing down.
“fuck, you’re cumming again?” he groans, eyes wide with disbelief, like the way you tighten around him is going to split him in half. “shit—your pussy’s milking me—”
you can’t respond. your mouth is open, but all that comes out is a shattered moan, your body arching into him as he continues to fuck into the mess between your legs. your cum, his precum, the leftover slick from the others—it’s all mixed together, coating his cock as he thrusts in and out of you like he owns you.
and he does.
in this moment, he absolutely does.
you don’t even know how you’re still conscious.
every nerve in your body is fried, every muscle trembling with the weight of your own pleasure, and yet jungwon doesn’t stop. he holds you against him like you’re his only salvation, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. his thrusts are punishing now, deep and ragged, his moans growing louder with every roll of his hips.
your hands are fists on his shoulders, nails raking down his damp skin as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, muffling the endless string of cries that tumble from your lips. your entire body bounces in his lap, tits shaking from the rhythm, your breath catching in your throat each time the thick head of his cock hits that one spot deep inside that makes you see stars.
he’s whispering to you again, voice shaking, incoherent between his panting and groans. “you take it so well… fuck—so fucking well. this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” his fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to fuck into you harder, rougher, deeper. “say it, baby. say it’s mine.”
“it’s yours,” you sob, so hoarse you barely recognize your own voice. “fuck, wonnie—it’s all yours, just don’t stop…”
he lets out a shaky breath, something unsteady and desperate, and his forehead presses against yours as his thrusts grow erratic. “gonna cum,” he whispers. “you’re gonna make me fucking cum inside you—”
you clench around him at the words, body reacting before your mind can even process it. the idea of him cumming inside you, filling you up after everything they’ve already given—it sets your blood on fire. you want it. you need it.
“please,” you gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “cum in me… fill me up…”
and that’s all it takes.
his moan is guttural, deep and raw as his cock throbs inside you. the first pulse hits hard, warmth blooming deep in your belly as he spills into you, thick and hot. he doesn’t stop thrusting, even as he cums—his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper. you feel every wave of it, every twitch, every drop, and your head spins with the intensity of it all.
jungwon holds you tight through it, forehead resting against your temple, his breath ragged and his body shivering beneath yours. you’re both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, chests heaving as you come down from the high together. the room is still spinning, your body still pulsing with overstimulation, but neither of you move.
he stays inside you.
he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t let you go. he just holds you, one hand stroking your spine, the other cradling the back of your neck. his lips press soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your cheek, your temple—as if grounding you. as if grounding himself.
“you did so good, baby,” he whispers against your skin, voice barely audible, like it’s meant for you alone. “so fucking good…”
you let out a weak whimper, body limp against his, your head foggy and eyes heavy. but before you can melt into him completely, you hear a sound from across the room.
a soft inhale. a shaky breath.
a quiet, needy moan.
you barely manage to lift your head, and that’s when you see them.
sunoo and niki.
both of them standing near the couch, still untouched, their eyes dark and glazed over with pure, unfiltered want. they’ve been watching—waiting—and now, with your body trembling in jungwon’s lap, flushed and soaked and filled to the brim, they know it’s their turn.
niki is the first to move.
his strides are slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours like you’re prey and he’s already tasted the blood. his shirt is gone, sweat glistening on his chest, his pants slung low on his hips with his cock already painfully hard, jutting forward as he walks. he reaches down lazily to stroke himself, precum smearing across his thumb as he approaches. there’s a quiet, unspoken hunger in his expression, one that sends a fresh pulse of arousal straight through your overstimulated core.
beside him, sunoo moves more delicately—graceful, almost shy in the way he carries himself, but the flush on his cheeks and the way he bites his lip betray just how badly he wants this. his hands tremble slightly as he pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. his eyes flick between your cum-filled pussy and your dazed, tear-streaked face, and he swallows hard like he’s trying not to lose control too soon.
jungwon shifts beneath you slowly, carefully easing you off his lap, and you gasp when his cock slips from your swollen cunt, a messy mix of cum immediately dripping out. your legs shake as he helps you lie back across the couch, hands gentle even as his eyes still burn with residual lust.
niki kneels between your thighs without a word, his large hands pressing your knees apart as he leans in, watching your pussy with a greedy kind of fascination. his breath hitches when he sees the way you’re leaking, still twitching from your last orgasm, and he groans low in his throat.
“fuck…” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the mess. “you’re still dripping…”
you try to respond, try to say something, but the only thing that escapes is a weak whimper—high and airy and broken. niki leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking his cock lazily as he brushes his lips against your cheek.
“don’t worry,” he whispers, his voice dark and full of promise. “i’ll take it slow at first…”
sunoo moves closer now, climbing onto the couch beside you, his fingers brushing lightly over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs—as if he can’t believe he’s finally allowed to touch. his lips are soft against your neck, placing tiny kisses there while niki lines himself up between your legs.
“just relax, angel…” sunoo whispers, voice shaking. “we’ll take care of you…”
niki’s cock fills you like it was made to—thick, long, so hot it burns, yet all you can do is moan as he stretches your already swollen cunt with every slow, devastating thrust. his hips roll into you with practiced control, but the look on his face betrays the restraint he’s fighting to keep. his jaw is tight, eyes hazy with need, and sweat shines on his collarbones where the low light catches.
you’re dripping around him. soaked. your walls still clench hard with every inch he gives you, and he feels it—fuck, he feels all of it. the mess, the tightness, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still rippling through you like echoes, and it drives him insane. his hands stay on your thighs, spreading you wide so he can watch everything—your hole stretched wide around his cock, fluttering and wet and glistening, your stomach tensing every time he drags across that one perfect spot inside you.
“fuck, baby,” he grunts, voice rough, hips stuttering for just a second before he steadies himself again. “you’re so messy down here… so wet, fuck…”
your head tilts back, throat exposed, your lips parted in a breathless moan as his cock rocks into you again, deeper, and you swear you feel it in your spine. your body shakes, your hands clawing at the cushions, your mind completely gone—floating in the overwhelming warmth of being touched, used, adored.
sunoo’s hands glide over your ribs, and you barely register the way his fingers move until he’s softly tugging one of your nipples between his fingers, his lips still pressed to your cheek. then your jaw. then your mouth. his breath is light and shaky when he kisses you this time—not soft like before, but needy, filled with the kind of urgency that makes your thighs press together even with niki still inside you.
you whimper into sunoo’s mouth as niki thrusts again, the angle hitting something sharp and sweet, your whole body tensing up. sunoo swallows the sound, kissing you harder, his tongue slow and curious as it slides against yours. and when he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are blown wide, his breathing unsteady.
“baby…” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “can i…?”
you know what he wants. the way his cock twitches against your hip says more than words. he’s hard—so hard—painfully so. he’s been holding back for so long, being patient, gentle, soft, but now you see it in the way he bites his lip and avoids your gaze. he needs you.
you blink up at him, dazed and fucked-out, and still, your voice breaks through in a breathy whisper. “come here, baby… let me take care of you.”
sunoo’s mouth falls open slightly, like he hadn’t expected that, and he nods quickly, cheeks flushed deeper. he shuffles around, adjusting his position until he’s kneeling above your chest, his cock resting just above your lips. and fuck, he looks so good like this—his thighs trembling slightly, the tip of his cock red and dripping with precum, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch.
niki groans low in your ear as your mouth opens to take sunoo in. he watches it happen—sees your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip before your lips wrap around him. sunoo’s whole body shudders at the contact, his hands flying to your hair, though he doesn’t pull. he just holds. anchors. watches you with wide, dazed eyes as you slowly suck him down, inch by inch.
his cock is warm, flushed, and he tastes sweet on your tongue—faint salt and need, the kind of flavor you want to drown in. you moan around him, your throat relaxing as you take him deeper, and the sound makes him whimper above you, hips twitching forward slightly. “oh—fuck…” he gasps, voice breathless, eyes fluttering closed. “so good—your mouth feels so good…”
you swirl your tongue around the head, suck a little harder, and the shaky little sound that slips from him nearly makes your core clench again. you feel his thighs shaking beside your head, his fingers tightening in your hair as he tries not to thrust. he’s holding himself back for you, just like they all do—just like he always has.
niki’s pace falters for a moment when you moan again, the vibration traveling down sunoo’s cock, and then he growls, deep and guttural, burying himself deep inside you before pulling out in one smooth drag. “fuck, watching you take him like that…” he mutters, voice strained, “you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”
he starts moving again, harder now, hips snapping against yours, and the sound of wet skin slapping fills the air, your cunt making the filthiest squelching noises as it struggles to take the full length of him over and over. your body bounces beneath sunoo’s weight, your throat stuffed full of his cock while your pussy gets ruined by niki’s thick, pounding thrusts.
sunoo’s breath is coming in broken gasps now, his eyes locked on your mouth. you take him deep, deeper than before, until your nose is pressed to his stomach, your lips stretched wide around him, and your throat tightens just enough to make his knees buckle.
“shit—gonna cum—i’m gonna—y/n, fuck—” he cries out, voice cracking.
you moan again, the vibration enough to push him over the edge.
sunoo cums hard, hips jerking forward as he spills down your throat. you feel the heat of it coat your tongue, thick and hot, his breath stuttering in your ears as he gasps your name over and over. you swallow every drop, your throat working around him, and he nearly sobs from the sensation, one hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something fragile, even as your mouth is still stretched around him.
niki’s thrusts don’t stop.
you’re still moaning around sunoo’s cock, even as he softens between your lips, even as he trembles above you, breathless and flushed and completely wrecked. he pulls back slowly, carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead before collapsing beside you, arms wrapping around your waist from the side like he can’t bear to be far.
niki’s breathing is wild now. his pace has turned frantic, thrusts slamming into you with desperate urgency as your pussy clenches hard, soaked and stretched and dripping with a mess of everything they’ve given you. your legs shake violently, every nerve ending firing all at once as he pounds into you one final time.
“fuck—gonna cum—fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps, voice raw, eyes wild.
he pulls out just in time, thick streams of cum painting your inner thighs, your stomach, the top of your mound. he moans as he jerks himself through the last spurts, chest heaving, hands twitching from the effort of holding back.
and then—it’s over.
your body collapses into the couch, completely limp, chest rising and falling rapidly, your mind a haze of pleasure and nothing else. you’re soaked, wrecked, flushed from head to toe, and so full—inside, out, all over. the air is humid and sticky, the scent of sex clinging to everything, but all you can feel is the warm weight of their bodies settling around you.
niki slumps beside you, chest to chest, his hand immediately sliding into yours. sunoo nuzzles into your other side, his lips still brushing soft, gentle kisses across your shoulder, your jaw, your collarbone.
you don’t move.
you can’t.
and they don’t make you.
they just hold you—quiet, steady, safe.
your body feels like it’s floating.
not in the way that’s light or airy, but in the way that nothing seems fully connected anymore. every inch of your skin is humming with aftershocks, tingling with the ghost of their touch, their lips, their words. you can’t tell where the ache ends and the warmth begins—all you know is that your limbs are heavy, your muscles limp, and your chest rises and falls in uneven, exhausted breaths.
but you’re not alone.
you’re so far from alone.
sunoo is the first to move, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest sweep of his fingers. he’s lying beside you, curled into your side like he’s guarding you from the air itself, and when you manage to blink your eyes open, his soft smile is the first thing you see. his eyes shimmer with warmth—pure and golden and so full of love that it steals the breath right out of your lungs.
“hi, angel…” he whispers, so softly it makes your throat ache. “you still with us?”
you nod weakly, unable to speak, but that’s enough for him. he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip. you shiver from the tenderness of it, your body far too raw and sensitive to handle even the softest affection, and he notices immediately.
“you’re shaking,” he says gently, concern flickering behind his voice.
“too much,” you whisper, barely audible.
niki’s already sitting up, propped on one elbow beside your legs, his hand running down your calf with a touch so soft it’s almost nothing. “hey,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “you did so good for us, baby. so good. you okay?”
you nod again, but the tremble in your chin betrays you, and suddenly jungwon is there too. you don’t even notice when he moves in—he’s just there, on his knees in front of you, already reaching for a warm towel, already soaking another with a bottle of water from the side table. he looks so calm. so focused. his brows are drawn slightly, lips pressed together, but the way his hands move across your skin is steady. certain. safe.
“let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath.
you feel the warm cloth as it presses between your legs, and you flinch instinctively. the tenderness there is still too much—your pussy swollen, soaked, and sore from being stretched and filled and used again and again. jungwon immediately pauses, eyes flicking to yours.
“too much?” he asks quietly.
you breathe out a little sigh. “just… slow, please.”
“always,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your knee. “always slow with you.”
he works carefully, wiping the mess from your inner thighs with gentle, steady strokes. the warmth of the cloth is soothing, the heat easing some of the soreness even as your body continues to twitch beneath his touch. you feel his hands shake just a little as he presses a clean towel against your entrance, holding it there for a few moments to absorb the rest of the cum still leaking out of you. he doesn't say anything while he works—he just keeps going, eyes flicking up to check on you every few seconds, like he’s making sure you're still here.
sunoo continues stroking your hair, humming softly under his breath as you lie still, your body slowly starting to feel like yours again. niki shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. his chest is warm against your back, his breath slow and steady.
“you’re not allowed to move,” he murmurs playfully, though his tone is all affection. “we’re doing everything now.”
“you already did everything,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again.
niki laughs softly against your skin. “and we’re not done.”
jungwon finishes cleaning you, using a new cloth to wipe gently over your stomach, the backs of your thighs, your chest where streaks of cum and sweat still stick to your skin. his touch never lingers too long in one spot. he treats your body like something precious, something holy.
once you’re clean, he pulls a soft blanket over your legs, tucking it around your hips before adjusting the cushions behind your back. sunoo helps you sit up, holding your arms steady, brushing a kiss to your shoulder as he wraps another smaller blanket around your upper body like a shawl.
and then, jay appears from the kitchen.
you didn’t even realize he had left. his shirt is still off, a few droplets of water clinging to his collarbones, but in his hands are two water bottles and a small bowl of fruit. he doesn’t say anything as he kneels beside you—he just opens a bottle and brings the rim to your lips.
you drink slowly, shakily, the cool water tasting like salvation as it glides down your raw throat. jay wipes the corner of your mouth with a thumb, then kisses your forehead without a word. his gaze lingers on your face, the tiniest furrow between his brows as he studies your expression.
“hurting anywhere?” he finally asks.
you shake your head, leaning into sunoo’s arms. “just… sore.”
he smiles, the lines in his face softening. “you’ll rest. we’ve got you.”
jake joins moments later, crouching down to set extra water bottles on the table, then leans in and brushes a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “you were unreal. we’re so proud of you.”
you smile sleepily, warmth blooming in your chest at the weight of their words. your limbs are still heavy, and your mind is still floating, but there’s something grounding about being wrapped in their voices, their praise, their hands.
jungwon finally settles beside you again, towel gone, his body warm as he pulls your legs across his lap. his fingers massage your calves, working slowly through the tension, and you moan quietly from the relief it brings.
sunghoon is last to return—his hair wet now, a clean hoodie draped over his shoulders. he kneels in front of the couch, between your legs, and takes your foot in his hand, pressing a kiss to your ankle before resting his forehead there for a long moment.
no one speaks.
the silence is soft. sacred. every breath is slow. every hand is gentle.
they take turns feeding you fruit—one piece at a time, between kisses and strokes of your hair. mango slices, sweet and sticky. cold grapes. strawberries dipped in sugar. you chew slowly, letting them take care of everything, your body curling further into their arms with every bite.
sunoo wraps his arms around you from behind again, his cheek resting against your shoulder as he whispers praise against your skin.
“you did so well.”
“you were so perfect.”
“we love you so much.”
niki’s hands never stop moving—petting your thighs, massaging your hips, his lips pressing occasional kisses to your temple, your shoulder, your knuckles. jungwon hums as he plays with your toes, brushing his thumb in small circles around your ankle, his gaze still protective and focused.
and eventually… you close your eyes.
not because you’re tired—though you are—but because you feel safe.
warm.
held.
completely adored.
their hands stay on you the whole time. rubbing, holding, kissing. keeping you here. keeping you theirs.
and in that soft, slow silence, you realize something—
Epilogue: Dear Lord When I Get To Heaven Please Let Me Bring My Man (p. sh, l. hs)
banner credit: @simpjaes🩷
pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung
genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, M/F, heavy on the angst in this one, fluff💀
warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mommy issues, daddy issues, anxiety/depression, Phantom of The Opera references, death, time jumps, pregnancy, no smut warnings *gasp*. minors DNI.
wc. 16.8k+
now playing. Young & Beautiful//Lana Del Rey
for @ncdeeh, the biggest fan of this series out there🖤
———————————-
Germany.
It feels like a movie when you arrive and get off of the train. Smoke blows around, different accents sing through the air, and your breath visibly shudders in front of your face.
Heeseung’s cheeks deepen with color, he insists on carrying your bags. He knows you’re still in some state of shock, too stunned by everything that has unraveled in the last 48 hours.
“The hotel my dad booked us isn’t too far from here, I’ll order a cab for us.” He nods, directing you to follow him.
Innate instinct takes over, it’s time for him to be a man. To embody the role his father has the past few years of his life. He needs to serve and protect you now, because would you really be running off if not for him? Is he not partially to be blamed for drastically altering your life?
“We’ll only be here for a couple of weeks, then we can head back to France if you want. My dad said he’d cover everything.” Heeseung is really trying to make this as easy as possible for you. Maybe he’s feeling more guilty than he anticipated, especially after seeing your solemn expression.
“Yesterday was so fucked up.” You barely mutter, throwing yourself onto the hotel bed. “Can’t believe I did that.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.” In fact, he’d prefer not to…
“I feel like such an awful person right now.”
You shouldn’t, given Sunghoon’s track record but this isn’t you. You would never go out of your way to use your body to manipulate and hurt someone this way..
“Don’t worry about it, alright? You don’t need to worry about me forgiving you. It’s like it never happened.” Heeseung grabs a hold of your hand, smiling softly. “Today’s a new day.”
Worry about forgiveness? Forgiveness for what. You contemplate asking, opening your mouth only to receive a gentle kiss. His lips pressed to yours with a tinge of fear. He’s afraid, probably as scared as you are.
“We need to talk Hee,” you shove at his shoulder, sitting back up. “About your mom, Jian, even Miyeon.. I don’t know, I feel so unsettled.”
“Whatever you want to know, I’m an open book for you.”
And you talked, for hours and hours. Ordered room service as you paced around the hotel room and delved deeper into his life. Picking up the small hints and marks of Sunghoon scattered throughout each memory and story. Late into the night you wore each other down to an empty bottle once full of emotions.
Heeseung cried, told you everything. How his mother offered him his first drink. He fought tooth and nail to make her stay home, to stop entering the local bars and waste her life away. She was never the same after the divorce, never explaining to him why or how it happened. She couldn’t after some time, couldn’t speak more than slurred speech, could barely keep her eyes open for longer than a few hours.
“My brother was jealous of that.” He nods, interlocking his fingers. “He has no idea that I was living through my own personal hell. I was living with a fragment of who my mother once was, by the end.. that wasn’t her. She would call me by my dad’s name a lot, yell at me, throw all types of insults at me.”
The more you listened, the more your heart broke. Sunghoon had no one, and Heeseung didn’t either. They could have at least had each other..
“My grandparents were too old, tired. Grandma was showing signs of early dementia and grandpa could hardly walk without hurting himself.” Heavy pain laces his tone, blinking back tears without looking at you. Not wanting to see the pity or hurt on your face for him. “Mom died in my arms, at the hospital. I didn’t want it to be real, sometimes the memory hits me out of nowhere and I feel so empty. I feel as useless as my dad says I am.”
There’s nothing to be said after he spills his soul wide open for you. Everything makes sense, the jealousy between him and Sunghoon. The unspoken truth that neither of them could even begin to see past their blind hatred for each other.
“He’s right, I should have done more.” Heeseung trembles, failing to fight his tears any longer. They roll down to his chin, shaking off with the chatter of his teeth. “I should have helped her somehow.”
“You were a kid.” You try to help, knowing this is above your capabilities. You hold him, clean his tears, scratch through his scalp, and he lets it all out. Every fear, every thought that plagues hik, the root of his pain that started the day his parents tore apart their family.
“I wanted to be above this, try to have a normal life when I moved back home to live with my dad.” He sighs, sinking deeper into your hold. “He hates me. Maybe I remind him too much of her.”
Even the richest of rich shouldn’t always have kids, even if they are more than able to afford to. Mr. Park clearly had a detachment from his sons, most especially Heeseung..
“I told you, he wanted me to ask Miyeon out first. I don’t know why Sunghoon took that bullet for me. I kind of hoped that it was because he doesn’t hate me, but after this..”
“I think if he knew everything, he would have never put you through all of this again Hee. Not that he deserves an excuse, but I want to believe your brother isn’t actually as evil as he wants us to perceive.”
“I hope he’s not.” Heeseung stares off into the void, sniffling. “If only because I still feel bad, that he grew up without us. Especially after living with my dad again, he’s such an emotionless prick.. it’s no wonder my brother always made fun of me when I’d cry. Moving back home without my mom was hard for me. I felt like a stranger in my own house, as if I didn’t belong there.”
Nothing can excuse Sunghoon’s behavior and actions of course, even if you questioned everyday what his experience was living alone with Mr. Park throughout his primitive years. How did all of that time without a motherly figure alter his life? The way he thinks? That stone cold heart of his you’d come to know.
How could the two of them be so different and yet the same. Heeseung who handled his feelings by expressing his emotion and pain, never scared to shed a tear. Who would lay his head on your lap and kindly ask you to hold him, to stroke his hair the way his mother used to. Who walks around with the open wound in his heart proudly displayed.
Sunghoon, for the little amount of time you had him in your life, he couldn’t do the same. Couldn’t bring himself to open up, to tell you how he really feels. He held back, masked his feelings with anger and harshness; a shield, really. He needed someone to be there for him, to help him understand himself..
And as you lived your life and settle into your loft in Paris, you slowly let those thoughts get to you. Each day he crossed your mind, and you shoved those thoughts down deeper, kicking dirt over the growing pile to keep them buried alive. You could not feel guilty nor sorry for him, or you’d break.
Many nights came and went by staring at his name in your list of contacts, blocked by his brother the day you got on a train to get away from him. You knew that reaching out to him would only lead to your demise, because maybe when Heeseung kisses you, you shut your eyes and can taste Sunghoon’s lips.
Maybe you have to bite down on your tongue to not moan his name. Maybe when you’re extra tired, you swear that your boyfriend resembles him too much, that you can almost picture him being the one walking through the front door of your loft.
Maybe you can’t stop yourself from imagining the other side of the coin, how everything could have gone if you had given Sunghoon a chance.
And despite how perfect your relationship has been, you can’t ward away those curiosities. Can’t fight your mind when you shut your eyes and begin to count the different beauty marks dotted around Sunghoon’s face.
You try to ignore those thoughts, to replace them with only new memories of Heeseung, but maybe you give up one day.
Maybe you allow the fantasy of what could have been to infiltrate your head, and maybe you enjoy it more than you are willing to admit.
———————————-
~one year later~
Three hundred and sixty-five days to be exact. But who’s keeping count?
Sunghoon is. He bought a physical calendar at the airport before flying back home with your mother and father.
That flight had really been excruciating for him. The one upside is that the seats next to him were originally reserved for you and his brother. He could at least wallow in his misery alone.
And he did, for a few hours at first. The long flight home spanned for over half of a day and time ticked by more slowly than usual. He tried to read, paid for the wifi to use and distracted himself with some games, browsed through the movies the airline had to offer. Nothing could stop his mind from racing, stuck in the idea of you.
Because that’s all this was right? The idea of you.
That idea that you could fix him, because maybe that’s what he wants. He wants to be fixed. Sunghoon knows all of his social problems, his dad didn’t pay for an overpriced therapist for nothing. After the divorce, he hadn’t handled the situation so great.
Mr. Park had never wanted to be a father, he was very successful straight out of university after earning his degree rather fast thanks to his own father’s name. Generational wealth had done its due diligence to breeze him through the educational system. The last thing he wanted was to share the money consistently expanding in his bank account with children and a wife. Not when he was having a blast playboying around from country to country on private jets, schmoozed and bribed with free luxury alcohol, grand dining experiences only ever allowed for the wealthy and famous.
His father, Sunghoon’s grandfather, had other plans in mind for him. That's where his mother came in. She was an intern at his grandfather’s company, a girl with a squeaky clean reputation. He set them up on a date, insisting that his son lock in a wife before he cut him out of his will. Growing tired and furious with each new headline of his son out and about partying with celebrities.
It was time for him to get serious. That's business, investors would take him more seriously as a family man as opposed to some messy international playboy.
So, he got married.
Was he in love? No, absolutely not. But then along came the birth of first son Heeseung and he had no choice but to accept his title as a wed father. This was his new life.
A miserable life of work, countless business trips, screaming baby cries keeping him up all throughout the night, and a nagging wife constantly accusing him of cheating.
Things were bleak compared to his world only a year prior, and then Sunghoon came along and everything only seemed to grow worse with time.
The boys—his boys, had no way of knowing and understanding their parents' unhappy marriage. They were given every toy, playset, console, and every shiny new expensive device on the market without question.
Sunghoon had always been closer to his mother given his father’s packed schedule. He loved her, always lit up and giggled when she’d pick him up from school and ask about his day. He can still remember the scent of her perfume, soft and sweet like a batch of fresh cookies. Her loving hands would pinch his cheeks, hoist him up onto her hip until he became too large to do so.
They’d chat for hours into the evening after school, all about his day, what activities he did in class. Any new friends he made, helping him to complete his homework. Heeseung would usually whine for dinner first, rubbing his stomach with big eyes directed at their mother. She really really never failed to show them how much she loved them both.
That’s what hurt and confused him the most for years after the last time he saw her. His father dragged him away from her at the airport, and he kicked, he screamed, he cried and threw a tantrum.
‘That is enough Sunghoon.’ His dad said to him firmly, gripping his shoulders and standing him back onto his feet. ‘No son of mine will embarrass this way.’
He was a kid, not even a teenager yet. Dealing with an explosion of raging hormones while losing his mom and brother. None of it seemed fair, and he cried, he cried for months, for over a year. Screamed at by his father in return, the only parent he had left to care for him. He would throw money at Sunghoon, tell him to wipe his face and go buy himself something to cheer up. That was always his answer to dealing with his overly emotional distressed son.
He tried to keep in touch with Heeseung, but his dad forbade it. Didn’t want him to be influenced by his siblings' new life or manipulated by whatever false narratives his mother would be likely to create.
After a good year of dropping his grades, teachers contacting his father full of concern, and a son that barely opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Park slid a pamphlet across the dinner table.
‘Therapy, son.’ He cleared his throat, setting down his fork to sip his glass of wine. ‘It’s high time you grow up and become a man. No son of mine will enter high school with below average grades. I have expectations of you.’
Therapy. That was his father’s next plan to fix his broken heart. To grant him emotional relief of all his pain.
It helped, at first, to understand why he feels what he feels. Why he acts out the way he does, why he hurts so deeply, why he can’t fathom having hope.
It worked until it didn’t.
Maybe Sunghoon had reached a certain point of maturity that snapped his mind out of his misery. Maybe he never let it go, maybe it became a part of him. One with his misery, embracing it and not allowing it to ruin his life anymore.
‘I don’t think I need this anymore.’ He told his therapist after two years with a thin smile on his face.
He tried to talk him out of canceling his future sessions, tried to explain that this was more beneficial for him than he realized but Sunghoon had opted for another form of therapy.
Years of being spoiled instead of nurtured and loved by his parents led him to sports. He took up weight training. Started to see his arms build muscle, the lines in his stomach grow deeper, his stamina strengthened.
His depressed thoughts lessened by the dayc more focused on how built and lean he could get. Visiting a trainer and nutritionist to change up his diet to nothing but protein to make him stronger, bigger, more intimidating.
His dad couldn’t call him weak anymore. In fact, Sunghoon hasn’t cried a day ever since he cut off his therapist. That damn croc of shit tried to get him on a prozac prescription, often spoke of stronger antidepressants.
He didn’t need any of that bullshit.
No.
Sunghoon knows exactly what he needs.
Three hundred and sixty-five days and he hasn’t missed one gym session. It’s the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. Craves the burn in his muscle, the pain and soreness he experiences after. He needs to lick off the sweat that lines his upper lip, shake off any before it can reach his eyes and clump his dark eyelashes together.
He’s been working out like a maniac ever since that fucking family vacation. Spending countless hours in the basement gym his father and your mom never step foot inside of. They’re hardly ever home anyway, too busy frolicking around traveling the world in luxury.
He can’t complain, except for days such as today when he enters the kitchen to make himself a protein shake and his step-mother beams the largest smile at him.
“Sunghoon! Come say hi!”
“Oh mom, no please, I really have to go. I’ll be late for class!” The line cuts immediately after before he can even answer your mother.
It’s always the same, you always have to go. You’re busy, your connections bad, you have plans with Heeseung.
“Aw shoot.” Your mom sighs, closing her ipad. “Next time.” She gives him a wary smile on her way out of the kitchen.
There is no next time, you’ve successfully avoided him for a fucking year now. His brother never contacts him, the texts he tried to send you bounce back, his phone calls never go through. He tried at first to contact you somehow, emails, embarrassing phone calls attempted in the middle of the night when he knew you’d be awake given the time difference. Even fucking carrier pigeon would be a useless option.
You obviously want nothing to do with him. Both of your parents are too oblivious to understand the amount of effort his own fucking brother has made to avoid speaking with him. How neither if you ever ask about him, how he’s been, if he’s healthy.
Sometimes it hurts when he allows his mind to drift deep enough into those thoughts. That’s when he really takes it out on the gym punching bag. Lunging his shoulder so hard into it one day that he had to wear a sling for the rest of the week.
It’s times like this he wishes he could be anywhere but here. That he could get away and go back to a safe place that felt more like home than whatever this bullshit is. Days like this stir up old memories of his mother, how she would cradle him and read him bedtime stories. How she carefully held his hand while grocery shopping even though she had to bend at her waist to do so and strain her back.
How he never got to say goodbye to her. Has never even visited her grave. He never got answers, how could she so easily abandon one of her kids. Maybe she never loved him..
And now he asks himself different questions, about another woman he thought, perhaps even hoped, could love him. Was he a fool to believe that you might actually have feelings for him? Fuck if you didn’t play with his emotions and mess with his head enough.
He let you, he let you dog walk him like a fucking idiot. It hurts of course, especially when he’s laid in bed and can’t sleep a wink even after tiring himself out with some midnight cardio. He stares at the ceiling, ponders the time he spent with you. How much you changed and unraveled right before his eyes.
It’s not that he wants to have feelings for you. The truth is, he gave his father an ultimatum for the first time in his life. He’d finish school, collect his degree, and run whatever fucking sector his dad needed his face plastered across as the CEO. Young Sunghoon Park, the next generation of power.
But he did not want to continue his fraudulent relationship with Miyeon any longer, he refused to fall down that same path his dad had. To grow old with someone who only stayed with him by force.
Needless to say his father was disappointed, of course. The old man reprimanded him and argued about what a waste of time it’s been to build a relationship with Miyeon’s father to merge their companies. The real end goal was really to take down his competitors and buy them out, not merge shit. Sunghoon held his guard, he relented and stuck to his word.
He’d be his father’s working bitch, work harder than any asshole that graduated from Harvard and Yale, but the decision of his future wife would be his own. The one thing his dad could no longer have control over- the mother of his children, his partner, the woman he’d walk down the aisle towards.
He hadn’t thought too deeply on the matter until you came into his life and turned his world upside down.
He never felt an emotional tie to Miyeon even when they began dating. They tried at first, too young to comprehend why they were being made to meet up at Dave N Busters with limitless funds to play games all night and order as many fries as they could manage to eat. She had let him know real quick that he simply wasn’t her type.
‘Pretty boys like you do nothing for me.’
And if he was being honest, she didn’t quite spark his desires despite her good looks and charm. They got along better as friends and made a pact to continue on with their relationship to keep their parents equally satisfied.
‘My father keeps dragging me to these business ventures to meet his colleagues' sons. I need my weekends back.’
Their agreement worked out great for both of them. Sunghoon would use those alleged dates with Miyeon to hit up parties and clubs. He started to gain a reputation around campus for having a great body and an insatiable need to fuck like a beast. With his dad remaining none the wiser to his weekend escapades, he felt as if life couldn’t get any better.
And then you came along. You showed up and gummed up the works.
It’s hard to say if Heeseung really saw you first, not that he can stake claim off a look.. but Sunghoon knows that he wanted you first. It’s possible he had only planned to add you to the enormous growing list of girls he had conquered in just the past year. Maybe he just wanted to fuck you to say that he did. To soothe his raging ego with the knowledge that he can and will always get what he wants.
It was too easy really, you needed a tutor. And if Sunghoon knew how to do anything, it’s to pass a class with the highest scores and grades. He wasn’t valedictorian for nothing. Years of his father talking down to him about failing Physical Education of all classes after the split with his mother never allowed him to hit that low again. He studied and worked his ass off day and night to earn better grades, to be the teacher's favorite, to get a spot on the dean’s list.
Sunghoon hadn’t planned to keep fucking you. A few times maybe, for fun, to piss his dad off even if he never found out. But when he heard you inside of Heeseung’s bedroom..
When he saw the way the two of you looked at each other. When his older brother swept you away and off your feet cosplaying as some fucking humble prince to help you escape from an awkward first meeting with Miyeon; that—that pissed Sunghoon off.
Not Heeseung who also forgot about him for years, who got to live with the one parent they had that could give a fuck about either of them. That likely came home after school to home cooked meals. He’s sure their mother still brushed his hair even as a teenager. Still woke up the house on Sunday mornings loudly singing along to her favorite songs as a teenager. That motherfucker really had the audacity to portray himself as a saint in front of you.
And that truly made his blood boil. For a moment, no more than a few seconds.. he felt a tinge of jealousy.
Not only did Heeseung get to have their mother’s love in the end, but he was also going to have you.
Call him a monster for reacting the way that he did, but seeing his brother happy for the first time since he’d moved back in with their father; that made his blood pressure spike.
Why should Heeseung have it so fucking easy?! Why does everything work out for him?? Sunghoon’s sick of it, he’s been sick of that waste of space moping around the house. Taking up time in the living room playing his stupid fucking video games, never even bothering to ask him if he’d want to join him.
Not that he would, never wanting to hold a conversation with that moron he’s forced to call his sibling. His feelings may have been superficial, greedy and childish.. at first, but maybe that’s why he never fucked a random hook-up more than a handful of times. He never permitted himself to grow attached, to release those emotions that could weaken him. He tried so hard to protect the vulnerable shattered boy that grew without love, that he nearly forgot he even once existed.
That’s why this has hurt more than anything he’s felt in years. Because he hasn’t been able to feel. He hasn’t poured anything from his cup in so long that just one splash spilling out was enough to leave him empty.
He finds himself alone in the gym again. Glancing around at everything he’s left in place. The way his equipment shines thanks to the maids that clean up around here. How his mini-fridge stays stocked with energy drinks and electrolytes without him being required to lift a finger.
Easy. Such an easy life. Why would he ever want to leave this? Why would anyone.
Would you have ran off to Germany if not for him? Would you have stayed with Heeseung all of this time if he had just let you be? Thousands of questions with no answer swarm his thoughts when he zones out deep enough. A good vigorous workout can typically cure that, grunting through the burning pain that shoots up his back and arms.
Sweat pours and he twists side to side to spray the droplets away from his eyes. Too fearful of ever catching himself in the mirror again with any type of wetness rimmed so close to his iris. The one time he did had him dropping to his knees, scrubbing a small towel at his face until his skin turned an angry red and not one bit of sweat remained.
Crying is for weak little bitches like his older brother. Always crying to get his way instead of putting up a fight.
Hearing your voice today for only a few seconds, the line beeping when you ended the call.. the thought wrinkles his eyebrows, burns inside of his nostrils. Twitching his nose to make that feeling go away, that hallowing in his chest. Not even a year apart had softened you? These days of nothing, you weren’t at all curious?
Pain. Pain squeezed at his lungs. Subsiding it as over exerting himself by lifting weights that are too heavy. He drops them abruptly and goes to chug water. Dragging a towel across his forehead, leaving his hair sticking up in different directions.
Heartless, a heartless girl with no compassion. Unless his brother had really manipulated you to act this way.. he had his suspicions. That Heeseung had fucked you up as much as himself.. took advantage of the sweet soul he’d come to know. Refusing to believe that what you shared had meant nothing..
It certainly hadn’t meant nothing to Sunghoon. He tried to fuck other girls, even went on dates and forced a smile on his face through each boring one. He couldn’t forget you, everything around him led back to the memory of you.
Perhaps even who he wanted you to be for him.. and time and time again he failed to convince himself that this was your choice. That you chose his brother..
There was just no way.
Sunghoon came to workout to get away from his mind. To shut you off for an hour or so. He can’t deal with this right now. Why did you mom have to be on a video call with you right now?!
Stomping over to the ipad, he scrolls through different playlists in search of something to blast the echo of your voice away. Something obnoxiously loud to drown out his mind.
He should have hit shuffle and gone back to his reps. The universe couldn’t taunt him any harder as your name shows up in bold letters on the screen, recommending him a playlist you must have saved on here when you’d use his gym.
He would have deleted it by now if he had noticed, and he should. He should tap the screen to remove your shitty playlist for good. But he doesn’t, he hits play instead and the room floods with your screamy tortured emo crap. This woe is me wah wah wah music that you and his brother bonded over. Teenage angst at it’s finest as some grown man wails through his sound system and his hands fall limp to his sides. It’s the same shit he’d hear coming from your now unlived in bedroom. The muffled guitar from your headphones.
Why didn’t he just hit delete? Now he can’t stop his nostrils from flaring, his teeth gritting together, the tremble running down his forearms to his hands.
It’s been so long since Sunghoon last shed a tear. It happened last on that flight while he sat alone, about six hours up in the air. He put on some cheesy romcom movie to watch, fully expecting to fall asleep 10-15 minutes in. He should have chosen something else, of course he landed on some ridiculous movie with a love triangle plot.
‘I like you just the way you are.’
Sunghoon had to hit pause, fighting the tears filling up his eyes as he struggled to not blink. If he blinks, the one singular tear dangling near the corner will spill down his cheek. He’ll have shed an actual fucking tear.
Stupid fucking Bridget Jones Diary, he’ll never watch this crap again! Instead he shut off the movie and dabbed away the tear that managed to get past his cold will. No one saw that happen anyway, only he has to know that some sappy romance film brought him to tears.
That won’t happen again. Except that when he landed and finally got home, took a shower and laid in bed; he couldn’t stop thinking about that dumb movie. Who did Bridget fucking pick?!? She couldn’t have chosen that asshole Daniel Cleaver..
Not after Mark Darcy told her he liked her embarrassing ass just the way she is. He threw a fit that night learning that there was 3 Goddamn movies he’d have to get through to find out who this woman ends up with. Not a wink of sleep was had that night as he sat at his computer and found streams of each one go watch in order from start to end.
Sunghoon.. Sunghoon couldn’t stop repeating that line.
‘I like you just the way you are.’ What a load of shit..
Maybe his heart tightened and his pulse slowed down for a minute, everything on the plane went still, his ears popped, and he felt something he didn’t believe to be possible..
Love.
This has to be why girls watch this crap..
What he would give up to be liked just the way he is. That’s how you made him feel, accepted. You saw his darkness and still let him in. That cut him deeper than anything. Losing you to his brother hardly mattered compared to the thought that you accepted him, you liked him for exactly who he is without needing change..
“Stupid stupid stupid.” He slaps at his skull, crouching down by the speaker to tuck his chest into his knees and take shallow breaths. He chose to ignore these panic attacks and nights without sleep, lying to himself that he’s fine. He’s completely fine. That these unanswered questions and intrusive thoughts don’t consume him. That he doesn’t scream in the shower and punch at the tile out of anger, frustration and deep pain that he continues to shove down.
Taking a few minutes to shut off his kind and recuperate himself, he drags his weight up by gripping onto the speaker stand. Slamming his palm down to power off the machine before anymore of your playlist can shake the gym walls and stab the knife lodged in his chest even deeper.
He limps slowly to sit properly, patting around his sweats for his phone. Taking another minute to catch his breath he unlocks the device and searches through his contacts to make a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Yeah.” He licks at his dried lips, rubbing his chest to help his breathing return to normal.
“Sunghoon? What’s going on?”
“Miyeon, I need to see you.”
———————————-
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Sunghoon opens the front door wide for Miyeon, ushering her in toward the living room. His parents aren’t home meaning he won’t have to deal with his father’s pestering questions or wishes of them getting back together. That’s not why she’s here.
Miyeon’s as pretty as ever, her hair shines and bounces as she walks. The scent of sweet cotton candy trails behind her, and her mini-skirt flicks up with each step she takes ahead of him. She’s beautiful, she always has been, and still he feels nothing for her.
“Alright, what was so urgent that you needed me to weasel my way out of the annual tennis finals at the country club? My dad’s not happy.” She huffs, smirking and rolling her eyes. “Not that I’ve loved spending my summer paraded around a bunch of rich spoiled frat boys.”
“How’s your boyfriend?” Sunghoon asks, sitting down next to her.
“Sad, he misses me.” She pouts. “I miss him more.”
“And when will you tell your father about him?”
Miyeon’s lips tighten, hiding a grin. “When will you tell your father that you left me for your step-sister?”
Of course Sunghoon told her, he had to. He had to tell someone and in many ways, Miyeon may be his only friend. It wasn’t easy but he needed someone to understand, to reassure him that he’s not going insane.
‘You can’t possibly be losing your mind Hoon, you never had it to begin with.’
She wasn’t the best of help, but she listened, and she told him that he’s a freak. But a valid freak nonetheless.
“I can’t tell him.” Sunghoon nods, nervously playing with his hands. “Haven’t been on his good side ever since I told him that we broke things off. He’s been on my ass about internships and school. Nepotism must skip a generation.”
“You’re going to inherit his company, don’t be so crass. It’s unbecoming, tarnishing your cold stoic vampiresque image.” She teases, flicking his chin. “You’re definitely a shell of the man I knew. She did a real number on you.”
He hates that she’s right. He knows that his confidence has been rocked, his mind drowned beneath the thoughts he can’t escape. He wouldn’t even know how to keep his guard up anymore to block Miyeon’s sassy jabs. “I guess she did.”
“What is it, Hoon? You could have anyone. Why did it have to be your step-sister?” She crosses her legs, head tilted to the side observing him. All she needs now is a notepad and pen to tap her chin with. She should study to psychoanalyze, really.
“She could have been anyone.” Sunghoon agrees with that. Step-sister or not, he can’t pinpoint the exact reason you caused him to spiral. “But I like her.”
“Why? What’s so special about her?”
It’s not one thing, but a bit of everything. If he could really take away the superficial and shallow reasonings beyond you being his type physically, sexy and alluring, it would come down to the energy between you. The tension and heat. He often questions if that would fade with time once you stop fighting him. If you would ever stop fighting him even if he was able to call you his.
The back and forth with you really does turn him on not only sexually but emotionally. Awakening feelings he forgot could exist. Even now without contact, with no way to reach you, he feels that pull. He feels taunted and defeated, and it’s pitiful how much he loves it. He loves that between him and his brother, you may have been the victorious one after all.
“Would you judge me if I said I feel a connection to her?” He sighs, slumping into the couch seat. “That sounds stupid, right?”
“Not at all.” Miyeon shifts to look at him, offering a small smile. “Sounds normal. You’re crazy about her because it’s more than sex, if it wasn’t you wouldn’t still be hung up on her. A guy like you doesn’t have it hard, you wouldn’t even know what it is to struggle even if you were slapped across the face with it.”
“I have it hard.” He grumbles, glaring at her. “You know what I’ve been through.”
“No you don’t Hoon.” Miyeon laughs, pointing a finger at him. “You think that because your life hasn’t been perfect, everything hasn’t gone your way, that other people wouldn’t sell their soul to live the way you live? We’re so incredibly out of touch with the real human struggle, our biggest hassle is seeking love.”
“So what? I’m not worthy of love because I’m some fucking wealthy brat?” He snaps, getting angrier by the second.
“We’re all worthy of love. You’re just not used to having to try hard, to earn what you want..” Miyeon reaches for his hand, breaking his rage for a moment. “If you expect love, you have to give love. She’s not your mom, she’s probably just as scared as you are of all of this.”
“She loves my brother just fine.”
“From what you’ve told me, he loves her too. I didn’t know back then, but the way he rescued her from having dinner with us would have swept me off my feet.” She shrugs, frowning at him. “And do you know where he is now? In Paris, with her. He gave up his life for her.”
“Because he hates me.”
“Or because he loves her.”
Sunghoon’s mouth twitches, he refuses to believe that. Heeseung isn’t capable of loving anyone other than himself, he’s selfish..
“And you? You’re here, sitting on a couch talking to me as if I am your therapist.” Miyeon continues, cocking an eyebrow at him. “What’s your excuse?”
“What? I’m supposed to go to Paris and stalk her?!”
She shrugs, raising her hands and nodding. “How could that be any worse than everything else you have already done to her? Listen,” fully turning to face him, she grabs both of his hands. “You need to talk to her, tell her how you feel.”
“She won’t speak to me.”
“Don’t give her a choice.” Miyeon says, grimacing. “It’s not the best advice but you don’t have time for this anymore. You’ve been moping around for a year still hanging onto old memories of this girl. She may not even be the same person you felt a connection to anymore. Aren’t you tired of not knowing?”
“You think I should go to Paris? Corner her when she’s not with my brother?” A light flickers behind his eyes, staring ahead deep in thought.
“I didn’t say all of that but, you need to do what you need to do.. get your girl or lose her forever.”
She’s right, isn’t she? How could Sunghoon not realize this on his own? He thought giving you time, that you would come around on your own and realize how much he loves you. That he only did what he did because he wants you. That his brother would never compare to him..
“Poor girl.” Miyeon mumbles, smacking Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t let your greed to win overshadow what you feel for her. Put her first, for once.”
Maybe he needs more friends, perhaps another opinion could have talked him out of this. His father couldn’t complain when he approached him with the idea of finishing up his company internship(aka bitch work) in France, given that he would be taking over the European sector of his father’s company.
So he packed his bags with nothing else planned. No place to call home, no thoughts other than finding you. The flight was long and lonely once again, but he made use of his time and brushed up on French, repeating key words and phrases he’d likely use often.
It was crazy, all of this has been crazy. Miyeon told him to not stress much on his outlandish behavior, it’s not as if falling for your step-sibling sounded normal to begin with.
And maybe, he could fall out of love. He could go on with his life without another thought of you, without another painful grip around his heart.
At least he hoped for an outcome close to that, of discarding his heartache. Of forgetting your name. But that couldn’t be the case.
No. He sat in the hotel lobby where he’d overheard you had taken on a summer job, and he saw you. He stayed by the corner, in the shadows, pretending to wait for his taxi driver's arrival. He watched you walk through the front doors, and he gasped. His chest caved in, his grip on the chair's arms tightened, and he leaned forward. He watched you move like slow motion, as if you were never real, and his stomach fluttered.
He knew right then this may never be over.
Maybe it’s for the best that only Miyeon knew of his plan. To lure you up to his suite and get you alone at your place of work. You can’t leave if he does that.. and sure, maybe it’s not the most ethical approach. Maybe it’s invasive and even deplorable, but what choice have you left him?
Phone number, blocked.
Emails, ignored.
Your living space? Shared with Heeseung.
How else is he supposed to get to you?
This makes sense, planning out a way to trap you alone in his suite with him. Sneaking up on you, showering you with outrageously expensive gifts, and getting on his knees to purpose.
Now Miyeon had not made that suggestion, but Sunghoon concluded no other statement could make it clear how serious he is about you. How much he wants to prove his love to you, that’s why he hopped off of his flight and immediately rushed to one of the most luxurious reputable jewelers in all of Paris. A fat diamond rock to adorn your finger would be the perfect way to express his love, right? It’s not as if he even knows your ring size, having to take a wild guess and make note to adjust it later if necessary.
Everything about this plan is very *him* if he thinks about it, and you should expect no less from him. He’s eccentric like that, always pulling something ridiculous. He’s sure you recall when he purchased that pearl necklace for you simply because you’d been admiring it. How else would he make a grand comeback into your life?
Maybe he is crazy, or maybe you made him crazy. He smiled as he spoke to you, his palms grew sweatier the more his pocket weighed down with the leather box encasing your future engagement ring. The gloves were a real nice touch to not leave any of his grubby fingerprint marks on the silver band, nothing to ruin how pretty the ring would beam from your ring finger. You didn’t seem to like the gloves, but ah well..
‘I won’t give up on what my heart believes is real.’
He couldn’t believe the words leaving his lips, really. Could hardly hold himself together with how loud chest was pounding.
‘Please, say yes.’ He begged, and his tongue felt so heavy dragging through his pleading. The backs of his eyes burned, his stomach churned, his knees trembled on the ground. If not for the cool breeze of air conditioning swarming through the hotel room, he’s sure he’d be sweating enough to soak through his suit.
It’s been so long since he’s touched you, since he’s seen your eyes focused on him, since he’s held you. Nervous hands clutch at your waist and bring you to stand. The look of awe and disbelief written across your face fills his chest with warmth. This could be worth all of his waiting and suffering, if you open your mouth and say that one word that can bring you together again.
“No!” A firm slap flies across his cheek. Snapping his neck to the side and nearly dislodging his jaw, he blinks for a minute to regain himself. Shifting his mouth muscles around to stop the lower half of his face from going numb.
More than the pain scorching through his face, he couldn’t turn off the ringing going off between his ears.
NO?!?!?!??!
Sunghoon’s cheek burns, his chest muscles twitch, and a searing pain erupts in his heart. He can feel it this time, no denying that his heart is literally in severe pain, causing him to reach for the area. He turns to glare at you, dropping the box with the ring from his grip.
“What is wrong with you! You come here, to my job!!” You shout, shoving at his abdomen. “And you fucking ask me to marry you?!? Are you insane! Are you God damn kidding me! You can’t be this crazy, you just can’t be!”
He hears you, he does, but not really. Because the pain in his chest blooms, he steps back with each shove you deliver, and more of his internal hurt spreads. The butterflies flapping inside of his stomach lose their wings, they collapse to their death and he grabs a hold of your wrists before you can push him away again.
“You left me.”
It’s hard to look at him, harder to hear his voice. To feel his large hands wrapped around your delicate wrists. It’s harder to look away and find the ring by your feed, the ring he seriously thought you’d accept and wear on your finger? That you’d say yes?
“I was never with you.”
“Tell me,” he swallows, lifting your arms up and crossing them over your chest. Holding you in place. “Tell me that I mean nothing to you then. Let me fucking move on and forget about me, let me go.”
“Sunghoon.”
“No.” He grits, bottom lip trembling. “You don’t get to do this. You want to be with my brother? Then fine, go fucking be with him. But at least let me go.”
“This was all in your head.” You struggle to rip out of his hold, shaking yourself away. “Y-you think you can have whatever you want because of daddy’s money. You can’t have me just because you stomp and jump around like a bra—“
He should have known you wouldn’t give him a clear answer, you’re too weak for him to deny him. He’s too weak to stay away from you. So he cuts you off with a firm kiss, slotting his lips between yours. He’s been craving, dreaming of this kiss for months, to savor your taste once more.
There’s no push or pull, only tension leaving your body as his soft pout moves against yours and he takes a step closer until the backs of your knees hit the hotel bed.
He deserves this kiss and some, more than anything. For waiting, for staying patient and not losing the little bit of his mind he still has left. A shudder runs up his spine when he drops his hands to your waist and squeezes you, pulling your chest to his. You feel right against him, smell so good, and your lips couldn’t be more heavenly.
Slowly blinking his eyes open, he takes a few seconds to linger by your lips and take in your softened features. The dreamy look that’s taken over your face. The breaths that fan across his mouth heavier than before. He knows in this moment that you’ll never let him go, because he won’t let you.
“Y-you shouldn’t have done that.” You stammer, reaching for his hands on you. “Think you can just come back into my life and mess everything up again?!”
“Yes, I mean, no.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head in disagreement. “I’m not here to mess up anything, I’m here to make this right.”
“There’s nothing to make right.” Loosening his hold on your waist, you manage to move around him. “I have to get back to work, please do not follow me.”
“Please.” He knows he sounds pathetic, reaching for your hand to stop you from leaving. He drags along with you toward the suite entrance without letting go. Stopping when you do and your shoulders slump, letting out a long-winded sigh.
“What do you want from me?”
“A chance.” He says confidently, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it when we’re together. Call me insane and crazy all that you want, but I know what passes between us isn’t nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter—“
“No, it does though.” Sunghoon cuts you off, using your moment of surprise to loop his arms around your waist again. “Because I’m here, I came here for you. I will not leave until you give me a chance.”
“A chance? I don’t understand, I can’t even begin to understand why you’re still trying. Why won’t you give up?!”
He knows that nothing he says to you will make sense, that even if he admitted how his feelings began to develop you may not like his full explanation. “I’m a lot of things, I’m sure you’re aware. I’m nowhere near perfect, and I haven’t shown you anything impressive really. If you deemed me a monster, I couldn’t argue with that.” He nods, rubbing up and down your sides. “But when it comes to you, I really do believe that you like me despite all of that. I—“ he stutters for a second, looking away to recompose himself. The same rush of heat he loathes finds the backs of his eyes. He can’t cry, not now.
“I think we get each other, you’re scared.” Clearing his throat, he eyes your face for any change in expression. “I’m scared. I’ve been scared. Terrified of how strongly I feel about you. I’m done being afraid.”
“And what do you think I’m scared of?” You ask sternly, tilting your chin up.
“Me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m a monster.” That’s who he is to you. He’s the evil brother, the one with malicious intent. Spoiled rotten, crazy enough to do just about anything. He knows what you’ve built him up as in your mind, good or bad, there’s too much to repair and no amount of love you may harbor for him can do the job. If it could, you would have said yes. “That’s what you think of me, right?”
“No, Sunghoon.” You whisper, freeing yourself from his hold yet again. “I prefer to not think of you.”
“Why? Why is that?” He questions quickly, moving around you to barricade the door to exit. “Why are you pretending that I don’t exist? That none of this mattered to you.”
An air of defeat settles over you, dropping your head back with a sigh. You shrug and glare at him, unable to stop your gaze from roaming down, back up, and down again to take in how much more masculine and mature he’s become in just a year. Physically, and obviously emotionally. “Do you want me to tell you that I once had feelings for you? That I felt so guilty for months after leaving you alone in that hotel room. That I beat myself up over it, for feeling bad in the first place. I couldn’t even figure out how to feel, if you even deserved my sympathy after what you did.”
“Did you feel bad? For trying to break my heart?”
“No.” Pressing your lips into a thin line, you blink fast to push down the moisture finding its way to your eyes. Confused and annoyed by the look of disbelief that crosses his face, you clench your fists. “My heart let go of the idea of you after I found out about what you did to your brother. You played in my face and tried to manipulate me, I’m not even sure I know who you really are.”
Sunghoon has to fight to not roll his eyes, resting his back against the door he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m exactly who I’ve shown you, never seemed to be a problem before.”
“Are you? Are you the same nice guy that took me to the Vatican? Or are you that asshole that threatened me in your bedroom?”
“Both.” He shrugs, pushing off the door to get in your face. “Tell me that you didn’t love both, that you didn’t like it when I fucked you the way you deserved.”
“I don’t think you’d be able to handle the truth if I told you what I loved most.”
Sunghoon squints, licking the backs of his teeth with a hint of annoyance flickering across his face. He shakes his head and scoffs under his breath. “Don’t start.”
“Why? Because you hate to accept that side of yourself? That you can actually feel basic human emotion?” You ask brazenly, reaching for his jaw to drag one of your digits down. “That this sharp cold image is just a facade to hide how broken you really are?”
His neck twists away, snapping his face away from your touch. “Whatever bullshit my brother has told you is a lie. He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know shit about what I went through.”
“He hasn’t told me much, only what I asked. I know about Miyeon.”
“Pfft,” rolling his eyes, he sets his jaw tight and pins you in place with a furious look. “What about her? I already told you, we broke it off. We never had a real relationship.”
“I know.” Softening your expression, you reach for one of his hands. Not too surprised when he allows you to lace your fingers between his. “I know about that, how your father wanted Heeseung to date her first. And I know that despite everything you’ve pulled, you still have love for your brother.”
Sunghoon lifts your hands, turning from yours to his to admire the size difference between you. How you perfectly fit against his palm, and how much nicer hand would look with a gorgeous ring on your finger. “Even if I did, it’s not enough to stop me from getting what I want. No amount of love for him or my father can stop me anymore, you do realize that, don’t you?”
“I think you’re looking for someone that I am not.” You frown, pulling your hand away. “I’m not the girl that can erase your past or heal you..”
“I don’t need to be healed.” Cupping your face, his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Eyes dropping shut for a moment as he contemplates kissing you again. He knows better now, than you won’t listen to him if he tries to capture your lips again. “I just need you.”
“No, Hoon..” you sigh, lightly squeezing his wrists. “You’re in pain, whether you understand that or not. And it’s beyond me, above what I am capable of helping you deal with.”
Sunghoon’s fingers tremble against your jaw, slowly dragging his hands down to your throat. “Is my pain all that I am to you?”
“No, but.. I don’t know if your pain is something that I’m ready to handle.”
Dropping his hands, he takes a step back away from you. No longer standing before the door, leaving you with a clear escape. “Yet.”
Perhaps he’s right, maybe it’s hope, delusion, something along that route. But you can’t find it in yourself to deny him. Only stiffly nodding your head as you make your way to leave the suite. He stops you one more time, licking his pink lips.
“Don’t leave me this way, after all of this. After a year of replaying every memory I have with you.” He says desperately, blinking away tears he’d never allow to pour down in front of you.
“What do you want from me?” You ask nearly as pitifully, fearing how much longer you can stand being around him. Your resolve can only stay so strong, even if you won’t admit that the memories of him have never once left your mind.
“A kiss.”
“I’m with your brother.”
“One kiss.”
“One kiss and you’ll let me go back to work?” You ask hesitantly, already sensing thick tension building up around you. There’s nothing to stop you from opening the door and walking out, except Sunghoon could grab you.. and knowing him he would. He’d keep you holed up in here for another hour until you crack under his pressure and give into him. That’d be the worst case scenario, knowing in the back of your mind that you’d absolutely succumb to him if you stay in here alone with him much longer.
A small smile plays on his lips, nodding shortly. “One kiss and you’re free to leave.”
“But am I free of you?”
“No promises.” Sunghoon doesn’t bother to ease into the kiss. Making the first move to cup your face. He presses in, leaning his head in to align your lips.
This kiss that he’s allowed to run rampant in his mind. This kiss that he’s craved for, pictured all of the different ways it would go. How you’d run into his arms, and he’d scoop you up. Maybe even some rain would fall from the sky, because surely even the Gods of the universe had to rejoice in this moment.
Only this is nothing as he dreamt of, this is better.
This is real. The barely there breathy moan that escapes your throat. The heat radiating from your mouth to his. The soft plush of your lips applying pressure against his as you kiss back. And you do kiss back, allowing the tip of his tongue to skim across the seam of your lips. He boldly takes the chance to push in more, eyebrows raised as your mouth parts open around him.
This kiss is more passionate, more intense, blooming life between his thighs. He feels mad once his tongue makes it past your lips, and he licks the roof of your mouth. Licks through the crevices, laps at your tongue. He can’t get enough, moaning as the taste of your saliva meets the back of his throat. He needs more, needs to know how swollen your pretty mouth can get if he keeps going. Pulling back his tongue and slurping, he latches onto your bottom lip. Sucking the plump juiciness between his, biting down harder than intended.
Excitement builds fast, rushing through him at light speed and his hands. His hands slide down, they land at your chest, teasing the buttons of your blouse. And just like that your lips are gone, leaving him puckered up midair. Dreamily blinking open his glazed over eyes.
“H-huh?”
The sight of the back of your hand dragging across your mouth is the first thing he sees. Drawing yourself away from him with a firm nod. You hold out a finger toward him and make your way to the door. “Stay right there.”
Sunghoon can’t ignore the way his chest swoops down to his stomach. His groin aches and throbs. Fuck if it isn’t taking every bit of his restraint to stop himself from chasing after you only to slam your back against that door before you can go anywhere. With clenched fists he listens to you, gritting his teeth.
“Will you allow me to call you now?”
“No.”
Sunghoon chuckles sarcastically to mask his pain. Having to hold himself up by clutching onto the entrance table. Practically knocked off of his feet after getting a small taste of you. “I figured as much. Well I always have your address.”
“Hoon.”
“What?” He acts stupid, blinking dumbly with a shit-eating grin. All of this is fake, an act to keep his tears under control.
“Do not show up at my home.”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic, that’s not my style..” he motions around himself. Indicating that he’d much rather track you down at work where he can at least enjoy a luxurious hotel suite. “I’ll be writing to you.”
“Writing??”
“Letters.” He nods surely, playing with the door handle. “I hope you’ll read them.”
Giving him a suspicious eye, you shake your head and begin to turn around to head back to your manager’s office. Scoffing and muttering under your breath. “Whatever.”
“Don’t be a stranger! Alright?” He calls out from behind you. Sighing to himself and dragging two digits across his bottom lip.
Maybe you didn’t say yes, and sure, you didn’t seem as excited to see him after an entire year as he had hoped for; but one kiss held more than hope. Confirming that you still want him, still think about him. He’d cherish that kiss until you come around and finally accept to let him in. It’s not as if you’ve kicked him out, yet..
———————————-
‘I remember my first time in Paris, I thought to myself city of love? And wondered if I simply did not understand what love must really feel like. Dad had brought me along for a company trip, he wanted me to meet some investors, get my face recognized before I joined his side someday. I watched these old fat bastards chain smoke all night, rave about Parisian women dancing topless at Crazy Horse, drink as if tomorrow would never come. I felt no sense of love, only disgust as I sat there amidst wealth being mindlessly thrown around.
And now I sit here in the city of love, and I sip on cappuccinos every early morning. I order the same flaky butter croissant from this adorable quaint café near my hotel. I take my time to people watch, relax and soak in the morning sun that has just risen, and I think of you. I think of love.’
He really did write you letters. Every week a new one would come in, addressed from one of your favorite aunts. The first to arrive initially had you excited, hoping she had shoved in a few hundred dollar bills after hearing that you’d been working. Maybe your mother had informed her that she hadn’t been transferring you quite as much anymore. The last thing you anticipated was a handwritten letter from Sunghoon.
Choking on your coffee as you began to read, you cleared your throat and peered around for Heeseung’s presence. Thankfully, he was too deep into his game to notice your wide eyes and the paper in your hand. Sunghoon had really sent you a Goddamn letter.. pen and paper.. what a fool.
You tried to hold back a smile as you continued to read upon realizing this was no mail sent from your beloved aunt.
‘I think about you and how nice it would be to wake up by your side. To share my morning coffee with you, to cut a croissant for you. To simply take a stroll before I head into work and hold your hand. How much I’d love to see your face glow under this sunrise. I’d buy you flowers from the local vendors, take you on shopping sprees every weekend. We’d be regulars at the opera house, try out all the fine dining Paris has to offer. And when we’re up to it, we could go to the South of France, take the train out to Sweden, Denmark, wherever you wish to visit. That must be love, to enjoy and live through this life with someone who fills your heart.
-SH’
Thousands of feelings swarm around your head as you fold up the paper and tuck it into your pocket. Already planning to stuff it away inside of the jewelry box you only ever open to look at, to remember.
“Babe, did you check out any of those listings I emailed you?” Heeseung calls out, not moving his eyes away from the computer screen. He leans in too close, jabbing at his keyboard. “Found some really good plots of land and houses that could benefit from a lot of refurbishing in Seattle. I think you’d really like the area.”
It’s been a couple of weeks now since your anniversary, since Sunghoon’s unwelcomed arrival back into your life. You never mentioned your night time visitor at work to your boyfriend, maybe out of fear. Worry and guilt as to how he would react knowing that his younger brother’s booked a suite at your place of work..
Heeseung likely wouldn’t have taken the news well, given your past and how sensitive the topic of his brother always is. You don’t walk on eggshells anytime he’s even alluded to in conversation for nothing.
“Uhm, no, haven’t had time, baby. You know work has been so crazy. Peak tourist season and all.”
You’re not lying, work has been slammed. You’ve come home night after night completely exhausted. Also tense from looking over your shoulder, afraid and hopeful of the possibility to see a familiar face. It’s not that you want to see him, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. You’re curious more than anything.. if he’d rear around the corner. If he’d try to bother you while working, what his next step could be..
It’s better this way. Keeping Heeseung clueless to his brother's current location, avoid any possible altercations, and there’s of course no need to mention the kiss. It didn’t mean anything.. you just needed a way out.
“Babe, our lease here ends in a few months. I really want to start planning for the move back.”
This has been happening nonstop for the last week. Even when you’re fucking he brings up moving, rubbing your stomach and mumbling about having kids. Reassuring you that he’ll land a high-paying job once you move. It’s a near guarantee thanks to his last name and father’s connections..
“We could go month to month..” you mumble, pretending to clean up around the kitchen. “You know, if we can’t find a place we agree on.”
The sound of his game pausing fills your living space in silence. Slowly turning to look at you, he tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “But then we’d be here even longer, and I thought—“
“I don’t want to move.” You should have let him know immediately. But impending fear of losing him kept you quiet. Nodding and agreeing to whatever he said as you went on ignoring his texts and emails about moving. Skirted around the subject whenever he brought it up again. Yawned and waved off the conversation in favor of getting to sleep, or taking a shower, anything to make him stop until he came to the realization on his own.
“You don’t want to move?..” moving to stand, he slowly walks over to you. Lips pulled down in a frown. “But I thought we were planning our future—“
“You.” Interrupting him, you anxiously ring your hands together. Knocking your nail beds against each other. “You were planning..”
“Are you—“ he breathes shallowly, reaching for his chest. “B-breaking up with me??”
“No! Hee, no! Not at all!” You fret, running around the kitchen island to grab his arms. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this! I don’t want you to be upset!”
“So, you lied to me?” He sighs, head dropping. “You never wanted to move?”
“I didn’t lie.. I never told you that I wanted to move.”
“Then, then—why? Why not?” He sounds genuinely confused, tearing your heart apart. You tried to avoid this, didn’t want to have to ruin the peaceful relationship you’ve become accustomed to, too comfortable with.
“I love living here, in Paris..”
“But it’s—we always complain about so many things! The sewer system, how fast the groceries go bad, the lack of convenient transportation!”
“You, you complain about those things.” Rubbing his arms up and down, you trail down to place your hands in his. “I’m sorry for not being honest. I don’t want you to leave me..”
Heeseung looks as overwhelmed as you feel, forehead wrinkled, lips tightened into a thin line. He sighs and shakes his head, pulling you into a hug. It’s not that you couldn’t make it work.. a long distance type of relationship, but for how long?
There’s a chance you could wake up one day tired of this, missing your life back in the states. But there’s a higher chance you’ll regret letting him slip from your arms to start a new life without you in America.
Silence and a tight hug consumes you for the next hour. Calming each other with soothing rubs up and down each other’s backs.
“Now I feel bad, like I’ve been pressuring you..” he mumbles into your shoulder. Squeezing you closer to his front. “God I feel like such a dick.”
“It’s my fault, seriously. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
No. The only one who should feel bad is you. Giggling over some stupid letter that you should have tore up once you realized who it came from. You should feel bad whenever you’re by yourself, when your boyfriends at work, when you lock yourself in the bathroom alone; and you think about him. Replaying the kiss, the touch of his hands on you, the desperation in his voice. You’re the worst girlfriend, undeserving of a man as good as Heeseung.
“We don’t have to keep talking about this. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Pulling away to look at you, he really tries to force a smile to comfort you. “I was getting home sick, I don’t know.. it was stupid.”
“Not stupid.” You say apologetically. Sorry for things he’s not even aware of..
The rest of the day goes by awkwardly, needless to say. As much as you both continue to assure each other that everything’s okay, and everything will be okay; you know that everything has changed.
Heeseung drops the topic of moving for the next few weeks, and he tries, he tries so hard to be the best boyfriend to you. Only setting in what a piece of shit you really are for holding him back, for keeping him here with you for your own selfish reasons.
He’s your first love and the thought of losing him keeps you up at night. Staring blankly out into nothing as you quietly debate with yourself over and over again. Weighing out the pros and cons of moving, of giving up your dreams to satisfy his.
And through your inner turmoil, the letters continue to come. Never questioned by your boyfriend when you explain that your favorite aunt once lived in Paris when she was about your age. You’ve become pen pals sort of, sharing your experiences back and forth.
Another lie.
‘I told my French instructor about you, or well, perhaps I fibbed a little. Told him that I moved here for my girlfriend. She loves Paris, enchanted with the city. He’s really helped me out to improve the little bit of French I had learned back in high school.
There’s this saying he spoke of when I told him about us.
Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point
It means: The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.
Again, I think of you, I think of my heart when it comes to you. The reasons I think that I love you, how they run so deep that I am not sure I will ever begin to understand how we ended up here..
I hope you are well, and that someday you will understand that love is not one dimensional. Our hearts are stronger than we realize. Love you.
-SH’
These letters, they could be another way to manipulate you. Going on two months now, he sends one every week sharing tidbits of his life here in Paris. How lonely it is, how he’s used to being alone, and how even though you are not with him—he is with you.
And then he writes about her, and you have to ask yourself how far Sunghoon’s willing to go to mess with your head. How much of himself is he willing to open up and spill out for you. He claims to love you, shouldn’t he pour himself empty for you?
‘My mom passed away September 26th. The days coming up again. I don’t talk much about her, I know. I am sure my brother has told you enough, how I bawled my eyes out everyday as a child. How much I hurt all by myself. Maybe it’s true that people like me are some of the loneliest.
Someone like me who seems to have it all. That’s what a lot of the employees under me now say behind my back. I hear them, I listen to their snickering words. To their quiet whispers when I arrive and walk through to my office without acknowledging their feeble existences. They think I’m a fucking dick, they’re probably right.
I don’t blame everything on my mother. I pity her the same way I pity my brother. Both too weak to handle their emotions in a way that doesn’t ruin others lives.
You told me I have love for my brother, that I don’t hate him, and you’re right. I don’t know how you read me so easily, but you do. It drives me crazy, the way you make me feel seen. I go through life with all these eyes on me, but none of them really see me. None of them are actually looking at me.
Ah, I am speaking nonsense, aren’t I? You probably haven’t read a single one of these. Maybe I’m starting to lose my last attachment to this fleeting hope. Not that this hasn’t been worth everything to me. To be able to see you again even if just once, to taste you one last time. I can’t believe I allowed love in only for it to hurt me.
I wouldn’t take any of this back. I don’t believe I have ever let go of myself this much, the invisible armor I keep up. Thanks to you, I have learned to bring down my defenses.. I really do hate that.
Talk soon, I hope.
-SH’
Each letter dug a deeper hole inside of your chest. Sunghoon never gave you a return address, both of you know there were more than enough ways to reach him. You know exactly where his father’s company is located, his email, his phone number that remains blocked.
He poured more and more of himself into each one. And as much as it pained you to read, you felt the same butterflies or excitement each time another letter arrived in the mail. Hiding yourself at your computer desk to read every new one, muttering to Heeseung that you had some work to wrap up.
This couldn’t qualify as cheating if you remained contactless on your side, right? Not that repeating that to yourself helped any with the guilt that continued to suffocate you.
If only you could run to your mother with this problem, let out all of your anguish. How much you’ve been stretched apart by these two men. How they’ve split you down the middle and made you forget yourself.
If they weren’t your step-brothers she’d likely soar to the fucking moon after hearing news of your rapturous love life. Not even your mother had enough faith in you to believe that two Park men could possibly be battling to a bloody pulp to claim you as theirs and only theirs.
As fast as fall came, so did the crushing weight of reality.
Heeseung’s smile rarely graced your days anymore. His laughter hardly filled your loft. And the uneasy strain between you never subsided. His sadness was hard to ignore and trying to only made you feel worse, guiltier, like such a terrible person.
“Hee, I checked out some of those locations you sent me before.” You mention over dinner. Feeling extra tense after reading another new letter from Sunghoon.
He’s officially moved into Paris, no longer residing at a hotel. His writing was full of excitement this time, cheering happily about finding a place. Insisting you come visit him one day to at least compliment him for hiring a fantastic realtor and scoring a decently priced house with a perfect view of the Eiffel tower. Decently priced for a millionaire, of course.
“Huh?” Heeseung asks, half paying attention. Half distracted by a game on his phone.
“Seattle, right? It’s nice and cold out there..”
Nothing like a humid sunny summer day in Paris, no..
“Wh-what? I thought you didn’t want to move.”
You don’t. At all.
“Worth looking at.” You shrug, biting down on your lip nervously.
It’s not actually, and you’re being tortured by your own subconscious that won’t shut up about this. It’s all you can think about even while you fuck and have great sex. Heeseung’s accepting a future he doesn’t desire for you. And you? You’re greedy, selfish, benefiting off of his pain to fulfill your needs and dreams..
“You don’t want to leave Paris.” He nods firmly, reaching across the table for your hand. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
All you seem to do these days is lie. Lie after lie, failing to convince yourself that you only choose to lie to protect him.
You have to lie, because worse than losing him, you’d hate to be another person that’s let him down. Another comparison to his mother, father, brother, all those who have failed him before you..
“I don’t.” You struggle to say, throat welling up with tears. “But I’m scared. What does this mean for us?”
“N-nothing, I—“
“You’re unhappy.” Saying those words out loud rush tears to brim your eyes. Blinking the first batch out, they scold your cheeks on their way down. “You don’t like it here, you’re only here because of me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He appeals, sitting up. The game on his phone forgotten about. “I love you, I want to be wherever you are.”
“I know.” Sniffling, you squeeze his hand. Getting up to sit down on his lap and wrap yourself around him. “I love you, and I don’t want you to choose a life that was never meant for you.”
I’ve put you through so much Heeseung. That’s what you wish you could bring yourself to say. That you released his inner demons, went behind his back, selfishly expected him to fix all of your fucked up life himself..
“We can make this work, can’t we?” Heeseung’s first cry makes your heart sink. Clutching onto him, burying your fingers through his hair. You don’t want to ever let go, don’t want to accept the reality of your situation. That he may just be your very first heartbreak.
“Of course we can, baby.”
Lying isn’t always a bad thing, right? Sometimes we lie to spare others feelings. Like when your mother lied to you about cheating on your father, she knew you’d figure everything out in time. But you were too young to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. She lied so that you wouldn’t hate her or blame her. You lied for the same reasons..
By October, Heeseung had packed up his belongings. The two of you agreed that this wouldn’t be permanent, only until you finish up school and get at least a year’s experience of work. After that was all done, you could revisit the whole moving back to America conversation. Of course you cried and suffered in silence, keeping yourself as calm as you could around him as the days went by. The second you locked the bathroom door to shower, tears would find their way out. You’d sob and cry into your palm. Hoping the shower was louder than your aching chest to drown out the sound of your sadness.
Your mother only side-eyed you when you begged her to not make Sunghoon aware of Heeseung’s departure back to the states. She didn’t pry too much, only clicked her tongue disappointed by the lack of a close relationship you had with her preferred brother.
The goodbye before Heeseung got on the plane to leave you spiraled you into a depressive state for weeks. Only forcing yourself to appear normal when he’d video call you appearing equally miserable. This was the promise you made to each other, to keep your relationship alive. Update each other daily, phone calls, scheduled video chats, texts throughout your days, photos, anything.
And that worked, at first. Even forcing you both to learn how to get each other off in new ways. Video calls often turned steamy, positioning your cameras to enjoy the view of your private areas as you touched yourselves and moaned. Of course, it was never enough and you’d crawl into the bed he shared with you only 3 weeks ago to cry yourself to sleep
“This was for the best.” That’s what you continued to tell yourself. He was miserable here, already back to smiling big as he used to whenever he answers another video call from you. He’s doing better mentally despite missing your warmth by his side, and that’s what matters.
If you love something, let it go, right?
That’s what Sunghoon did.
Sunghoon.
His letters have piled up, the fourth one coming in today. You stare at them stacked on your kitchen counter sometimes. Trembling hands tempted to open each and swallow down each word like a crisp sip of wine.
They felt similar. Addicting, butter, sweet, euphoric. To be let inside of someone that not many, if any, have ever been able to know so well.
Maybe this was the right decision for you and Heeseung, as much as it ripped you to shreds to go through with. He once gave up the only life he’d ever known for you, and here you are.. only giving him up.
There are times you listen to the sound of your heart beating only to make sure it’s there. You’re not a heartless monster for choosing yourself first. Neither of your parents were pleased with this news, especially your mother who has been urging you to move and follow along with your step-brother.
‘At least Sunghoon lives out there now too. I don’t understand you kids, Europe is great for vacation.’
She also pestered you to contact him, to not forget that he is also your step-sibling. That you also should build a healthy strong relationship with him as he will be the one to likely inherit all of Mr. Park’s wealth when his time comes.
‘Heeseung’s wonderful, I was wrong about him.’ She mindlessly chatted with you, holding a yogurt covered spoon by her mouth. ‘I’m so grateful that he took all of that time to look out for you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he had a crush on you or some type of liking.’
She giggled over the silly idea, finishing her yogurt and ending the call. Not before scolding you to text Sunghoon.
You wouldn’t. Instead, you shoved his unopened letters inside of a drawer and decided to attend your job’s annual Halloween ball. Something that could help to lift your spirits, dressing up a little, dancing and drinking with your coworkers. Why not?
Heeseung encouraged you and helped you pick out an outfit over video call. Leaving your room a haphazard mess of tops and skirts, all types of tights and fishnets thrown about as you tried on various looks for him. The two of you agreed upon a deep blood red coat you purchased sometime last year at a street market that resembled a cape.
“That should be good enough to cover you up on your way over.” He gulped, nervously taking in the skimpy black minidress you chose. Cut low to enhance your breast shape, the fabric clung to your skin tightly showing off all of your shape.
“Good thing I work with a ton of girls, right baby?” You winked, blowing him a kiss. He pressed in closer to the screen whimpering.
“Send me a lot of pictures?”
“Of course, don’t have too much fun handing out candy without me?”
The two of you chatted for a bit longer before you had to let him go. It was already after 8pm and the party had been well on its way by the time you arrived. Many of your coworkers had been hitting the open bar hard, dragging you onto the dance floor right as you arrived.
Halloween tunes from Monster Mash to Thriller blasted through the speakers and everyone had fun dancing. Exactly what you needed, not some grungy Parisian club filled with men attempting to grope you all night. Just a good spooky time with the closest thing you have to friends in this lonely city.
This lonely city that you could run into just about anyone in.
Brava. Brava. Bravissima.
That jawline, those eyes, his curved lips. You’d recognize him regardless of the mask covering half of his face. He’s standing there across the floor, beneath the balcony creating a shadow down his face. Sharp gaze laser focused on you, unblinking, licking his lips when you finally spot him.
How long has he waited? How did he know, and why.. why is he wearing that.
The world really stops, slows down, becomes mute when you see him. That’s Sunghoon’s power over you and he knows it. Floating across the floor to you, he bows forward. The cufflinks on his wrist gleam, the white gloves covering his hands strike visually in contrast against his black suit.
And that mask, that mask hiding half of his handsome features. This has to be a joke.
“Phantom.”
“Ah, you did not read my letters.” His tongue clicks, and you’re sure a hint of blush spreads across his one visible cheek.
“I did.” You stammer, squeezing your eyes shut. “N-not the past few, been busy..”
“Well,” reaching out his hand, he smiles. “Trick or treat?”
“Is this not enough of a trick for you?” You can’t help but sneer, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. “What happened to not stalking me at my place of work?
“I’ll have you know I stayed at this establishment for a month. I was invited because I’m now considered a platinum club member guest.” Sunghoon leads you away from the drunken crowd of girls you’d been amongst all night. Head towards the center of the dance floor, his sharp canines shine under the low lights that scatter about the room. “Didn’t think you’d be here, job requirements I’m guessing?”
“Yeah.”
Not necessarily, but that’s none of his business.
“Not allowed to bring a plus one?” He questions. Making his true curiosity very clear.
“Felt like doing a girls night.” You shrug, lifting his hand to look over his costume. “So, why this get up?”
“Why not? I’m in Paris. Felt like an appropriate costume.” He shrugs back, cocking his visible eyebrow. “Not a fan?”
“That’s hilarious..” you mutter. Falling in line with him as he leads you to dance. “Me? Not a fan of Phantom of The Opera?”
“Let me guess, you’re my angel of music?” He grins, turning you around. His free hand creeping onto your waist beneath your cape. “The mask I wear?
“Good guess.” Sticking out your tongue at him, you snort. “I’m a vampire, obviously.”
“Ah, well, your fangs seems to be missing tonight.”
“Oh? You must be a human to think so naive.”
“Could always bite me if that’s the case?” His smile widens, bending in closer. “Right on the jugular, suck me dry to the bone.”
“You’re too insufferable to pull off Phantom, you know.”
Sunghoon can’t stop himself from smiling. He even laughs, pointing out a table nearby. “Join me? I do miss this back and forth with you, you know.”
“My coworkers are waiting for me.” You lie, beginning to turn away.
“Come on, I won’t try anything. Promise.” Holding out his pinky toward you, he nods at the table again. “We can’t chat? Like old time friends?”
“We’ve never been friends, Sunghoon.”
“You’re right, whatever we are is so much worse.” He chuckles. Seemingly amused just to be in your presence. “Please? For a little bit?”
“Fine.” You know better than to give him an inch. Sunghoon only knows how to take more and more, but you can’t deny how human he seems now. Those stupid letters go to you.
“Honestly, had no idea you were a fan.” He holds out his hands in defense. Lips dragging down at the corners. “I thought about being a ghost and the Paris opera ghost came up while I googled. Tell me that’s not too perfect.”
“Well, I’m a big fan.” Easing up around him, you stir a tepid drink around. Mostly nursing it instead of drinking. He has to sit close to hear you as music blares, and you try to ignore how good the cologne he’s wearing smells. “It’s probably weird.”
“No no no! Tell me all about it.” Sunghoon couldn’t look happier to be talking to you. Crossing his arms over his chest proudly, he motions for you to continue. “I’m familiar enough to understand.”
“It’s just a really good romance. A tragic one, but good nonetheless.” You shrug, looking over his costume again. “Maybe I’m a sucker for love triangles.”
“I think I’ve caught onto that.” He snorts. Drinking the last sip of his beverage. “Is it like a team Edward or Jacob thing for you?”
“Pfftt.. don’t compare Phantom to that.”
“Well? You must have been on the good guys side. Raoul, right?” Sunghoon taps his chin. “I mean, you know, he was no Edward if you ask me.”
“Can’t stand Raoul.” You mumble. “He wasn’t really that good of a guy.”
“Pftt, tell me about it.” He scoffs under his breath. Lifting both eyebrows at you. “And Phantom, he’s just one hell of a man, huh?”
“You see, I get it. I understand why it’s only implied that Eric and Christine got it on.” You begin to explain, over-using your hands to distract from how awkward this conversation has become. “But, like—it wasn’t enough.”
Sunghoon grins, eyebrows mockingly bouncing up and down. “You little trollop.”
“Trollop?!” You guffaw, rolling your eyes. “You clearly have got to get back to America.”
“No no, don’t try to change the subject.” Snapping his fingers in your face, he nods for you to continue. “Go on, tell me about how you wanted Gaston Leroux to go into extreme detail about Phantom clapping Miss Daaé’s cheeks.”
“Ugh, it’s not that vulgar.” His smile only increases the more you lie and brush around the topic. Blowing out a long gust of air, you stomp and pretend to whine. How the conversation took a flirty tone is beyond you. “Fine! Fine okay! I dabbled in reading a few erotic Phantom of The Opera novels.”
“Do tell darling.” Sunghoon leans in, highly amused. “Got your shit off to some freaky phan-fiction, did you?”
“You’re seriously annoying.”
“I have to know,” he pouts, humming. “How was it?”
“I mean, Christine..” you trail off, bypassing his gaze. “She never really wanted it, I mean she did. But she didn’t—like she..” the tightness budding in your throat causes you to pause, locking with his gaze. “She did, but she acted differently. He really had to make her his..”
His head tilts, cheek dimpling with an arrogant glimmer in his eyes. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”
“Oh yeah? Since when has your style been the difficult type?”
“Sometimes you need to meet the right one to know what you’re looking for.”
Sunghoon smiles, nodding toward the exit when you don’t keep the conversation going. “The nights still young, want to check out the Halloween parade?”
No. You shouldn’t, but you want to. So you nod and follow him out, keeping your arms pressed tightly against your sides.
Reading letters was definitely a form of emotional cheating, but this, this had to be worse. And deep down inside you knew after this night that Sunghoon Park would never leave you alone. He’d lurk in the shadows, haunt your dreams, chew away at your heart until he could swallow the last beatz
Maybe the darkness that surrounded him reached out toward you for the hundredth time, and maybe you let him in to finally meet yours.
———————————-
~seven years later~
The Eiffel tower is a magnificent sight at night. Lights glow all over the city, reflecting off of the water around. These days you spend a lot of time simply absorbing, taking in the grandiose landscape.
When morning comes you sit down with a cup of coffee, decaffeinated tea as of late. Stirring a cube of sugar until it melts with the hot water, and you take a deep breath. Paris is romanticized in the media, in reality it’s nothing too special. What makes the city special is the people. From the different street vendors, cafe owners, angry bike riders shouting curses, the snooty designer brand employees bustling and rushing to work. There are certain quirks to the city of love that at times make you laugh.
Because here you are, reminiscing on these last few years.
Heeseung had moved back after some time, and you couldn’t have been happier. Taking advantage of the short period of time he had no job, you would venture off to other parts of Europe. Finally visited the Swiss Alps during the Winter season. Everything was as beautiful as you always dreamt of, even more with him by your side.
“What are you thinking about right now?” Deep warmth vibrates against your throat. Pressing soft kisses up the side of your neck, he nips at your ear. Complimenting the diamond earrings he’d gifted you on your last anniversary.
“How much I love it here.”
“Can you believe that you almost left?”
That’s right, the flight to Seattle had even been purchased. Making it all the way to your gate before you broke down and cried. The life you’d made in Paris was everything you ever wanted growing up. And he was everything your heart needed.
“I don’t think you were ever supposed to move back.” Wrapping around your waist from behind, he flattens you back to his chest. Large hands gently resting on the top of your stomach. “I knew ever since that first time, the way your eyes lit up when you stepped off the plane.”
“I hadn’t even left the airport yet.” You scoff, layering your hands on top of his. The sturdy build of his chest eases some of the weight off of your knees, utilizing his strength to lean against. “And I never wanted to leave after that.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Squeezing your hands, he slides them lower to cup around your protruding stomach. Slowly easing your interlaced fingers beneath your bump. “That’s why we’re here.”
Ah yes, there’s three of you to consider now.
Now, how did this happen? How did you get here? What do your parents think?
For one, they don’t know.
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.’ He shrugged, ever the type B personality. He never stressed much about anything the way you did. His only stress ever seemed to be you.
‘We hardly ever see them anyway. A few holidays that they make their way over here. What’s my father going to do? Disown me?’ He spoke arrogantly as ever. Smiling cockily and spinning you into his arms to follow him through the living room when you ran in holding a positive pregnancy test.
You’re not even married.
‘You’re having my baby. It’s about damn time.’
God knows he’s been trying to get you knocked up for months now. And maybe he’s right, you’ve worked despite him insisting he can afford to take care of you without your paychecks. But now seemed like the appropriate time to relax, be a stay at home mother.. buy fancy strollers and baby Chanel ballet flats. If you have a girl, of course.
“You ready darling? I know how much you love to stand out here and admire the pollution but we do have dinner reservations.”
“Do we have time to walk?” You ask hopeful, batting your eyelashes.
“Ahh—“
“Please?”
He’s been such a hard ass ever since you started showing. Making new rules everyday of what you can and cannot do. “I know it’s not far, I saw the confirmation email.”
Clicking his tongue, he playfully glares at you. Rubbing your stomach. “Can’t ever just let me surprise you, can you?”
“Please? Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to see my own feet, let alone walk without waddling.”
Busting into a smile, he nods and directs you to follow him off of the balcony back inside of the house. First, you have to put on a coat, of course, it’s too chilly outside for you to only walk around in a dress. The baby could catch a cold, that’s what he says while getting your arms into a peacoat.
“Already miss wearing my high heels.” You frown at the flats that have begun to take over your closet. Led down the elevator to exit onto the street. His large hand finds yours, taking slow steps to not rush you. Making more effort with his longer legs to keep a light pace.
“Hey, those are $7000 shoes you have on.” He scoffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “They’re cute.”
“Yeah, they’re cute.” You pout, watching your feet walk down the cobblestone toward the center of town. The convenient location of your ridiculously expensive house was prime real estate, located close enough to everything you’d want walking distance to.
“They’re cute, you’re cuter.”
“Ahh, you little—“
“Hey.” A nervous smile plays on his lips. Coming around to take a few steps ahead of you, he reaches for the front of your coat and stops you. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Sunghoon.” You say flatly. Sensing heat climb up your chest despite the crisp night air. “You know I hate when you do this.”
His smile trembles more, biting on his lower lip. “Do you love me?”
“God, I wish I didn’t.” You sigh to hold back a smile. Turning away to not look at how the tip of his nose reddens. The Eiffel towers not too far now, right to your side.. a near perfect spot for..
Him to get down on his knees as he has when you turn back to look at him.
“I asked you once before if you’d marry me.” His teeth chatter, not from the cold breeze. Blinking at the moisture that rapidly fills his eyes. “You said no.”
“Hoon..”
“And I kept that ring.” The same box from years ago opens up in his hand. The ring he thought screamed your name from the first moment he spotted it in some outrageously priced jewelry store. “I meant what I said back then as much as I do now.”
“You’ve always been crazy.” You manage to say through the wetness filling your throat. Clasping your hands to your face as a sob comes out.
“Is that why you love me?” Sunghoon’s icy complexion flushes pink. A single tear trickles down his cheek, and his eyebrows scrunch together. Chest beating wildly waiting for you to deny him once again.
“One of the reasons.” You nod, draping one of your hands under your stomach to hold your dress down. “One of many.”
“Do you think that this time, I’ll get the girl?” He asks wearily, holding the ring up. “Will you say yes? Will you spend your life with me?”
“I think that you’ve always had the girl.”
“Good, because I’m nothing without her.” More tears pour down his face. Digging the ring out of the jewelry box, he takes a hold of your hand.
“Marry me?”
After all of this time, all of this running away, all of these feelings you denied. There is only one answer.
pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung
genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, dubcon, M/F, fluff smut humor angst….mostly angst
warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon- is he batshit? maybe.), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mentions of alcohol and death, time skips, full smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
wc. 21k+
now playing. Heaven//Beyoncé
smut warnings. emotional sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, a moment with chocolate covered strawberries, lots of kissing, oral, breeding, etc
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Talk?”
“What happened last night?”
Shit.
You know exactly what happened last night, and that is a problem. Instead of jumping to admit the truth, you gulp, shrugging to appear confused. You didn’t drink really, but he did.. “I don’t remember much..”
“Yeah. Me either.” He sighs, sitting up frustrated.
Thank God.
“You—we drank again.” Correcting yourself, you move inside of his room, making sure to shut the door behind you. “We should.. lay off the alcohol for a while. I don’t think we can enjoy this vacation if we continue hammering our skulls in like this.”
Heeseung rubs his hands together for a minute, appearing to deeply contemplate his next choice of words. “Yeah, that’s the thing.. I need you to be honest with me..” he sits up, picking up the TV remote control once you’ve fully shut the door.
This is it. Fuck. He knows. He definitely heard you..
Panic races up your chest as he turns on the room's TV, moving in slow-motion where he sits before you. He looks up at you, nodding toward the screen. “I couldn’t remember the check out time, so I tried to look it up and ended up here.”
Bright text lists out the room charges that have been made so far, showing a larger amount than you’d expect after a few days. “Wait, they charged us for those drinks at the pool? I thought that was complimentary?”
He stands up to take a hold of your hand, clutching the remote with his other. “Tell me the truth, please. Did you order those drinks? The bottle of champagne? The shots?”
“Huh? No!” You answer abruptly, confusion wrinkling between your eyebrows. “The waiter said—“
“I didn’t think you did.” He interrupts, peering at the door behind you. “But someone did.”
“No—“ following his gaze, your head shakes in disbelief. “He wouldn’t, that would be—“
“He would.” Heeseung cuts you off again, gripping your hand tightly. “Because he’s fucking evil.”
“But, are you sure?” You sigh, not wanting to believe that Sunghoon would stoop this low.. wouldn’t he? “That would be too much, don’t you think?”
“Far too much, which unfortunately my brother has always been. If it wasn’t him, then who was it?” He bites out, lip pulled back over his teeth. “Wasn’t me, wasn’t you.”
“Maybe the hotel made a mistake..”
“Come on, by now you know how my brother moves.” Clicking his tongue, he lets go of your hand. “I can’t do this with him anymore, he’s gone too far now. Playing with my mental well being and issues I’ve worked so hard on.”
“You really think he’d do something like this?”
Of course Sunghoon would.. as much as it pulls at your heartstrings to consider, you can’t deny that he absolutely would do something this vile. Only worsening the guilt swarming through your stomach the longer you ponder it.
Heeseung pauses, packing away his things, jaw clenched tight. “He’s really got you convinced hasn’t he.”
“What?”
“Be honest with me, do you have feelings for him?”
The silence that falls between your hard and overly emotional stares could slice through a frozen over pool of ice, sinking you down to the bottom to drown as it collapses beneath your feet, suffocating your lungs down to nothing the longer you take to answer.
Do you have feelings for Sunghoon?
In spite of everything he’s done that’s pissed you off and angered you, he still manages to awaken a new thrilling sensation within you each and every time you catch his eyes on you; all of the small gestures and smiles he displays only for you.
“You do, right? You have feelings for my brother.”
“It’s—I can explain.”
Heeseung scoffs under his breath, taking a step back. “He always wins.”
“He hasn’t won anything!” You shriek, mindful to keep your tone low and not draw attention from the opposite side of the suite. “There’s nothing to win here! This isn’t a competition.”
“It is though.” Heeseung groans, rubbing at his temples. Doing his best to subside his anger toward his brother and not involuntarily lash out at you. “At least to him it is, and you’re the prize he’ll do anything to win.” Shaking his head, he pauses to look at you, a longing behind his gaze, as if he’s taking you in one last time. “And he’s doing anything, even threatening my sobriety at this point..”
Turning away, he continues to stuff his belongings inside of his luggage, head drooped between his shoulders. “I really—I don’t know. I’m so angry, I’m so fucking angry, I can’t even think.”
“Hee, please, come on. Let’s calm down for a bit.” You plead, wrapping around his waist from behind to dig your face against his back. “We can figure this out.”
“Can we?” He whispers, grabbing on your hands. “When you can’t even figure out how you feel about him?”
“That’s not—“
“It’s the truth,” he turns in your hold, cupping your face. “It’s not your fault, I know how he is. I just wish it hadn’t been you.” Letting out a deep breath, he loosens your arms from his torso. “Stupid of me to think he’d ever allow me to find happiness. As long as my brother’s around, we will never be able to build a healthy relationship.”
“Hee, that’s not true!” You say brokenly, refusing to let him go. “It’s—I can’t get away from him! He’s everywhere! School, home, here!” You say between tears breaking, flowing rapidly down your cheeks, clutching Heeseung’s shirt between your fingers out of fear that he’ll try to leave. Desperation shattering through your voice, distraught pulling your features down. “It’s not fair, everything he’s done to fuck with my head, I—“
He sighs, taking in all the things you’ve said with a pitiful expression. Nodding and pulling you in to cradle your head and press reassuring calming kisses along your forehead. “Sounds like my brother.”
“Maybe I need to get away from him. I just need space so I can figure this out Hee. He’s messing me up, I know it’s wrong, I know I wouldn’t be so confused in the right head space. This isn’t me.” You sniffle, continuing to sob and wipe your cheeks on his shirt.
Heeseung continues to rock side to side, softly rubbing up and down your spine until the shaking beneath his palms subsides; running fingers along your scalp calmly until your breathing returns to a normal pace. “Listen to me, I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
Taking in your tear stained cheeks, the red wet brims of your eyes and the fear running behind your gaze, he wonders just how bad Sunghoon’s fucked you up. “Do you trust me?”
Trust is a heavy word.
Trust given the situation you’ve found yourself in does not come easy, nor should it. Biting your tongue from abruptly spitting out a ‘no’, you hesitantly nod.
“If you trust me, you need to help me out.”
“Wh-what do you need?” You ask quietly, continuing to wrap your fingers around the cotton material of his shirt.
“I might have an idea..”
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Shutting your eyes, you can’t help the sense of cringe after asking, slowly releasing him as he grabs onto your shoulders.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.” He reassures. “As long as you can follow along.”
“What do you want me to do?” You frown, feeling more torn up now over what happened last night. The guilt of what you did with Sunghoon screaming at you like a banshee from hell in this room. Tuning it out, you keep your gaze trained to the ground, falling into a submissive state.
“Listen,” he begins to pace back and forth, chin gripped tightly, fingers rubbing across his mouth. “I need you to distract him today.”
“Sunghoon? After what he did to you?” You stress, shaking your head. “I don’t want to be around him!”
Heeseung shushes you, grabbing a hold of your shoulders again. “Please? I really need to talk to my dad without interruption or any possible interference from him.” He explains, stroking your upper arms. “He can’t find out. You have to keep him busy, I’ll try to get this done as fast as I can but my father can be a bit difficult to communicate with at times..”
“But..” you sigh, begging with shining eyes for him to say ‘nevermind’, to agree with you that this isn’t a good decision. “How am I supposed to distract him?! I don’t want to go out alone with him again!” No. Because going out alone with Sunghoon once had been damaging enough to your psyche. God knows what one more lovely experience could do to your heart..
“I promise you this is really important..” pulling you in, he wraps you in a tight hug. Lips pressed on your forehead before he continues. “I want us to have a chance.. without Sunghoon’s involvement.”
“I don’t get it..”
“Just trust me?” Heeseung cups your cheeks, softly caressing your skin and pecking your mouth between speaking. “I’ll text you when I’m almost done, but until then you have to make him think I got too drunk, hungover again. Tell him I’ve been sick in bed all day, don’t let him know I’m anywhere near our dad, please?”
Should you trust him this easily? Only confused the more he asks and proceeds to squeeze you against his body, littering kisses along your jaw. “I’m not good at lying Hee..”
“Then don’t lie.” Looking into your eyes, he nods stiffly, taking in your face full of despair. “I don’t care what you have to do.. whatever you have to do. Make him think you want to hang out with him today, because you had a real good time at the Vatican..”
As much as it pains him to suggest it, knowing there’s truth behind the remark, he forces a smile, reaching for your hands. “It’s okay, say or do anything you have to do.”
Anything?
As if he can read your mind, he squeezes your hands and makes a sound of approval. “Anything.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Distract Sunghoon.
Do anything you have to do.
Do anything it takes to keep him distracted, unaware of whatever Heeseung could be up to. Anything.
Pacing back and forth in the living room, you glance at Heeseung’s shut bedroom door repeatedly. Running your fingers between each other over and over again, fussing with your hair, gnawing on your lip.
The sound of Sunghoon’s room door opening echoes past you, halting your feet to come to a hard stop. It’s still early, early enough for bright rays of sunshine to flood the suite from the large balcony opening. He exits half-asleep, puffy face dragging up slowly to find your gaze already trained on him.
Confusion wrinkles his forehead together, head tilted to one side as he takes in your appearance. The tiniest black bikini you could have packed clings to your body, exposing more than enough skin to snap him completely out of his slumber. He coughs and stands up straight, ruffling the mess on top of his head.
“Hey.” You say, clearing your throat to not stutter.
“Hey?” He replies raspily, voice not fully awake yet. Still thick and heavy, stirring something hot in your chest. “Morning..”
“It’s a really nice day outside.” You motion toward the balcony with a view of the pool. “Wanna go swimming?”
“Swimming?” Finally breaking his trance, he looks around the room, searching for a trace of his brother. “Where’s Hee?”
Letting out a long tired sigh, you point a thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the olders room. “Came out to all the bottles he ordered last night completely emptied.” Nodding toward the kitchen, you prove it with the empty glass containers lined up on the counter. “He’s out of it, don’t think he’s even sobered up enough for a hangover to even hit yet.”
That seems to please Sunghoon. A grin grows on his face as he follows your hand and counts the three large empty alcohol bottles. Easier than luring a rat into a box with a dangling piece of cheese..
“Hmm,” standing up straight, he takes in your bikini clad figure once more. “You want to go swimming, with me?”
“I want to go swimming.” You correct, hip popped, arms folded over your chest. “And I’m extending an offer for you to join me.”
Right. Because you shouldn’t be too eager, you wouldn’t be normally..
Mimicking your posture, he leans against the door frame, sharp teeth exposed with a small smile. “I’m not really into drinking.” He states for no reason, purposefully staring at your chest. “So when you say you want to swim, I expect your pretty ass to be in the pool with me.”
God. He couldn’t be more insufferable.
“You know what,” huffing a laugh, you pull on a cover-up draped by a towel on the couch. Waving him off. “Forget I even asked.”
Rushing over, he takes a hold of your hand to stop you, stealing the towel out of your other. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right out.”
“I’m keeping time.”
His smile widens, running back to his bedroom to quickly change and grab a few things while you call out the time and hide a smile.
He went for it, of course he went for it. All it took was a skimpy bikini and the promise of seeing you drenched under the beating sun.
Especially after last night.. whatever that was..
“Ready.” He bounces back out wearing nothing but black swim trunks. Sunglasses on his head to match and push his messy hair out of his face.
Oh.
You shouldn’t still react this way to seeing him shirtless, having to catch yourself and shut your mouth fast. Averting your eyes away to find your bag. “Took you long enough.” You sneer, snapping your fingers and heading toward the door. “Let's go.”
—
“Let’s not stay out here too long.” Sunghoon suggests, tapping his phone to check the time. “Don’t wanna get burnt.”
“What is that?”
“What is what?” Following your gaze, he watches as his phone screen fades back to black. Continuing to lead you toward empty pool chairs.
“You don’t seriously have a photo of me as your lock screen..” you mumble, throwing your bag down. “Please don’t tell me you seriously have me on your phone like that.”
Sunghoon shrugs, rubbing his neck. “It’s a nice picture of you.” Tapping the screen again, he shows you, smiling as he looks too. “Besides, I took it.. and I think you came out really nice.”
“What if your dad sees that? Or my mom?” Shaking your head, you grab a couple of towels. Distracting yourself from watching him apply sunscreen over his chest and arms.
“What? I can’t have a picture of my adorable step-sister on my phone now?”
“I believe your father would agree that your girlfriend would be a more fitting option.” You bristle, tossing a towel onto his chair.
“Can you get my back?” He motions to the bottle of sun protection in his hand, turning around without acknowledging your comment. “Please?”
Taking a minute to watch the muscles lining his back flex, you hesitate to get closer. Snatching the SPF from him, making sure to aggressively slap the lotion onto his skin. “You could use some sun.” You snicker, rolling your eyes.
“And ruin my flawless even tone?” He scoffs, turning to look at you and winking. “Come on, let’s get in.”
“Just a minute.” You wave for him to get in the pool, grabbing your phone to text Heeseung.
You: I got Sunghoon to agree to go swimming, will try to stay out here for a while.
Heeseung: Might be a few hours.
You: A FEW?!
Heeseung: Please keep him busy.
Fuck. A few hours?! What the hell could he be up to taking this long.
“Come on,” Sunghoon grins at you over his shoulder, slowly stepping into the pool, reaching down to splash water on you. “I told you I want to swim.”
“Yeah yeah.” Following him in, you’re instantly soaked, gasping for breath. Thick biceps belt around your waist, hauling you into the deep end until you’re blinking at him under water. He puts up a fight for a minute until you threaten to kick his groin, cupping over the area as bubbles burst from his mouth and nose and you both struggle to resurface.
“You asshole!” Gathering your breath, you paddle over to the ledge to grab onto. Hair a wet mess, clinging to your face and neck.
“Thought you wanted to swim.” Sunghoon floats behind you, mouth peaking over the water halfway. Trickles of water pass from his wet locks, a few latching onto his defined eyebrows.
“Fine. Let’s swim.” You glare, shoving past him. “I know you can’t swim faster than me.”
“Ohhh, is that a bet?” He smirks, standing to his full size. Wet chest raised over the water to show off his strong build. “You’re on.”
You should have expected it by now, of course Sunghoon swims akin to some Olympian athlete. Winding you by the 5th lap back and forth, unable to catch your breath without noticing the irritated looks from others enjoying their summer vacation by the pool.
“So, what do I win?” He cheers, hands shoved into his hair pushing each soaked strand all the way back. Smooth forehead and strong jaw completely visible.
“What do you want?” You grit, leaned over on the pool's edge still gasping. “And don’t say it.”
“Oh I don’t want that.” He laughs, quickly rolling his eyes and settling by your side.
“…you don’t?”
A sleek gaze scans your confusion, slowly nodding as his arms fold over the ledge and he leans down, chin perched on his forearms. “Ask me why.”
Because of the other night? When you moaned and screamed under his brother’s body? When you shouted how good he is, how much you love it.. that he’s the best.
“Don’t care.” You shrug, looking away.
“Yeah yeah..” trailing off, he swipes your hair aside, softly tracing your shoulder. “You know, it’s been nice hanging out with you like this, just the two of us.”
Shrugging him off, you frown, eyes slitting. “You must have a lot of fun hanging out alone with Miyeon too. You know, your girlfriend, in case you’ve forgotten. The girl you should probably have as your lock screen.”
Sunghoon smiles to one side, nodding along to everything you’re saying. “Not that it’s any of your business but..” he holds up his hands, turning the one that typically sports a ring from side to side. “We ended things.”
“What?!”
Amused by your reaction, he stands up straight, turning to lean his back along the pool wall, elbows propped on the ground. “Well, I ended it.”
“Oh, you’re soooo fucking full of it.” You fume, poking at his chest. “Can’t you ever just be normal?!”
“Go ask my father if you don’t believe me.” He says casually, seeming unperturbed. “He’s the one threatening to not pay for my tuition next year because of this.”
“Why would your dad care—“
“Because, he’s the one that set me up with Miyeon in the first place.” He interrupts, gaze finding yours. “Not that you’ve ever asked- but my dad’s been trying to merge with her family’s company since before I was even born.”
What.
There’s a throb running up the sides of your forehead that can only be described as Sunghoon. Irritating, infuriating, down right rage inducing. Causing you to apply pressure to your temples before you can begin to register anything he’s saying. “You’re telling me—“
“Let me guess, my brothers told you a different story, right?” He glares at you, getting closer to your face. “Told you how I cheat on Miyeon all of the time, that I don’t treat her right? Yeah well,” he takes a deep breath, biting on his tongue. “Think I’ve been more than nice by never telling anyone about her secret long-term boyfriend in New York..”
No. This cannot be happening right now.
“You’re lying—all you ever do is lie to me.”
He gulps dryly, continuing on. “We are friends, well, we became friends, Miyeon and I. That’s it, she knows I sleep around and I know about her relationship. There’s never been anything between us beyond that, and you know what? It was enough to get my dad off my ass for a while. Enough to take the heat off of Heeseung whenever he’d fuck up too.”
“What the hell does Heeseung have to do with this!” You hiss, getting right back in his face.
“You try dealing with his bullshit, always crying when he had to come live with us. He ruined everything, we were fine before she died.” He says quietly, voice cracking toward the end. “Before he showed up and started pissing dad off all the time. I had to be the good one. I didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t fuck get that.”
“You can’t compare yourself to him. He can’t compare you either! You need to figure shit out, both of you.”
“I have nothing to figure out anymore.” His jaw clenches, leaning back, blinking up at the sun. “I’m tired of saving face for that fuck-up. It’s not my fault he can’t fucking man up and deal with his shit.”
“And you?” You goad, lips curled in. “Because you deal with this weird jealousy you have toward your brother so healthily?”
“Oh please,” Sunghoon gripes, breathing harshly through his nose. “Jealous of him? If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t even exist to me.”
“You really..” an overload of information fills your head. Pressing down on your temples harder.
If Sunghoon’s not with Miyeon then.. what the hell does he want with you? Why is he so determined to ruin your damn life?!
“I don’t get it.” You sigh, floating bonelessly, defeated.
“Well I’m not sorry that I’m not the asshole you want me to be.” He sneers. “I can be, if you want, but I’m getting tired of you throwing this relationship I stayed in to satisfy my father in my face.”
“Why would you break up with her?” You ask wearily, afraid to hear the answer.
His gaze slowly drags over your face, licking his lips. “I’ve waited long enough, and given up enough to be the golden child. The all star athlete, straight A student, volunteer hero, a respectful young man my father can brag about.” He pauses, inching forward. “He makes sure that I always get what I want because of that, but there is one thing I don’t think he’ll be able to help me with.”
“And why is that?”
Nodding slowly, he lifts his eyebrows and returns to leaning against the pool ledge. You know why.”
“You expect me to believe you? That you just.. broke it off with this girl you’ve been with for years..”
“Well yes.” He rebuttals, shoulders bouncing. “Why would I lie about this.”
“Why would you lie about breaking up with the girlfriend you never told me about in the first place?” You spit, furiously blinking at him. “Gee, I wonder why.”
“Omitting the truth isn’t a lie.” He corrects,
Continuing to rub at your temples, your head shakes, lips pursed to hold back an angered groan. “This seems pointless..”
Sunghoon’s contemplative expression makes your lips tighten more, ready to run from the pool and check your phone before he can get another word in.
“Our pointless conversations mean a lot to me..” he mumbles quietly, head shaking. “Doesn’t matter, right?”
His hand lifts before your face, inspecting the tips of his fingers while your mouth parts. Tongue turning heavier the longer you think of a proper response.
“Getting pruney..” he nods toward the stairs. “Let’s get out.”
Perfect. Hopeful that Heeseung’s texted, you follow him back to your chairs. Wrapping a towel around your hips before reaching for your bag to check your phone.
Zero notifications. God damnit.
“Kind of hungry.” He mutters, looking over the pool’s bar menu. “Wanna share anything?”
“No thanks,” you pretend to yawn, laying back with your arms behind your head. The way your stomach grumbles hardly goes unnoticed, rolling his eyes again before turning his body to look at you.
“It’s funny.” Calling a waiter over, he taps an item on the menu, entering your room number on a device to pay.
“What's funny.” You say flatly, eyes shut.
“How much you pretend to hate me when we’re not even all that different..” he notes, laid on his side with one arm keeping his head held up to watch you.
“Hah!” You guffaw sarcastically, sneering. “You and I? We’re nothing alike.”
“Sure.” He chuckles, sitting up to grab a plate full of chocolate covered strawberries from the waiter. “Thanks.”
The decadent fruits grab your attention, watching from the corner of your eye as he bites into one, releasing a pleased hum. “I know you’re hungry.” He mutters between bites. “You haven’t ate today.”
“I’m not.”
It’s not entirely a lie.. even if your stomach disagrees. Even if your mouth salivates when he picks up a white chocolate covered berry, swallowing the saliva swarming around your tongue at the bite he takes. “Won’t snitch on you to mommy, you know. You can eat good food around me, can be added to the pile of secrets we share now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You glower, sitting up. Gaze flitting between the plate and Sunghoon’s pink lips wrapping around another piece.
“You think I’ve already forgotten about your horrible squat form?” He huffs, laughing. “I know your mom scolded you to get your ass in the gym.”
“Yeah, so what? What’s your point.” Wrapping your arms around your stomach, you can’t ignore the next rumble that passes. How the hell did he know that you love chocolate covered strawberries?
He shrugs, holding one of the treats in front of your face, slowly turning it. “You think we’re different because I do whatever I need to do to keep my father happy. Meanwhile, you play the part of a doll for your mom to relive her youth through. Restricting what you eat, trying to work up a sweat when she makes comments on your figure. Taking it personal when she dislikes your hair, makeup, clothes.. even going as far as pawning off your body for better grades.” He emphasizes that last part with a bite, red dribbles of liquid squirting from the berry. The tone bright against his chin, pink tongue slowly dragging out to lick himself clean. “We’re not all too different, you just never had anyone around to make it harder for you. Only child syndrome shit..”
“Not my fault you have some major mommy issues.” You whisper, face turning away before he can finish off the strawberry.
“You would think that,” he hums. “Have to have them to recognize them.”
Ready to curse him out, you look again only to find his eyes focused on you, lightly tipping his chin. “Eat.”
“No.”
“You’re hungry.” Sitting up on his knees, he crawls onto your chair, lifting a berry before your lips. “I want you to eat.”
I don’t care what you want. That’s what you should say. That’s what you would say if he wasn’t so close, looming in front of you, broad bare chest close enough to smell the chlorine radiating off of his skin. The small space between your lips invaded by the hard shell of chocolate, sweet and cool against your lips. “Take a bite.”
Sunghoon’s gaze slowly drifts from yours, skimming down the bridge of your nose to your lips, tipping the berry in until your teeth clink and you open wider. “That’s it.”
Sugary sweet milk chocolate melts onto your tongue, sucking around the strawberry as he slowly dips it past your lips. “Tastes good, doesn’t it.”
It’s dizzying really, how easily his gaze alone can make you feel lightheaded. Nodding slowly as you succumb and allow him to feed the rest of the strawberry inside of your mouth.
“I knew you wanted it.” He says, hinting a cocky confidence. “I know you want a lot of things you refuse to ask for..”
Sunghoon uses your seconds of falter to grab your chin, thumb pressed against the center. “Want more?”
No.
Why can’t you just say no? Why must your tongue slip out, allowing for him to run another chocolate coated fruit along the tip. Sinking in closer, he starts with a light kiss placed on the corner of your lips, lapping at the side of the strawberry sitting between your lips. “Let me taste.” He whispers extra quietly, pushing the fruit between your conjoined lips. Less focused on the bits of chocolate breaking up against your tongues than he is with licking across each crevice inside.
“Hoon..” whimpering, you clutch at his wrist, tugging his hold away to deepen the kiss for a minute. Struggling to catch your breath the more he strokes and sucks around your tongue.
“You’re making a mess..” he speaks softly, thumb brushing along your chin. Tongue flicking out to lick up a crumb of chocolate. “Do I have to clean up all of your messes?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” You’re not really asking, no. Unsure if you even managed to speak, you sigh, pressing closer to him.
“A lot of things will have to stay unspoken between us,” pinching your chin, he tilts your face up. “Until you’re ready to accept who I am, and what you want.”
“I don’t want what you are.” You whine, grabbing his chest. “You’re drama, bad.. very bad.”
“I may not be what you want me to be..” he licks your lips clean, pressing featherlight kisses. “But I’m what you’re afraid of having, too risky, unpredictable. I know that you feel it as much as I do..”
Silence falls between you as you can’t fathom doing anything other than stare. His unblinking eyes absorb every emotion you can’t bring yourself to say, down to the misery wrapped around you each time you end up like this.
“I’m going back to the room to shower.” He says after a few minutes, finishing with a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll check on Heeseung if you plan to stay out here much longer.”
Check on Heeseung?
Shit.
Snapping out of the Sunghoon induced trance you’d fallen into, you jump to sit up, scrambling to grab your bag. “Wait wait! No no, don’t go.” You rush toward him, wrapping around his arm. “One more swim?”
“Tired of chasing after you.” He says flatly, teeth baring, implicating more. “It’s getting a little too crowded out here anyway.”
“But.. we were having so much fun.”
Glaring at you once more, he scoffs and turns away to head back inside. Only slowed down by your limbs wrapping around his arm to keep him close. “Are you not having fun?”
Sunghoon rolls his eyes, slamming the elevator keys to promptly get inside as the doors are quick to open. Forcing you to follow, he shrugs a few times, failing to get you off. “Maybe I’m getting bored of just having fun.”
“What else do you want to do? Want to go out?” You ask desperately, tugging your bag you were rushed to grab quickly onto your shoulder.
Instead of replying, he gives you another irritated look, ripping free from your hold once reaching the floor you’re staying on. “Can’t tell if you’re playing dumb right now, or you’re actually just dumb.”
“Hoon..” stepping inside behind him, you grab onto his shoulders. Nervously peering at Heeseung’s shut door. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“Hmmph..” sliding your hands off, he turns half-body. A small smirk playing at his lips, eyes thinned. “What do you want?”
“What?” You blink confused, grabbing onto his elbow.
“What do you want? Because it’s getting old, this little act.” He states snarkily, moving toward his bedroom. The change in direction releases a sigh of relief, shoulders loosening as you follow him.
“What act?”
Coming to a halt at his door, he steps inside, turning around to look at you, arms raised up to grab the door frame. “Think I’m just going to fuck you and have you pretend you don’t want it over and over again? That I’m going to let you fuck my brother right in front of me and crawl back to me whenever he doesn’t do it how you like? How I do it for you?”
“That’s not true..” you mutter, looking away. “That’s not why—“
“Then what is it?” He crowds in closer, nose nudged against your forehead. “Because you like me? And you want me to fuck you. You want to be with me?”
Sunghoon huffs after a minute of silence, nodding against the top of your head. “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then leave. Go find your boyfriend, or whatever, to comfort and take care of your needs.”
Stepping backwards, he rolls his eyes, sitting down on the edge of the hotel bed. “Well? You gonna stand there all day?”
“No..” wishing you could steal a look at your phone, you shut the door behind you. Setting down your bag on the nightstand. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“You expect me to believe you about Miyeon as if you haven’t lied to me before.”
Standing up, he moves toward you, eyebrows stressed together. “You know what I don’t get?”
Getting closer to make you uneasy, he bites down on his lip, jaw clenched tight. “Why are you the only one allowed to fuck whoever you want? Why should I still want you?”
“Sunghoon, I—“
“No.” He cuts you off, standing straight to loom over you. “You still want me? Then show me. Prove it.”
Glancing at your bag one last time, you nod. Submitting to his wishes and reaching for his swim trunks.
“No.” He sneers, grabbing your hand to hold before you can gather the drawstring. “Kiss me, you kiss me.”
A kiss. A kiss initiated byyou. That’s what he wants..
Closing the small space between your bodies, you wrap around his shoulders to arch your neck back. Failing to ignore the shivers rushing through your fingers, you lick at your lips repeatedly. A kiss shouldn’t be this hard, not after everything you’ve let him do to your body..
“I’m waiting.” He says between gritted teeth, not moving a muscle closer for you.
You know Sunghoon doesn’t simply want a kiss. No. He wants you to admit something that isn’t true, wants the reassurance that he still has some type of power over your relationship with his brother. Needs to believe that you’d still choose him given the chance..
Fine. Give Sunghoon what he wants. Do anything you have to do.
Pressing your lips to his, you hesitate to deepen the kiss at first. Smoothing down to grip onto his biceps as you begin to lean in more, pouting to meld your mouths together. Staying stiff between your hold, he doesn’t move an inch, allowing for you to take command. It only takes a few seconds for your greedy tongue to knock at the seam of his lips, desperate to taste the residual sweetness left behind. Working with your pleading tongue, he parts open, lazily licking along the muscle entering his mouth.
It’s the most mandated basic kiss you’ve shared with him, lacking passion, lacking heat. Hardly sparing you more than a few flicks of his tongue before pulling away with a look of annoyance mixed with anger.
“What’s wrong?” You breathe, grasping his biceps. “Isn’t this what you want?”
“Hah..” without looking at you, he nods, biting on his lip. “Fine. Let’s do this your way.”
Removing your hands, he sits down on the bed, easing the drawstring on his trunks open.
Licking the taste of him off your mouth, you silently agree. Shifting down onto your knees to settle in the space between his spread open thighs. “Wait.” Sunghoon’s palm presses to your chest, chin directed toward your body. “Take that off, you know how I like it.”
Right. Take off your bikini top, unknot the tied strings behind your neck, slowly ease the triangle shaped material off your breast. That seems to appease him, sliding his hand down between your chest, he nods in approval. “Bottoms too, and show me.”
Heat rushes up as you follow his orders and get off your knees to stand, untying one side of your bottoms at a time to really stretch out the reveal of your bare cunt. “Wait.”
Grabbing onto your hands, he glides the damp fabric off your core for you, humming quietly. “Do I even have to do anything to turn you on?”
No. But you won’t give him the free ego boost, stepping away from your bottoms that fall to the ground without meeting his eyes. He cups between your thighs, thumb finding your clit to circle.
“You get wet like this for me because you like me, whether you’re willing to admit that or not.” He says monotonously, palm patting against your center. “Not only for my body either, even if you look at me with those cock hungry eyes.” With a grin he draws free, admiring the slick on his hand. “Get back on your knees.”
This is the problem with Sunghoon, so full of himself. So self-concerned, assuming he means more to you than he really does..
“Good girl.” He acknowledges, humming under his breath when your knees return to the floor. “You may piss me off, but at least you know when to listen.” He leans back, stomach muscle tight, flexing above his swim shorts. “You know what to do.”
You know what to do thanks to him, he was the first guy to force you to swallow every inch.
Running your parted lips over the tip of his size, you lightly lick down the slit. Avoiding the intense gaze he has focused on your actions. You know he wants your eyes on him, but you can’t give him that. Not this time. His length chubs up to full mass on top of your palm, dragging from side to side suckling the mushroom capped tip. The muscles lining his stomach in your line of sight flex, convulsing each time you run along the slit collecting pre-cum that continuously drips out.
You owe him from last night, that’s all. Nothing more, suck his cock and get this over with. “Take in more, you’re better than this weak shit.”
The comment elicits shivers down your spine, further parting your lips as you push forward and drag your tongue against the thick vein lined underneath. He holds in a groan when you vacuum seal and suck around him halfway, tickling your fingers toward the filled heavy sack between his thighs. “You’re being annoying on purpose, aren’t you?” He tuts, dragging his hands through to the back of your head to cup you and hold you in place where he wants. “All the way.”
Coughing around the sped up intrusion, you relax against the heavy weight of his length continuing to stretch past your lips. Gurgling when the tip breeches your throat, bulging against your neck muscles. “Fuck.” He hisses, keeping his moans at a whisper level, because two can play this game.
You want to keep this act up? As if he had to do anything more than nod to get you here, as if you don’t want it just as bad.
He doesn’t waste more time to go easy, enjoying the gurgled sounds escaping from around his cock. Lifting his hips from the bed to fuck your throat faster, he grunts deeply, choking on the rasped whine that finds a way out. “Can you breathe?” He questions, hips ramming into your face mercilessly.
Scratching at his thighs, you try to shake your head, only to receive a slap on the cheek. Not too rough or painful, but hard enough to alert you and snap your eyes open in time to see his pam lay flat over your nose. Fully blocking your ability to breathe, leaving you no other option but to lurch around the thick meat pumping in and out of your throat.
“Fuck!” Holding you in place, he pinches your nose until your throat chokes around his cock. The tight squeeze nearly making him bust, having to let go and rip your mouth off to stave off his orgasm.
He pants heavily, clutched over reeling from the denial of release he just gave himself. Heavy wet cock throbbing against his stomach. “Fuckfuck..”
Swallowing down harsh breaths, the room fills with both of you attempting to recompose yourselves. Landing hard on your knees when he abruptly removed you.
Sunghoon rubs at his face, licking his lips, craving more of your taste.
“C’mere.” He says lazily, index finger directing you to climb onto his lap. “Who taught you how to suck cock like that?” He smirks, cleaning the drool off your chin. “Did a good job of teaching you.”
He mumbles distracted by your swollen cock sucking lips, devouring them in one swoop with his. Licking and sucking between your upper and lower. The taste carrying hints of salt and sunscreen, the chapstick you applied hours ago. All of it drives him up a wall, licking between for more of a taste, tongue sucked around yours.
“I wanna be inside of you.” He mumbles between your lips, kneading your hips firmly between his digits. “Get on the bed.”
Nodding too eagerly, you try to jump off his lap onto the space behind him. Firmly held in place by his biceps circling around your waist. The muscles bulging and stretching his pale skin tight around them.
“You’ve really turned into a little slut haven’t you?” He mocks, licking up the center of your throat to land at your jaw. Mouthing and sucking up to your ear as you keen and whine in dismay. “Or is that reserved for me? Cause I fuck you like a whore..”
Big palms flatten on your waist, groping his way lower to slap and squeeze your bottom. Coercing your hips to grind against him with rougher hits, he grasps onto your buttcheeks. The blunt tips of his nails digging into your soft fleshy skin. “My slut, only for me, right?”
Yesyesyes whatever you fucking say. Between your half-lidded eyes and clouded aroused mind, you somehow manage to keep yourself mute.
Sunghoon nibbles on your earlobe, licking back down your jaw to kiss along your chin. “Say it, want me to fuck you? Then say it.”
“N-not a slut,” you stammer, gasping at the round of slaps he delivers. Arching your back forward, chest shoved to his face. “Only f-for—for you.”
“Such a pain in the ass for such a pretty slut.” Another succession of whip-like slaps has you wailing. Unable to catch your breath before he shoves you onto the bed and stands up to fully remove his clothes. “So fucking difficult.” He grunts, pulling your hips up to get a close look between your spread thighs. “With the prettiest pussy, all for me.”
It’s humiliating how loud the squelch is that escapes as his fingers dip in last your blood filled velvety folds. The wetness emitting from your cunt enough to plop out onto the bed if he pulls out too fast. Tapping along your twitching hole, he hums, pleased by the tremors running up your thighs. Shocking you to arch in deep with another hit that ripples through your buttcheeks.
“I-inside..” you whimper, setting yourself on all four in a more sturdy position. “Please?”
“What do you want? My fingers?” He prods, at your entrance, swiping down to your clit to teasingly tap at. “My mouth? My cock? So fucking wet for me, you’d take anything I give you.” Rubbing his fingers up and down to create a mess, he coats the outside of your cunt with wetness. It’s everywhere, all juicy and ready to be wrecked.
“God please—touch me, inside, anything.” You shiver, teeth chattering already. Maybe if you.. shove your ass out more, shoulders flat against the bed to show off the deepest arch.
Sunghoon hisses, pressing kisses down the seam of your slit before pulling away with a curse. “And why should I give you anything? Because you’re dripping fucking wet? Acting like a desperate whore for cock?”
“Please—“ you sob, sinking into the bed deeper as he climbs on behind you and mounts your backside. “Wan—want it!”
“This?” He teases, so fucking meanly, jamming the tip of his cock against your fluttering hole. Pushing in just past his pre-cum soaked slit, he wraps around his length tightly, easing the tip half in and out. “Pussies fucking screaming for my cock baby girl.. want me to fuck you? Keep saying that shit.” He groans, pushing in further to feel your cunt snap around his cockhead. “And say my fucking name.”
“Hoon—ahh!” You shout, the side of your face fully pressed to the bed, chest caved against the sheets. The demanding slap he smacks your ass with makes your spine throb, resounding around the room like a crack. “Sunghoon! Fuck me! Fuck me please!”
Licking at the sweat gathered on his upper lip, he slinks lower to grip onto your hair. Knee sinking into the mattress, his other leg propped up for a balance. He could fuck you like this, he normally would..
“Want you to look at me when you cum.” He whispers, pulling until your mouth can full breath without the bed obstructing your oxygen. “Want you to say my name, look me in my eyes, tell me who fucks you this good.”
Fuck.
That’s not what you want, not something you can handle in this submissive state. Popping free the tip, he sets you on your back without much effort. The dazed look written across your face telling him everything he needs to know.
“Nu—“ you scramble to move back onto your front. Held down by big hands slamming onto your hips, chaining you to the bed with their powerful hold.
“Don’t fucking move.” He appears offended that you even tried to disobey him. Caressing his palms down to spread your thighs open, he slams them to the bed. Angry red cock bouncing against his stomach as he makes space for himself and situating to find the perfect position.
It feels helpless to try to move and fight against him, weak in comparison to his built up strength and hard muscles earned from countless hours in the gym. It wouldn’t hurt to try, of course, but the second his length swipes between your folds, you can’t help but to forget. Folding your hands over your chest as you watch his stomach tighten and release, grinding his hips forward to fuck against your sloppy wet aroused cunt.
“Hoon—Sunghoon,” you breathe, losing more air by the second. Burning up from the body heat building from his flesh to yours.
“Feel good baby?” He asks under his breath, continuing to torture you with the sensation of his heavy cock rubbing through your folds. Thick girth gleaming with your juices all over. “Like how I play with your pussy, don’t you.” He says proudly, loosening his grip on your thighs to press against your stomach. Slowly trailing upward to massage your breasts, lifting his head to watch your face fall apart.
“Can-can’t, please, hurts.” Hurts so good, to be so close without getting what you want. What he must expect you to beg for, hardly able to form a sentence anymore. You arch into his warm palms squeezing and bouncing your chest, pinching your nipples before he shifts to your neck.
“Look at me.” He commands, deep and raspy. “Look at me with those pretty eyes.”
“Ah, Sunghoon, please.” Blinking upward, you gasp, taking in his sculpted jawline, long neck, broad shoulders and defined chest. He’s a dream, a nightmare really, too good to be real. Dark eyes boring back into yours from where he looks down at you, grabbing your chin to hold you in place.
“Just like that, don’t fucking look away.”
Everything around you feels light as air, as if you’ve been lifted from the bed, floating on a cloud as he leans down and locks his lips to yours.
It’s the loudest kiss he’s ever given you, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. He works slowly with your parted mouth, taking time to really hold your top and bottom lip before teasing his tongue between. Throbbing racks between your pressed bodies, eyes falling shut as his tongue slips inside and laps at yours, at the roof of your mouth. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
Too much the way his body crowds you with no space of your own. Cock pulsating against your core, chest beating violently pressed to yours. Mouth moving as if he mapped and memorized the inside of yours. Weak shaky hands find his shoulders, wanting to push him away, wanting to shove him off and spit in his face for doing this.
Because how could he do this to you?! Soar your sense to their precipice of carnal arousal, wipe your mind of all sensible thought. Only to bring you here, trapped beneath him, sucking his breath into your lungs until tears burst from your eyes.
“I know.” He mutters, tugging your bottom lip between his. Savoring the hot tears rolling down your cheeks to his hands. “I feel it too.”
No. You feel nothing. There is nothing to feel.
“What we have, what you do to me.” He confesses, nose pressed to yours. “I don’t want this with anyone else. I don’t ever want you to have this with anyone besides me.”
So wrong, all wrong. So wrong that it feels right. Blinking your tears away with no other choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. You can’t do this, can’t accept what he’s trying to convince you of.
“Look at me.” Sunghoon’s tone sounds more desperate than viscous, pinching your chest from within. “That’s all I ask of you, see me. See me for who you know I am.”
He ruts between your thighs, reminding you to listen as the tip catches on your hole. The cry for help behind his command, almost pitiful.. burning a hole through your heart as you fight between your blanked out mind and a whirlwind of emotions.
“Can’t..” you barely whisper, eyes clenched shut, turning to dig your face deeper into the bed.
“Because I’m not him?” He whimpers brokenly, forehead landing against yours. Wet trickles of sweat cling to his dark eyelashes, mouth turned down at the corners. “Because I’m not my fucking brother?”
Between the arousal burning up to your chest and confusion causing a frenzy in your head, you can only whine, scratching down his shoulders. “Please don’t.”
“Why?” Slowing down his pace, he grips onto your jaw, twisting your face to look at him. “Why are you denying what we both feel?”
“We shouldn’t, we shouldn’t feel—“
“Who says.” Reaching between your bodies, he wraps around his shaft. Slapping against your center as a warning. “Who says you’re not meant to be mine?”
The intrusion of his entire size cuts off any response, neck arched up as a silent scream flies from your lips. He circles between your hips to mold your cunt to his girth, grabbing onto your shoulders for leverage. “Who the fuck said you don’t belong to me.”
This is too intimate, not even breaking into an immediate ruthless rhythm as soon as he penetrates you. He’s slow, stretching your walls around his size to accommodate him and make you comfortable. Fingers travel to your clit, leaving you no choice but to cover your mouth to suppress your moans. He pinches, flicking side to side, not even needing to judging by the puddle of wet slick arousal pooled beneath your ass.
“Sunghoon, that’s—“
“Gripping around me so good, you’re always so so good for me.”
Regardless of your crazed out of whack emotions, your chest tightens when he praises you. Looking at you as if you hung the moon up for him on the starriest of nights. He returns to layer your mouth with kisses, wrapping your thighs over his hips. “Please, keep your eyes on me.” The whisper dances across your mouth, gasping as he begins to thrust and make you really feel each inch.
There’s too much heat and moisture between your faces, wrapped around him akin to a clinging vine as he builds up speed and pulls out to the tip. Burying back in to release a gushing wet sound, a splatter of arousal all over his groin and thighs.
“No one,” he murmurs, huffing staggered breaths over your mouth. “No one does this to me.”
No no no. You scratch at his biceps, shoulders, anything you can catch within your reach. He can’t, he can’t fucking do this.
It’s hard to tell what’s shaking anymore. Sunghoon’s heartbeat, your limbs, the bed beneath you. Everything hurts and feels good, as if your spines been ripped out and shaken around. Releasing stored up pain and anger, bringing to life new fears and worries.
“The way we feel together.” He ruts in harder, hips snapping fiercely. Splitting you apart from your chest to the hot space between your thighs. “I want this forever.”
“Fuck!” You curss, head tossed back unable to keep your eyes open any longer. The combination of his terrifyingly honest words and cock ramming into you hits untouched nerves. Each sparking fires to life inside of you, burning your ligaments and muscles as an insane pressure forms in your stomach.
“Exactly like this.” He speaks in a low vibrato. Vocal chords shakey as he cups your jaw and presses your foreheads together. Blinking the glossy moisture attached to his clumped together eyelashes to meet yours.
More than fucking you, he loves this. The way you try to maintain judgment toward him and fail. The look that can only be described as love winning every time. With your foreheads stuck together he drags your legs up, hoisting the backs of your knees onto his shoulders to really make you take it.
That drives you over the edge, struggling to breathe in the tight position. Panic rises with your wide blown out eyes focused on his, chilling heat surrounding that pressure in your stomach. “Hoon!—Sungho—!!”
The pressure explodes around his cock nearly slipping his free from the amount of wetness that bursts around his length, continuing to jackhammer into you through your orgasm squirting down to his balls. They slap loudly against your ass with each pointed thrust, burying in deep. Savoring your tight heat sleeved around his length through the release that exposes the whites of your eyes.
The little breathy ah-ah-ah’s echoing out of your parted mouth urge on his erratic thrusts. Mounting you like a bitch in heat to get his cock sucked dry. He growls, slamming in once, twice more.
“I’m cumming!” He groans deeply, throat cracking as hot release spills inside of you painting your cervix with thick white strings of cream. Slow to pull out despite the sounds of your whimpered cries, he circles and empties inside of you where he belongs.
“It’s okay..” he mumbles, sighing and throwing his head back with one last thrust to really push his seed deep inside of you. “I’m here, everything’s okay now.” He draws free with a lewd pop, splaying his fingers over your hole to keep everything inside as he adjusts to press against your back. “Was too much?”
His drawled tone vibrates against your damp hot skin, turning to drag your nose down his chest and burrow in the safety of his fresh scent. It was too much, and it’s his fault. Failing to regather yourself once your orgasm passed from the intense emotion taking over.
Without having to explain, he wraps around you and presses kisses to your head. This is what you needed, even if you don’t understand that yet.
He needed to break down your false wall of hatred for him, to get you to see that this is where you belong. Right here in his arms, swallowed by his love, filled with it, cheek rested on his chest that thrums for you and only you.
Tomorrow. You’ll wake up and have a real honest discussion. No more games, no more lies. He started it, and now it’s your turn to face yourself.
“Get some sleep angel.” He whispers, already keeping track of your shallow restless breathing pattern. “I’ll never stop taking care of you.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Beep
Beep
Beep
The sound of Sunghoon’s phone alarm going off jolts him from his sleep. Disoriented as he jerks and rubs at his eyes. Instinctively his hand reaches out for your warmth, rubbing over the area your body had last laid by his side only hours ago.
Of course you’d already left, probably had to finish packing away your toiletries and belongings..
Which is exactly what he should be doing right now, yawning as he taps his phone and notes the time. “Shit.”
Sunghoon groans, toppling out of the hotel bed to grab the last few things he needs to put away, deciding to skip the shower for now and just hop in once you reach Paris. The plane ride wouldn’t be a short one afterall.
Besides, the light aroma of your scent still clings to his skin. Dry tear stains appear on his hand, brushing his teeth as he admires them and contemplates not washing his hands off.
This is different.
This was.. exactly what he’s been craving, chasing after ever since the first time he had you. It’s different with you, natural and easy. Nothing feels like an act when he’s with you. He tried to make it work with Miyeon in the beginning when his father had set them up but there was never any real connection, no chemistry. She clocked him for exactly what he is right from the start.
Maybe you did too, but that’s the difference, you make him feel safe. Safe to be himself without judgment, because for some God forsaken reason, you still like him.
Thinking about it all makes his chest hurt, makes his heart race speed up. The way you say his name, touch his body, resist him and give in every time.
It shouldn’t have been this way, his brother shouldn’t have ever been an obstacle here. He didn’t want to do this, not after the last time they argued over a girl and he completely ignored Heeseung for a year. It was petty and immature, but he was young and she was his first love, first obsession really.
Heeseung’s never put in as much effort as Sunghoon. Everything’s just so fucking easy for him. Who knows why.. maybe because he doesn’t care as much, doesn’t worry about things that are beyond his control.
That’s never been an option for Sunghoon. He can only care, that’s the only option he’s ever been given, and he does care. He keeps up a strong facade to hide how much he cares but he feels everything. There’s a part of him that hopes you see that- you get it. You relate and understand why he’s built up walls around his heart, because growing up with nothing but constant pain can only make you so hard.
Sunghoon wanted to work through it, he didn’t want to be cold and closed off, but nothing ever seemed worth melting the protective shield of ice for.
Until he met you.
Heeseung would have to be understanding, besides, how could you want him after this? He’s so beneath you, choosing booze over your love.
Sunghoon smiles to himself, lips dragging across his knuckles. It’s his time to win.
Today is a new day, everything about today feels different. The air smells fresher, his stride lighter, the pressure he’s used to feeling on his chest gone.
Assuming you and Heeseung have already made your way downstairs, he preps himself for how awkward this flight could be. What if you all get stuck seated together again? It’d be for the best to wait until you’re settled into your new hotel in France. You can all sit down and discuss this as mature adults.
Every part of him shouts against that- why the hell should he maintain maturity after putting up with his brother's unruly behavior for years now? He should rub everything in his face, that damn loser..
No. You wouldn’t like that.. your hearts too good. You still see the good in Heeseung, destined to believe his fraudulent facade of this nice emotional guy that just had a tough life.
Who can take him seriously? Their dad is a freaking millionaire. So what if their mom died, suck it up and grow some balls.
Ah, but your feminine compassion would never see where Sunghoon’s coming from. He can be rational, great at negotiating, well trained by his father to set his bar high and demand all expectations to be met. You can’t come in guns ablaze, jumping off hot from the start. He has to play cool, get you to let his brother down easily, let you have your mourning period.
Yes, everything will pan out wonderfully once you scrub Heeseung out of your life. Out of both of your lives.
“Ah great, look who decided to show up!” Mr. Park greets loudly greets. Interrupting his inner dialogue as he roughly pats his shoulder. “Slept in did you? Well, just in time son, I was just about to order the taxi.”
“Shouldn’t we wait?” Sunghoon looks at the elevator area again, expecting for you to appear any minute now.
“Wait for what?” Your mom asks, fixing the new luxury brand scarf tied around her purse.
“Uhh, for Heeseung and—“
“Oh they left hours ago son.” His dad informs nonchalantly, motioning for them to move outside to wait for their car. “Probably didn’t want to wake you from your beauty sleep.”
“What?? Why would they leave before us?” Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrow, throwing his bag onto the cart with the other luggages- not missing that yours is nowhere to be seen.
“They found a really early train ride to Germany last night. I told Heeseung to take a later one and enjoy the rest of the day here but he was really eager to explore Frankfurt.” Continuing to speak complete nonsense that Sunghoon can’t comprehend only worries him further. Annoyed by how evasive and casual his father speaks.
“What do you mean Germany? I thought we were flying to France.”
“We are sweetie.” Your mom laughs, confused as well. “Heeseung and your sister are the ones going to Germany to visit different universities.”
Universities?! In Germany?!
Sunghoon’s jaw drops, blinking repeatedly, his father whistling to get in the cab before he can continue to ask more questions.
None of this makes sense. Why the hell would you and Heeseung be in Germany of all places, looking at schools?! He has to be dreaming, that’s it. Stuffed into the backseat alone, he pats around his phone, immediately finding your last text messages.
Sunghoon: ‘Good Morning, where are you?’
Text Message Failed To Send
Watching the green bubble instantly pop up confuses him all the more, tongue pinched between his teeth annoyed. Must be the international service messing up.. or maybe you really are on a train, somewhere between mountains where messages can’t reach you right now..
Sunghoon: ‘I thought we were going to France next, what’s this deal about Germany? Are you with Heeseung?’
Text Message Failed To Send
Fuck. This really a dream, a bad dream.
None of this makes sense, not after yesterday, not after you fell asleep with him, curled up together in his arms..
“Hoon! What the hell is wrong with you this morning, hurry up.” His dad hollers from outside of the parked car, already standing with their belongings. “We have a flight to catch, wake your ass up.”
Shit, they’re already at the airport. The entire security checkpoint feels like a mirage, desperately racking his brain for an answer to what the hell could possibly be going on right now. Why in the hell would you be looking at universities? You’re both already enrolled for next year?
He has to text Heeseung, there’s no other choice.
Sunghoon: ‘Where are you?’
There’s no way he can get on this plane now. What’s the point if you’re not here, why wouldn’t you be here?! This is your dream trip, especially France.
Heeseung: ‘Hey bro :) Expected to hear from you sooner.’
Motherfucker.
Sunghoon: ‘What the fucknis going on, why are you in Germany???’
Heeseung: :)
Gripping his phone hard enough to form a crack on the screen if he went on any longer, he growls, teeth grinding together. What the fuck is his brother up to.
Moving to a quieter area, he watches your parents sit down at the gate, biting on his thumb nail before pounding the key to call his brother.
“Sunghoon.” He answers flatly, not even bothering to allow more than one ring.
“Heeseung, where the fuck are you right now?! What did you do to her—“
“Nothing, nothing at all.” Heeseung interrupts, having stepped away from the fancy train cart his father purchased for the both of you to travel to Germany in. “She’s doing just fine, happier than ever.”
Pinching between his eyebrows, he paces back and forth listening to his older brother, palm swiping down his face. “What’s going on Heeseung.”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The older clicks his tongue, scoffing under his breath. “It’s over Hoon, this stupid game of yours. It’s done.”
“What the hell are you talking about man?!” Sunghoon hisses, slamming his fist against a nearby wall. “Where is she?!?”
“Away from you.” Heeseung says calmly, the smile behind his voice disappearing. “For good.”
“Heeseung.. you’re pissing me off.”
“Good.” He replies promptly, taking a deep breath. “You’ve pissed me off long enough, both of us. Can’t just let me have one thing can you?”
“She’s not yours to have.”
“She doesn’t want you.” Heeseung corrects snidely, glaring at the view passing by from the train. “What we have can really be something special. I care for her, unlike you. I can’t have you interfering anymore.”
“Oh yeah? I don’t care about her?” Sunghoon asks, throat drying, chewing on his lip. “You can’t fucking do this.”
“Watch me.” Heeseung whistles, checking the time. “You have a flight to catch in a few minutes I believe.”
“If you do this I’ll never forgive you.” Sunghoon grits, fist balled up by his hip.
A pause falls between the line, silently sharing a few intakes of air. “Goodbye brother.”
“Heeseung!”
“And don’t bother trying to contact her anymore. This is over. I win.”
The line falls flat, dead tone ringing through Sunghoon’s head. There’s no way his brother managed to pull this off, and you? You knew all along.. even yesterday.
Slumping against the wall, he takes a long deep breath, checking his text messages that won’t reach you.
Sunghoon: ‘This isn’t over.’
Text Message Failed To Send
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
~one year later~
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Mmmhm..” you groan, rolling onto your side and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “S’too early babe.”
“Too early?!” He gasps dramatically, setting down a tray of your favorite food in front of your face. The aroma enough to fully open your gaze up and land on the plate adorned with your favorite croissant, sprinkled with powdered sugar and almond slices.
“You didn’t..”
“Of course I did,” Heeseung’s smile widens, on his knees by the bed you share. His chin propped on top of his folded arms as he leans in and watches you yawn away your last bits of sleep. “Happy anniversary baby.”
“You must have woke up over an hour ago to get this fresh..” you note bashfully, sitting up with a lazy grin. “Thank you. Happy anniversary. Can’t believe it’s already been one year.”
“Times gone by so fast, too fast.” He perks up, shoving the tray closer to you. “Drink before your coffee gets cold.”
“You shouldn’t have done all this.. you’re gonna be so tired at work.” You say between munching on a piece of the best almond croissant you’ve ever had. Moaning as it slides down your throat with a sip of coffee. “Here I am sleeping in while you run around Paris to get my favorite breakfast..”
“It’s nothing.” He affirms, moving onto the bed to stroke your hair away from your face. “Besides, I’m really sorry I couldn’t get today off. Really wanted to spend today with you laying in bed all day..”
“Just in bed?” You ask flirtatiously, lifting an eyebrow.
Heeseung bites down on his lip, moving closer to kiss your bare shoulder. “We do have the best time here..”
“We have tomorrow baby, don’t feel bad. Hate that I couldn’t get tonight off either, but at least tomorrow is all ours.” You frown, pecking his cheek. “One day doesn’t make that big of a difference.”
“Tomorrow, you’re not ready for what I have in store for you tomorrow..” Heeseung grins mischievously, getting up already dressed for work. Bending in to plant a kiss on your lips, he lets out a sad sigh, standing up and nodding to the tray of food. “Eat.”
“See you later, baby love.” As much as you try to smile, you can’t stop the corners of your lips from dragging down as you get up to hug him and wave him off from the front door of your shared loft.
It’s been a year now of taking the train to school together. Venturing around the city of your dreams, of holding hands and stealing kisses in dark corners. A year of peace, dreams you couldn’t have foreseen coming to fruition without Heeseung by your side.
A year of a healthy, calming, nice relationship.
365 days of photos in frames, nights falling asleep on the couch, lying to your parents via email, text messages, international phone calls..
Well, it’s not completely lying if you never claimed to not share a bed with your step-brother. Your parents know that you live together, they don’t need to know the details.
A year of introducing Heeseung as your boyfriend and not your step-brother.
A year of smiles, laughs, hours and hours of love making..
A year without his presence. Without mentioning him again, erasing his existence, pretending that what led you here in the first place had nothing to do with him..
A year to figure yourself out, all thanks to Heeseung’s help. Without him you’d really be lost still, tugged between two different paths that could have altered your current present.
It hasn’t been easy, but this relationship has really taught you to learn how to compromise now that you’ve been serious, going on ten months of calling it official. Heeseung respected your wishes to take it slow despite how you started off, really proved himself and got help. Fully committed to you, and hasn't touched alcohol since your time in Italy.
This is what you deserve to have, the most loving gorgeous boyfriend who adores you and worships at your feet.
Not some obsessed lunatic that blackmails you, threatens and manipulates every decision you make..
Things are good now.
Even as you sit on the couch in your dream loft watching old episodes of Sex & The City alone, you have to feel grateful. Carrie got her girlhood dream of Paris and romance, and you have too..
She had the Russian, and you have your step-brother.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“I have a gift for you.”
“Babeee come on! We said no gifts!”
“Pfft,” Heeseung brushes your whining off. He’s done enough from running you both a bath last night after eating the dinner you cooked, to the amazing croissants he woke you up with. “What kind of boyfriend would I be to not have something prepared for our first anniversary?”
“But I didn’t get you much.” You pout, following his movements as he unveils a neatly wrapped box from beneath your bed. “And we agreed to not splurge!”
“You deserve to be splurged on. Besides, I know there’s something you’ve been wanting to do ever since we moved here and well..”
“You didn’t.” Reaching for your chest, you curl into yourself to sedate your excitement. He sets the gift onto your lap, shifting closer to be directly by your side.
“Come on, open it.”
“Ahh, okay..” Heeseung’s smile only grows as you gently untie the gift, biting down on his lip when you begin to open up the box. “Oh my God.”
“It’s for tonight.”
“You got me tickets to Phantom at the Paris Opera house?” You knew it had to be coming. Never failing to mention that you couldn’t wait for the Phantom of The Opera to be on the calendar.
“Happy anniversary baby.”
“This is way better than what I got you..” you sniffle, clutching the box to your chest. “Can’t believe we’re finally going.”
“But first! We have to grab a drink.” He exclaims, catching you off guard.
“A drink?”
Heeseung staggers for a moment, blinking at you slowly. “Coffee, to wake us up.”
“Oh of course, I’n going to need it after this week’s work load.”
“Alright, go finish getting ready my love, I’m going to clean up a little around here before we head out.”
“Thank you Hee, I won’t take too long.”
“Take your time.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
These are great seats, a spectacular balcony view of the stage. They must have cost a fortune. You wouldn’t dare to ask. Of course your parents still provide some type of allowance, enough to cover rent and tuition, a few bills, but with the jobs you’ve both acquired they’ve really been hard asses about making you work for your ‘fun money’ these days.
“This was always my favorite scene.” Heeseung whispers, squeezing around your hand.
Little Lotte?
To avoid being shushed by the elderly couple neighboring your side, you furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. Who the hell loves Little Lotte? Interesting.
Angel of music? The music of the night? All I ask of you? The phantom of the opera? The point of no return?
You’d have to remember to ask about that at dinner later. Odd choice out of an immaculate score, but Heeseung has always had a more unique taste. Perhaps you leaned toward the more predictable, having gone through your various favorites over the years of attending performances.
It was when you were thirteen attending your 20th or some performance of Phantom, you landed on a final favored choice.
Maybe it was the surge of hormones, or maybe you were just crazy. But the point of no return struck a chord that evening that had never been hit before.
The hidden lust, the fear, the desire and crave.
Christine was the real actress during that performance, she put on an act, leading the Phantom to believe her feelings resonated with his. Switching the manipulation he trained her with against him, exposing his vulnerability before unveiling a monstrous face for the last time.
The pain. The suffering. The tortured love that could have been a bountiful happy ending without Raoul’s existence. It’s so tragically beautiful.
There had been a time when Christine had annoyed you, why would she purposely seduce the Phantom only to lead him to his hell, his demise. He loved her, he wanted to be with her, he needed her.
Even now as you watch her twirl around on stage, toying with the Phantom’s weak mind, you feel annoyed. She did it because of Raoul, she did it to escape him.
Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting
Abandon thought and let the dream descend
What raging fire shall flood the soul?
What rich desire unlocks its door?
What sweet seduction lies before us?
Heat springs to the backs of your eyes as they move in fluid motion, unlocking his hold to allow her to prance around flirtatiously. Each touch between them is barely there, begging to be more. The tremble through his fingers, shaking you to the core. It’s all so raw, too real, zoning your vision in on the blaring loud chemistry between them. The way he frames around her pleading to know the secrets they can learn of each other.
The first tear to break free and trickle down to your chin parts a gasp through your lips, back stiffened as you sit straight.
Past the point of no return, no going back now
Our passion play has now at last begun
Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question
How long should we two wait before we're one?
When will the blood begin to race?
The sleeping bud bursts into bloom?
When will the flames at last consume us?
Christine’s temptress vocals swarm around you, repeating the quiet ‘I love you’s never said out loud, only screaming in your mind. The Phantom sways to her tune, lost in the act she puts on for him. Because she is his weakness, only she can destroy him.
Tears spill out faster when their hands finally touch, and she runs, she tries to run away. Because he’s a monster, he’ll ruin her.
The half concealed face comes to light, sharing a moment of silence between them now that she knows, now that he knows. This game of lies and manipulation is over, it’s done. And Raoul stands with a gun pointed, prepared to save Christine from this monster, from this angel trapped in hell..
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime
Lead me, save me from my solitude
Say you want me with you here, beside you
Anywhere you go, let me go too
Christine, that's all I ask of—-
The most bone shattering cry of ‘no!’ racks a sob up your chest, jumping in your seat as the sound of a gun shoots off, and you know what’s coming. He has no choice but to steal her away, they’ve reached the end.
“Babe?” Heeseung whispers faintly at your side, gripping your hand firmly, thumb soothing over your knuckles. It’s impossible to hold in your tears any longer, knowing the doom destined to meet their would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.
It never gets easier to watch, the utter despair, lack of humanity. Christine turning her back away only to return with a kiss, a real kiss. The Phantom’s first real kiss from the only one that showed him love that his mother couldn’t.
Oh fuck.
Hounded out by everyone. Met with hatred everywhere. No kind words from anyone. No compassion anywhere..
Why, he cries, why?!?
It never hurt this much before, never made sense. Never once before could you see yourself in Christine’s place.
Because you would have never chosen Raoul.
It’s in your soul that the true distortion lies.
“Here.” A sleeve lifts to your face, your near perfect boyfriend offering you a makeshift handkerchief. Because he knows what to do, he knows the right thing to do to bring a smile to your face.
He once begged for forgiveness for his wrong doings created by his own Phantom. Never deserved any of what was brought upon him.
He deserves better.
You deceived me, I gave my mind blindly
If there is one thing you’ve learned through your matured eyes, it’s that you and Christine Daaé have more in common than you would have predicted at thirteen. You’re both terrible liars.
This is the point of no return.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“You’re so cute.” Heeseung’s eyes wrinkle at the corners, dabbing off a tear clinging on your chin.
“Stopppp.” You whine, huffing from embarrassment as you make it to your seats and thank the hostess for escorting you.
“I didn’t think you’d be this emotional.”
“I’m sensitive.” You mutter cheekily, glaring at him.
“Can’t believe you’re still crying.”
Heeseung’s smile couldn’t be more endeared, leaning over to dab your cheeks before another tear can trail down. He laughs quietly, kissing your cheek.
“It’s a big deal!” You gush, fanning yourself to calm down. “Feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.”
“You told me you’ve seen Phantom of The Opera hundreds of times?” He says, nose scrunching up with a confused look. “Weren’t you even a part of the theater club, monthly subscription and all?”
“Yes!” Continuing to sniffle, you playfully smack his arm for mumbling about what a dork you are, letting out a long sigh. “But at the Paris opera house?! I’ll never forget this. It’s been at the top of my bucket list for years.”
“It was really beautiful,” he shrugs, appearing deep in thought. “Music was great.”
“The music, the passion.” Sighing dreamily, you clutch your chest, reaching to hold his hand. “I could see hundreds of more renditions and none would ever come close to this one.”
The way you squeeze his hand in yours draws a smile on his lips, laying his other hand on top to sandwich you between. “I’d only ever seen the black and white film before. I guess that’s my one complaint, kind of expected more of a horror or thriller because of that.” He hums, lifting his hands to kiss your knuckles. “The way they romanticized it was a little weird.”
Romanticized?
Squinting at him, you lean in closer. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Erik, the Phantom.” He nods, looking you in the eye. “He’s a monster.”
He’s a what?
You can feel your face morph to one of surprise instantaneously, jaw loose as you try to register what he means. “It’s not a horror story Hee.. Erik loves Christine.”
“Loves?!” He laughs boisterously, dropping your hand to grab onto the dinner table. “No way you’ve seen that play as much as you have and think he loves her. He’s a murderer.”
“Wait wait wait, no,” shaking your head, you poke at his chest. “You don’t get it. He’s been mistreated his entire life by everyone. He doesn’t know how to love until he meets Christine.”
Heeseung blinks at you slowly with one eyebrow raised. “He doesn’t meet her, he stalks her!” He scoffs, laughing under his breath. “Wow, so you—you wanted her to end up with the Phantom instead of Raoul?”
“What? Of course I did!” You stress, attempting to keep your voice down to not draw attention from the others around enjoying their meals. “Everyone does, like oh my God? He loves her—he’s her fucking angel!”
Heeseung continues to laugh, scratching at his nape wide eyed. “Oh you’re serious. You really watched her get chased around by this psychopath who threatens and stalks her and got love from that?”
Well. When you put it that way.
“You don’t get it.” You slump defeated, forcing yourself to not frown.
He watches you for a minute, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I think I do actually.”
Tension weighs thick between the two of you, ignoring how serious his gaze has turned, you fake a smile and glance around waiting for your order to arrive. “It’s just a play.”
“Right. It’s just a play.”
“It’s not just a play to you though.” He hums, picking at the basket of bread you’ve both been eating from. “You have books, listen to the soundtrack often, watch the movies.. you’re a big phan, as you’ve told me.”
“I mean, it’s all fictional.” You shrug, ignoring the large blaring elephant that’s entered the restaurant.
“That one you read, that was like your little Phantom porn.” He snorts, remembering how you’d curl up in bed and proceed to feel him up after finishing a chapter. “Wasn’t Raoul his brother in that one? He was Erik’s older brother, right?”
Now, why would he remember that, and why right now.
“Uhm yeah, there’s a few renditions where the authors canoned them as siblings.” You admit, doing your best to sound casual.
“I wonder why they do that?”
“Oh well, you know, brothers.. that’s like a thing. A common trope often used in fictional stories.”
“Only fictional stories?” He says playfully, keeping his demeanor calm. “So, who would you choose for Christine?”
There’s no more playfulness behind his tone, finishing the question with a tight lip, he slightly arches an eyebrow.
“I mean, I know you don’t get it but she should have picked Phantom.” You say confidently, shaking your head. “He brought out her voice.”
“From this play I’ve really learned more about her relationship with Raoul though, how they knew each other as kids.” He recounts, leaning in close with his chin resting on his palm. “I think she really liked him, she knew him. Their connection went deeper than the forced bond Erik manipulated her into believing they have.”
It’s pointless to argue about it, even if you have to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks and the beat in your chest speeding up. “You wouldn’t get it..”
Heeseung’s lips part for a minute ready to drag this out, slamming them shut and opting to lean back in his seat when he sees the corners of your lips sink down. “Sorry, I know you really love the story. Guess I was curious to understand what you love about it.”
“I love their love.” You sigh, nervously fiddling with your dress between your fingers. “That they connected through her voice, his music. It could have gone differently if she had seen him as a man and not a monster.”
“But he is a monster.” He reiterates, rubbing at his nape in disbelief. “He stalks her, hides behind mirrors to watch her practice from, he even kidnaps her!”
Heeseung tries to hold back his thoughts, but even he can’t deny the same eerie feeling that ignited in him when you broke down in tears. You feel bad, you feel bad for not choosing the unloved monster that took advantage of you, that somehow infiltrated your heart.
He knows it and you know it. The name neither of you ever mentioned lingers around your relationship. Unfinished sentences of ‘this reminds me of—‘ solidify tension between you whenever Heeseung pauses and nods as if to affirm your non-negotiated agreement.
One day you were in Italy, the next in Germany, holed up together in a hotel room too afraid to speak. Everything became too real when he pleaded with you to explain everything once you got onto the train.
‘Dad always wanted me to do more with my life.’ Heeseung had explained once you settled in your cart, hollowed lines heavy beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. ‘Hoon’s obviously going to be his successor, the next to run the company. I never wanted to follow my father’s footsteps. I wanted to enjoy my life, a normal life that my mom would have wanted for me. I promised her I wouldn’t let dad run my future the way he has with Sunghoon, down to even who he should marry.’
It slipped out before he realized, shifting his gaze away hoping you wouldn’t question what he meant by that. Their dad had tried to set him up with Miyeon first, laying out the plan that he would wed her someday and merge their companies. Sunghoon running the Park’s business while Heeseung married his place into the Cho’s. It was his perfect plan to ensure wealth and success, to prepare both of his sons for the future that they’d have to exist in without him.
Heeseung had refused, already invested in his relationship with Jina, Sunghoon’s childhood crush. Mr. Park yelled, screamed, deemed him useless and misguided. Ruined by the years spent with his mother, he turned soft in comparison to his younger brother who has only hardened up and built a powerful shell around himself under their father’s care. Or lack thereof.
Sunghoon sat in silence as their father threatened Heeseung, told him to pack his shit up and find someone else to house him, to feed him, to pay for his bullshit. The denial of his wishes never led to anything good.
The younger cursed to himself, sitting up straight. ‘I will court Miyeon.’
Despite their differences, they had attempted to rebuild their sibling relationship. They started to play basketball at night, occasionally laughing when the other would miss a shot. They’d work out together, even went out to a couple of concerts and parties together. Heeseung never wanted to cut his brother off, only respected what he believed to be his wishes after Jian had chosen him and Sunghoon spit in his face.
Jian was a year older than Heeseung, she introduced herself to him the first day at his new school. It was scary to enter a high school he was completely unfamiliar with, but smitten Jian made it as easy as possible, sticking by his side before confessing at the end of the day that she like likes him.
The memory was so innocent and childish, the leap into each other's hearts in less than 24 hours of meeting. It’s something you can really only experience once in your life when you’re young and haven’t experienced how cruel the world can be.
Heeseung’s first love was Sunghoon’s first heartbreak.
The stood outside of his younger brother’s middle school hand-in-hand, giggling to each other happily about the titles of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’.
Sunghoon dropped his book bag upon seeing them, screaming out angrily, he jab between your conjoined hands and flew into a tantrum.
Over the next year he got over it- he tried to get over it. All while ignoring Heeseung’s existence. Nothing he did could change the younger’s attitude toward him. Every remark held bitterness, every question carried hatred, every interaction left them both uneasy and anxious.
Heeseung tried to explain, he really liked Jian, and she really liked him. But Sunghoon refused to listen, scolding him for stealing the crush he wasn’t even aware of. It wasn’t the ideal way to rekindle their brotherly love, after being seperated during quintessential years of frontal lobe development.
But the older never gave up, hoping that one day his brother would come around, and he did. They never really felt as close as they did as kids, but they had something—and that was enough.
Hugs turned into nudges and pats on the backs. Sunghoon never came to him when he was upset the way he used to as children. He kept interaction at school minimal, and treated him more as a roommate at home than a brother. But it was something, and that’s better than nothing.
‘My father never saw eye to eye with me. I hated the whispers that flew around when I came back to live with them. That I was just this spoiled rich kid, son of the mogul Park. Sunghoon’s older brother who undoubtedly wiped his ass with hundred dollar bills. I wasn’t accustomed to this life anymore.’
‘Because you had been living with your mom..’
‘Yes, and she took us away from all of this. My grandparents mostly raised me, mom.. had a drinking problem too. She sort of unlocked the door to mine. I’ve been told addiction can be passed on, genetics you know. I wanted to save her but she abused her body day in and day out and I thought I could be better than that. That I could save myself since I failed to save her.’
‘You were a kid..’
And Sunghoon, both too naive and childish to carry the burden of selfish adult problems. Both damaged and scarred by the choices of the ones that were meant to protect them, keep them safe from these harmful coping habits.
‘I was.’ Heeseung had agreed, pulling pieces of his hair between his fingers. ‘I thought I could find the strength to let shit go, grow up without these demons following me. I couldn’t , and just like my brother loves to remind me, I’m a fucking failure.’
‘But you got help Hee.’
‘I did, after coming home one night after Jian had broken up with me before heading to college, I got wasted.’ He shamefully admits. ‘I fucked up bad, but the break up was so sudden, she didn’t want a boyfriend back home preventing her from having fun in another state. Not during her first year of college..’
‘I’m sorry..’
It’s hard to hear about your first loves first love, comforting your ego and trying to hide your jealousy. You urged him to continue. Hands held in both of yours, squeezing each time he found himself at a loss for words
‘We had a huge fight that night, Hoonie and I.’ Pain etched through his soft features, blinking back tears. ‘He’s hated me ever since, maybe he always hated me.’
‘Why would he..’
‘What he said to me that night, about our mom.. blamed me for not taking proper care of her. Screamed at me that she should have kept him, that he would have done what I’m not man enough to do. Just like Jian would have still been with him. He really beat me to a pulp with a few words.. after this I don’t have any faith in repairing this relationship with my brother. He doesn’t care if I live or die, blames me for everything that’s never gone his way in life..’
Unfair, that’s really the only way to put it. Unfair the same way Raoul banished Erik for his monstrous appearance to live in hiding, a dark family secret.
Both born into wealth, granted a life of ease, both torn apart by their obsession with love. Heeseung needed his father, he needed Sunghoon, after everything he went through with their mother. He needed someone to treat him like their son that had been to hell and back, still alive to retell the tale. He needed the love his father denied him, the love his mother wasted away in favor of her own vices.
Sunghoon in-denial, needed love more than he can even begin to understand. He takes and takes and takes, never sees harm in his actions. The obsession to be loved, needed, wanted, cherished, it tears him from inside out. He covers it up with the most perfect facade. No one would question someone with their shit so together that not even a hair is out of place.
Sunghoon.. banished his own true self, the snotty nose child that would cry in his mother’s arms. That clung to her leg screaming bloody murder when she headed in a different direction with Heeseung. Begging and crying for her to take him, for her to love him too.
They both are so so fucked up, and your presence has only put the spotlight directly on them.
‘I made a deal with my father, we’d go to Germany to visit a couple of universities, then Poland, Spain, France, anywhere. I researched a few of the schools with the best architectural programs. He was really happy to hear that- said I’m finally taking my future serious. And I mentioned how you always talk about studying hospitality and fashion, the luxury high-end brands that cater to the elite. From clothing to home decor and lifestyle. Your mom overheard, and thankfully jumped in. We started looking up the train schedule soon after and booking places we can stay.’
‘School? In Europe? But that would mean—‘
‘That we get away from him.’ Heeseung said coldly, forcing a smile. ‘That we can have a chance at a healthy real relationship. Me and you alone, no more unnecessary interference, no more worrying about what Sunghoon will try next to divide us.’
No more Sunghoon, his existence expunged from your reality. You had cried, uttered the words, and Heeseung absorbed each one, swallowed down your tears, let them incinerate his throat. He did this for you, for the ‘us’ you should be.
“He’s misunderstood.” You mumble softly, hoping to change the subject as your plates are set down.
“Ah, you’re right, I’m wrong.” He laughs sarcastically, brushing off the conversation. Well, this isn’t awkward at all now. At least you can talk about the meals you ordered, fawning over how good the seasoning is on the potatoes.
“Try this.” You say cheerfully, reaching your fork toward his lips. He loves it, of course, you have a lot in common. Agree on movies, music, food, have even found your missing shirts in Heeseung’s pile of clothes. Down to the fabrics you both prefer, everything makes sense. Maybe you’re soulmates.
That’s right. Soulmates bonded together by the unforeseen marriage your parents would have someday, failed to be torn apart by his own brother.
“It’s a nice night out.” Heeseung breathes out happily, slinging his arm around your shoulder.
“Really is, the weather's great.”
“Oooh, this must be new?” You stop to admire a quaint lit up building, many dressed formally and casual entering while chatting and laughing. “Wanna check it out?”
Nodding, you make it to the entrance only to stop, tugging his arm close to your chest. “Oh it’s a bar..”
“Oh.” Heeseung swallows uncomfortably, taking a step back.
“It’s fine babe, we both have work tomorrow anyway.”
He still hesitates, shifting from foot to foot before agreeing that you should continue on your way home. It never gets easier, not much of a loss to you, other than the occasional glass of wine you crave once in a while.
Heeseung’s worked too hard to stay clean, he does it for you. He does it for both of you. That’s how healthy relationships work, you can skip out on a drink for fun to help him stay sober. Even if it means missing out on Paris nightlife.
“Ah, I totally forgot!” He pipes up to break the tense atmosphere, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets. “Deftones announced a tour!”
“What!” You exclaim, wrapping around his waist to keep him pressed to your side, walking synchronized with long steps. “We have to go!”
“Ah, I wish.” He sighs, throwing his arms around your upper half. “You know every western artist forgets that Europe exists.”
“No tour dates here? Really?”
“Unfortunately. Another cool tour we’ll have to miss out on. Can’t wait until we finish our degrees and move back.” He says too calmly for your liking, stepping over your own feet. Nearly stumbling if not for him holding onto you.
“Oh.”
Move back? Since when has moving back ever been a part of the plan? Once you settled in France and enrolled into a new university, you never discussed the possibility of moving back..
“Can you picture it? I’ll design our first house, call us the Brady bunch the way I’ll be mapping out the blueprints once we find the perfect land.” He speaks dreamily, unaware of the meltdown happening in your head. “We’d have to move kind of far from our parents.”
And him. The one he won’t mention.
“What do you think? More of an oceanic view? Green scenery?”
“Uhh, ah fuck.” Clutching your head, you escape from his hold. “Sorry sorry.. migraine hit out of nowhere.”
“Ah, and I don’t have any medicine on me. Well we’re not too far from home, should I flag down a cab?”
“No no it’s fine, lets just walk. Think all of that crying just got to me.”
It’s only a few more minutes to your loft. Faking a headache wasn’t really the best choice, but one uncomfortable conversation had you at your limit.
“Wish we had time for..” Heeseung drags on, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I know it’s late, you’re tired, I’m tired.”
Ah, the reality of modern romance. The false idea of work life balance can kill the energy you once had for hours of love making.
Fucking really.
You hit missionary plenty of times, laid under his weight, accepting slow deep thrusts between your thighs. Easier than jerking him off for 30 minutes until he cums.
“You can keep it inside of me tonight.” You grin, not wanting to drag on the sour taste in your mouth that grows more with each thing he says.
You’re annoyed, that’s all. Rarely ever annoyed by him but you can’t stop replaying what he said.
Move back, Heeseung wants to move back. He doesn’t want to live your dream in Paris. He’s not in love with the city of love, he’s in love with you. His dream is that you give up yours for his..
Love means making sacrifices, right? And you had your time in Paris. He even took you to the opera house. Why wouldn’t he start the discussion of more serious matters like the future you can achieve together?
Maybe it’s because this is your first serious relationship, but isn’t it too soon to consider having a family? Can it even be considered too soon given the circumstances that led you to live together before ever committing to each other?
This isn’t a normal relationship, he still is your step-brother contrary to the description you’ve curated for him during your time here alone.
If you tell him you want to stay here, will he still leave? He’s mentioned missing his friends, the food back home, the convenience of driving everywhere. Things you don’t dwell on much because you assumed he was falling in love with not only you, but the city you discover together.
Heeseung leaving you to fulfill his happiness could very well happen. He’d move back without you, build a home for his future family, find a woman who really deserves his love.
Not with you.
Imagining all of that really does make your head throb now, pardoning yourself to use the restroom and clean off before bed. He follows you to brush his teeth before stepping out, patting your behind on his way out.
How naive of you to think this could be it. That you found love this easily, in what reality do people fall in love with the first person they ever hold a serious relationship with? Sure, it happens, but why would it happen to you.
Anxiety only builds as you wash your face and start to think about it more.
What if..
What if you made the wrong choice? What if you picked Raoul over Phantom?
That—that’s a ridiculous thought. You have to laugh, not even paying attention to your hand reaching for your drawer to slide it open all of the way. There’s a jewelry box shoved to the back, not hidden, not intentionally hidden..
He’d never know why you placed it so far back, never assume it’s because of the black pearls tucked away inside that make your chest ache whenever you allow yourself to glimpse at them.
You never wear them, not since that day. He had said they looked beautiful on you. Taken photos of you, admired them and even saved some to his phone..
They’re cold to the touch, much like the faded memory of his smooth cool skin gliding beneath your fingertips. That stupid God damn day at the Vatican should have never happened. It should have been Heeseung.
Because Sunghoon’s smile from behind his phone as he snapped photos of you, the side of his face and wide shimmering eyes taking in all of the artwork, and the warmth when your bodies would brush together. All of it replays behind your eyes at least once per week.
It feels like cheating at times, to still harbor feelings for your love's enemy..
You traveled past the point of no return the day you granted him access to your heart, and somehow that bastard figured it out. He fucking knew you were ready to fall from grace, allow him to lead you into temptation.
So unfair, it’s so unfair for you too. Because you should have never made it this far with either of them. Lust and love read all the same when you’re riding the highest of highs. When you are also desperate to be loved and wanted.
You gave them both everything you could muster, and now here you stand, close to nothing. Close to losing the basket you placed all of your eggs in, longing for the one that maybe got away..
You should donate the pearls, pawn them off and buy Heeseung a new gaming console. Something to lighten the load of guilt weighing heavy on your back.
Heeseung may leave one day, you may never see him again. It’d be fine because you’d never have to wonder ‘what if’. You had your magical romance, and you’d change nothing about it really..
Except one thing.
Because that one thing will always be a ‘what if’, even in your next relationship you will find yourself flashing back to those memories you can’t part ways with. The hole that grows larger in your chest, you’ll try to fill it and fail over and over again.
Sunghoon, he’ll always be that open ended question with endless possible answers..
Gripping onto the pearls, you suck down a sob itching at your throat. He stopped chasing you, and you can’t even blame him.
The guilt that encompassed your soul on that train to Germany kept your eyes wide awake as Heeseung slept against your shoulder. Leaving him behind in that hotel bed without so much as a goodbye, handing your phone over to Heeseung to erase his brother’s existence.
It was the right thing to do, that’s why you’re here one year later, finally living and loving.
“Come onnnn baby, come to bed.” Heeseung leans against the door, big doe eyes blinking away glossy moisture from needing to sleep. “Wanna cuddle with you before I knock out.”
“I’ll be right there.” You smile, swallowing the gasp lodged in your throat. Subtly shutting the jewelry box shut while hiding your surprise. He wouldn’t know who bought you that necklace anyway. You never said, never wore it, but the rush of guilt that hits at the thought of him knowing speaks volumes.
He snarls playfully, pretending to bite the door frame. “Hurryyyy before I end up drooling on you in your sleep.” He winks, heading back to your bedroom.
Wash your face, wash away the ugly thoughts invading your mind, wash away the worry.
Because you shouldn’t be worried, not about him. He doesn’t deserve your worry. As you clutch the necklace between your digits one more time, you have to ask yourself..
Is it guilt? Guilt because you left him, kissing him light as a feather before tiptoeing away, praying he won’t wake soon.
Is it resentment? Resenting yourself for feeling this way, resenting him for making you feel this wake. Enraged whenever you really think about it, the memories you should have never created together. This stupid necklace you never wear, that you can’t force yourself to get rid of.
Or is it really just pain? Because he never came after you, never showed up. Every glance over your shoulder filled you with disappointment. He stopped chasing you.. he really got tired of chasing you..
The reflection staring back at you trembles, blinking away the warmth collecting at your eyes. Guilt, pain, anger, and worst of all, love.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“I’m just getting in right now.”
Heeseung’s raspy tone radiates through your phone’s speaker wishing you a fast and relaxing shift. It’s not ideal to work the later hours but this opportunity to fill a position at one of the most prestigious luxury hotel chains in Europe has been a more than lucky honor to hold; knowing how the name would automatically push your resume to the top of future applicants gunning to snag the same job.
“Try not to stay up for me, okay?” You smile, pausing at the front entrance before heading inside.
“I’ll try, but you know how hard it is for me to fall asleep without you here.” He says in a tired drawl, surely wiped out after working. “Need to know that my baby made it home safe.”
“I will,” you assure, ending with your goodbyes and added ‘love you’s. Adjusting your top before pocketing your phone to head inside, you proudly strut in. Head held high, shoulders back, and designer purse tightly tucked under your arm as you make your way to the back room to clock-in.
“Ah good, you’re here.” Your manager appears, seemingly frazzled.
“Where do you need me today?” You’re fast to ask, immediately locking up your coat and belongings to get ready for your tasks.
“The empire suite.” He informs you, taking on a stern tone. “Have a very very important guest occupying the room, and just had a huge delivery brought in to be taken to their suite.” He nods to follow him, leading you to a trolley stacked from top to bottom with shoppings bags of all sizes.
Hermès, Chanel, Dior, Saint Laurent, Versace, Burberry, Prada. Any high-end designer brand you can think of sat there neatly organized into a pile before your eyes.
“A real high roller..”
“The highest.” Your manager adds, handing you a key. “Do be sure to set everything up in their room in a neat manner. I’m trusting you to do a great job, and don’t touch anything.”
“You can count on me.” You affirm, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto the cart full of what you can only begin to calculate as thousands upon thousands of dollars.
“Yes well,” he follows, helping you onto the employee only elevator. “Be sure to give it your American touch. Our guest is one of your kind.” He finishes snidely, hiding a look of disgust with a forced fake smile as the elevator doors come to close and you’re left alone. Trapped against the wall in the enclosed space with the cart taking up most of the area surrounding you, you’re happy to hear the ding announcing your arrival to the empire suite.
The suite takes up this entire floor, has the best view in all of Paris, and since working here you’d only gotten the chance to see it once when you first started and had the new staff tour to learn the ins and outs of the hotel.
The fee for a night in one of France's nicest suites was enough to have your palms dampen up, dragging them down your hips as you reach the double-wide doors. The guests wouldn’t be inside, right? Your manager hadn’t mentioned that they’d be occupying the space at this moment.
Quietly knocking a few times you wait, nervously pressing your ear to one of the doors. “Hel—“ covering your mouth, you clear your throat and stand straight.
No. Calling out a ‘hello?’ Would not sit well with some snobby elite, would it.
Choosing to assume the room is currently empty you swipe the key and slowly push the door open. Tiptoeing your way inside to what looks like an untouched suite. From where you stand by the entrance everything looks as pristine and crystal sparkling clean as you remember, as if no guest had ever been able to taint the space with their existence.
Waiting for another minute to go by, you begin to pull the cart in, making your way to the master room to begin setting up a display on a large empty table near the entrance. This would be most convenient for guests traveling, near their luggage to store their new purchases away.
Starting with the larger bags you can’t help but sigh to yourself in this giant empty suite. What a dream it would be to live this way. So spoiled and damn near gluttonous with your money, rich enough to wipe your ass with a Hermès scarf.
“Forever the Nomi Malone..” you say under your breath, setting down one of the Versace bags.
“It’s Versayce.” You snort, rolling your eyes. Being insanely wealthy is overrated anyway..
Who needs all of this really, it’s tacky in a sense. That’s why you’d rather focus on solid colors over brand names and prints. A minimal timeless type of fashion, where else to best study that other than Paris?
Even so, there’s no denying how exciting it is to have your own Chanel purse in your clutches, digging your fingertips against the leather just to listen to the sound when you retract. Everything about Paris has really been such a dream. The food, the scenery, the language, the fashion, the love..
How could Heeseung ever want to leave any of this? Isn’t it love and romance that makes home where the heart is? Of course these ugly thoughts hadn’t left your mind since the conversation you had the other night, itching to bring it up again but fearing to hear the truth.
He doesn’t actually think you’ll move back, right? He had to know that this is your life now, this is what makes you feel complete and happy..
And over something as minuscule as attending concerts. Pft, you can stream anything on the internet these days, and no concert could ever compare to the magic of the Paris opera house..
You’ll have to get real at some point, he could have just been talking nonsense.. nothing serious. Yeah. It’s nothing to worry about, he already uprooted his life to be with you. This is what he wants too, you. He wants you.
Nodding to yourself you place the last bag at the front, taking a few steps back to admire your set up. Ah, yes, quite the American touch.
Shaking your head you turn on your heel to get one more look around the room. It’s really as if no one’s slept in here once. Not a wrinkle on the king sized bed, not one single spot or stain on the floor, the furniture all in mint condition. It really all screams elitism, royalty even. Making you all the more curious as to who could be staying here right now, peaking around in hopes of finding some type of clue. It’d be too much to open the closet for a look. Don’t touch anything..
Resisting your curious fingers, you turn toward the ceiling to floor window to take in the view one more time. The view alone could really convince you to pay the large sum for a one night stay. Who could sleep with a sight like this? The entire vicinity of Paris illuminated before your eyes where you stand peacefully watching the hustle and bustle of night life. Bars and restaurants that stay open late into the night, bike riders rushing through the streets on their way somewhere that seems urgent to get to, street vendors and tourists haggling amidst the daily routines of Parisians just trying to get by.
It’s something really, the city life. Stress, fast-pace, and yet an attitude of relaxed nature surrounding the Eiffel Tower.
“Beautiful..” you whisper, lightly pressing your fingertips against the glass. Quality glass that keeps the heat and cold out enough to stand as close to it as possible without shivering, reminding you of how much detail went into creating this experience for only the most superior of guests.
“As beautiful as I remember.”
It’s the vibrato that races down your spine from the lips grazing your nape that has you jumping out of your skin. Palms flattened against the window as you let out a frightened shriek and your eyes go wide.
That voice. That voice that can only be heard in your darkest of dreams. The same one that keeps you up at night scrolling through your phone for hours attempting to distract yourself from your relentless thoughts.
It can’t be.
It can’t be him.
“More beautiful,” he whispers, grasping your waist tightly. “How can you not be after all this time. Thought that you could run away from me so easily, did you?”
The only way to describe your chest is hollow, empty, dried up. Gasping for air as your hands drag down the glass and he presses your back flush to his chest, chin hooked over your shoulder. “You really think I’d let you get away so easily? After everything you put me through.”
There’s no way that it’s him.
“You really painted me out to be the villain in this story, didn’t you?” He hums, mouth moving along the bare side of your throat. “He managed to get in that head of yours better than I could, and yet I am somehow the bad guy.”
Squeezing his hands around you tighter only traps your air flow even more, choking on your spit with your eyes lowered to the floor. Too afraid to look up and see the reflection you refuse to believe could be staring back at you through the window glass.
“You have nothing to say for yourself? Nothing after a year?”
Help? Would that be a proper response right now. Half expecting the tip of a gun or knife to meet your spine if you dare to speak, you can’t contain the choked out sob that emits as your lips part open.
“Ah, you must be thrilled to see me.” He mocks, pulling you away from the window. “Can’t even find the words to express yourself.”
Manhandling you onto the bed, he forces your weight down to sit, unable to not look at him as he grips your jaw and forces your eyes up.
Sunghoon.
It’s really him. A little aged, jawline sharper than ever, shoulders broader in size.. he looks as breathtaking as ever, even with a tight scowl wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows.
“As much as I love to watch you cry,” he snickers, gently turning your face side to side to inspect how much you’ve changed. “No time for sappy moments now. That’s not why I’m here.”
It’s only then that you notice the rings adorning his slim fingers, stepping back to stand tall above you, he folds his hands over his stomach, appearing more menacing than you remember. A cold stare blaring down on you hard enough to freeze you in place.
“Speak now darling.” He smirks, pacing backward toward the table you set up full of items. “You wish to deprive me of your voice still? You know how long the flight here is, especially without your warm cunt to entertain me.”
“But, how?” You stammer, wiping your cheeks clean of the few tears that managed to escape amidst your shock. “How did you—“
Turning sharply, he sits against the table, toying with a small bag. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.” He grits, unraveling a small box wrapped up in ribbons. “You know that I always knew where you were.”
Pushing off, he opens up the box, showing off fancy chocolates organized inside before popping one inside of his mouth. “The proper question is why now? Why after all of this time.” Beginning to pace before you, he nods, shoving another chocolate in his mouth.
“It was no easy task.” Sunghoon hums, waving a hand mid-air as he starts to explain. Intense glare unwavering from where you sit. “To stay away for so long, to allow my brother to live so peacefully. To resist the incessant desires pounding through my head each and every day to seek my revenge.”
Slowly scanning you from head to toe he nods, throwing the now empty box of sweets aside. Reaching inside of his pockets he slowly draws free gloves, black velvety gloves that he drags onto his finger ominously. The tightness in his jaw sends shivers up your spine, gulping as he snaps the second glove on.
“I hated you, despised your being, loathed your existence.” He spits, teeth gritted. “I cared so deeply for months and months, killed myself at the gym trying to erase you. I tried to sweat you out, scrub you off of my skin, delete your memory. But you’re everywhere, my shower, my bedroom, even at fucking school I had to ignore the ghost of you.”
The scowl wrinkling his smooth face deepens, nostrils flaring as he stops to glare down at you. “You.. you tried my patience.”
Make your choice.
A small gasp escapes, it’s as if you’ve reached the end. Your own Phantom whisking you away, threatening you one last time to choose wisely, to choose wrongly.
“It’s unbecoming for me to fall in love.” He scoffs, waving toward your face. “And I had to ask myself if that’s what I feel, because it’s so foreign to me. I had to wonder why you’d even indulge me only to end up running off with him. Perhaps you were the villain here all along.
“Sunghoon..” you whisper shakily, struggling to breathe.
“The hardest part, all of this time..” he smooths three gloved fingers across your jaw, cupping your chin. “Staying away from you.. no contact, not a word. I knew it’d be worth it. All of this would be worth it, the bargaining and negotiating with my father. Counting down the days, marking off my calendar, ignoring the sound of your voice whenever your mother would put you on speaker. I knew that one day soon we’d be together again.”
He sighs, thumb dipping against the middle of your chin. “What a shame that after everything you’ve put me through I still can’t stop myself from thinking of how beautiful you look. How he had a year of this, of you belonging to him. Of spreading your thighs open, of kissing your lips whenever he wants”
“What—what do you want?”
Sunghoon’s teeth grind, reaching for his pocket again, his hold on your face remaining light enough to break free if you wish. It doesn’t help calm your nerves, watchfully following his slow movements before searching for your nearest escape.
“Please, d-don’t hurt me.. please!” You blurt, lips trembling.
His eyes widen, sharp gaze forming to one of offense and shock. “Hurt you?” He says in a raised tone, causing you to cower into yourself. “Hurt you? You dare to ask me to not hurt you? Is that why you think I’m here?”
Yes? You peer up anxiously, arms wrapping around your waist. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please..”
Clicking his tongue, he takes a step back and sinks down to look up at you, lifting one hand up to cup your face and stroke fresh tears away. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He informs, frowning. “Besides, I could never hurt you the way that you’ve hurt me. No. I could never, unfortunately.”
Dropping his hand, he looks away, taking deep breaths as his tongue drags across the backs of his teeth. “The way you played me like a damn fool.. I was impressed, really.” Looking back at your surprised expression, he cocks a dark eyebrow. “I told you, we’re more alike than you may want to accept. What you did to me—I was furious. That flight back home, I really wanted to ruin your life. Even looked up flights to Germany, but I decided against it.”
He laughs breathily, head dropping back, blinking away hot moisture that hits the backs of his eyes. “I went home and I thought about it. I thought about everything, you and me. Why I was so fucking hung up. I thought about you and him…” he says quietly, neck cracking to one side. “Ate away at me for weeks, I couldn’t move on. I know you felt what I felt..”
Shifting onto one knee, his gaze finds yours, taking one of your hands in his. “And after a few months of hating you, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I know you felt what I felt, call me crazy, call me the worst person you’ve ever met. A fucking nightmare you can’t outrun.” He pulls your hand closer, lips grazing your knuckles. “But I’d never deny my heart that screams your name the way you tune out your own. Maybe I am crazy.”
He looks at you, stone cold, every emotion passing across his gaze. “Or maybe you made me crazy.”
Fear shifts to confusion the longer you maintain eye contact, tempted to pull your hand away as he reaches for his pocket once again. “I never hated you, even after what you did to me. Drove me insane really, how I couldn’t stop thinking about you.. couldn’t get over you.”
Clearing his throat, he straightens out, gingerly holding your hand. “I came here with one mission, and I have no intention to fail. I’m not leaving without you. Not again, no more.
“What? What do you—“
“I want you, I want us.” Sunghoon affirms, unfolding his fist to reveal a small leather box, snapping it open leaving you breathless. “And I won’t allow you to make this mistake again.”
The diamond ring shines all around, glittery light reflecting off against the glove covering his palm, using his thumb and index finger to take it out. “I’m here because you belong with me, we both know it.”
“I don’t—“
“You belong with me.” He cuts you off, throat bobbing to evaporate the itch rising. “In my arms, by my side, hand held in mine. I want to wake up by your side, want you to be the last smile I see before I shut my eyes for the night. I want to smell you all around me, to find your lost hairs stuck to my clothes, to be greeted by your shoes near the front door. I want to hear your complaints, I want to eradicate every sad pout that forms on your lips. I want and want and want, and I won’t stop. I won’t give up on what my heart believes is real.”
A moment of vulnerability flashes across his gaze, eyebrows furrowing together, lifting the ring to glide onto your finger. “Marry me.”
Biting back a smile, one single tear escapes, slowly sliding down his unblemished pale skin. The stain of residue elicits a tightness in your chest, finally pulling your hand away from his and clutching your wrist.
“Please,” he swallows, mouth gone dry. “Say yes.”
Standing back up, he grabs your waist to get up, rubbing up and down your sides before leaning in to whisper along your lips. “Marry me.”
pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung
genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, dubcon, M/F, fluff smut humor angst etc, buckle up it’s a wild ride
warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon- is he batshit? maybe.), profanity, toxicity, sibling rivalry, mentions of alcohol/addiction, hangover symptoms, full smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
wc. 24,000
now playing. Heaven and Back//Chase Atlantic
a/n. unfortunately I had to split this part in half because of length, will post the second half as soon as possible. thank you all for reading🩷
smut warnings. public hand job/fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, drunk sex(consensual, but it gets a bit painful), multiple orgasms, degradation, oral, choking, face-fucking, cream pie, thigh riding, finger sucking, etc etc
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Sunghoon.
There’s no way to explain the way Sunghoon treats you justifiably. He’s cold, hot, lukewarm, makes blood rush to parts you wish he had no prowess over.
He’s someone you would have dreamt about in your younger years. The most popular, best looking, top of the class, everyone’s crush to write about in their diary after school. What he wore that day, how his cologne smelled, the millisecond of eye contact you thought he made with you. He really shouldn’t even be sitting across from you right now sporting a diabolic scowl, really showing off how pink the ring on your middle finger left his cheek after smacking him across the face to get out of your room.
He’s everyone’s dream, an angel, the perfect prince charming, and he’s your hell. Slightly smirking at you the longer you continue to glare at him and dig the tip of your butter knife into the dining room table, as if to tempt you to try it. Chuck it at his gorgeous face, slice his cheek open with your pathetic excuse for a weapon.
He’s the nightmare that snatches you up when you’re most vulnerable, the nightmare that lulls you to fall asleep earlier just to experience sooner. The darkest of dreams that make your heart race, gasping for breath when you shoot awake lost in a spiral of confusion. And yet he can be found in your most safest comforting spaces, infiltrating every area of your life.
“Heeseung, nice of you to join us.” Mr. Park exclaims surprised, eyebrows raised up further wrinkling his otherwise smooth features. “Haven’t had a family dinner at home like this in ages.”
“Yeah, Hee, what brings you out of your gloom and doom bat cave tonight?” Sunghoon asks, a snarky pitch to his tone with his gaze unwavering from yours even as his brother chooses the seat next to you.
Heeseung shrugs, reaching beneath the table to find your hand and tangle his fingers between yours. “Hungry.”
“Well, that’s great. Look at us!” Mr. Park beams happily, reaching for your mother’s hand atop the table to do the same. It’s daunting to watch unfold, instinctively squeezing around the thicker digits wrapped with yours. “One big happy family.”
Sunghoon snorts, playing it off with a cough and reaching for a glass of water while pretending to choke. “Went down the wrong pipe, excuse me.”
Heeseung’s thumb brushes over your hand, sensing the tenseness in your grip as you squeeze again. “Everything okay?” He whispers, leaning closer to nudge your shoulder with his.
So soft spoken, so delicate with you as if you’d shatter from a touch too harsh. He’s imperfect in ways that make him flawless, from haphazardly placed messy tendrils that fall before his eyes, to the genuine happy dorky smile he shows only for you. He’s safety, warmth, the blanket you cuddle deeper into that takes away all of your worries even if only for a moment.
The worry of what you’ve gotten yourself into has really built up, stuck between two opposites that seek the same endgame. There’s a way the older handles you, treats you like a fine piece of art that should be hung up and admired, can really only be described as heaven.
Heeseung, he’s your heaven. He’s your dream.
And yet you’ve grown attached to the nightmares that steal your precious sleep. The danger and fear of something so physically perfect ruining every wall you put up until you’re nothing but his.
You nod at him, reassuring him that you’re fine with a small smile.
He’s really perfect for you. He’s comfortable, adorable when his cheeks bunch up and he blinks at you slowly as a form of communication that only the two of you can understand.
Well. Sunghoon understands too, making a disgusted face as he rolls his eyes and leans back to stretch his legs out under the table. “Dad, actually, I’m glad we’re all here. You see, I wanted to bring this up before we wrap up the semester next week.”
“What’s going on son?” Mr. Park turns to face him, missing the startled bounce you make as sock covered toes glide up your calf.
“It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper family vacation, actually.. I don’t think the one we took to Florida should count.” He jokes, motioning toward Heeseung. “Right bro? We barely got to enjoy the water park.”
“It was Disney.” The older mutters, pursing his lips. Clearly not interested in rehashing the surprise trip their parents took them on to announce their split before dragging them off to different hotel rooms and leaving on separate flights.
Mr. Park clears his throat uncomfortably, tapping on the dining table. “Now son.”
“I was thinking!” Sunghoon grins, running his foot higher to dig between your locked knees. “With all of us now, we should really use this opportune moment to make memories. Next year I’ll be slammed with studies and my internship, Heeseung will be.. moving out, hopefully.” He mumbles, subtly shifting his sharp gaze back to you, patting your knee with the ball of his foot. “And you’ve always dreamt of visiting Europe.”
“That is true.” Your mother speaks up, sighing dreamily. “Italy and Paris are so beautiful this time of the year my love.”
She’s not speaking to you, tightening her grip on Mr. Park’s hand as she leans in to whisper by his ear for all of you to hear. “A second honeymoon?”
“Hmm,” he grins, pleased by the thought. “Ah yes.. mon chéri. You’d look delectable in front of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Sick.” Sunghoon says under his breath, motioning toward you and Heeseung. “All of us, you too big bro. I mean— look at how close they’ve already gotten, isn’t that Heeseung’s sweater?”
The thumb caressing your hand slowly pauses, shifty eyes catching your mother’s attention turn back to you. “Huh? All that money I spent on your nice clothes and here you are stealing your step-brother's hoodies?”
“Uhh..” Sunghoon manages to shove his foot between your legs while you scramble to explain, saved by Heeseung pointing at himself.
“You know what, I must have mixed my laundry in with the wrong pile again. I’m always doing that, my bad.”
“Well sweetie, that’s fine around the house.” She says with a forced smile, reaching to pinch the fabric on your arm. “But don’t start wearing this outside, will give your potential suitors the wrong impression.”
“Wouldn’t want that, would you?” Sunghoon interrupts, fighting against your hand pushing at his foot.
“Right, noted.”
“It’s settled!” Mr. Park chimes, unaware of the tense atmosphere that his little brat of a son has created. “Just booked our flights, we’ll do a few days in Italy and then get the train to Paris.”
“Fabulous!” Your mom shrieks, forgetting about the oversized hoodie you have on as she leaps into her husband’s arms and plants kisses up and down his cheek.
“Wonderful.” Sunghoon says, clasping his hands together. “A summer vacation all together, like one big happy family.” He nods at you and Heeseung, shoving his foot away abruptly and making sure to knock your hands apart. “Can’t wait.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Traveling expands your mind, it helps you to learn about yourself and to grow as a person. Exploring new countries is a once in a lifetime experience that you’ll recall for years to come.
But traveling is also a pain in the ass, especially given the predicament you’ve landed yourself in.
“This is ridiculous.” You mumble under your breath half-asleep, curled up in the backseat of an XL Uber at the crack of dawn.
“Aren’t you kids so excited?!” Your mom turns with a huge smile plastered on her face, clutching at the leather seat to get a good look at you squished against the door. “Boys! Make some room for your sister!”
The three different sounds of disgusted groans mesh into each other as Heeseung and Sunghoon adjust by pressing their thighs together, both coming in and out of sleep.
“I always dreamed of vacationing with a big family like this.” She continues, much too energetic for 4 in the morning.
“Yes honey, it’ll be a real treat for us.” Your step-father says uninterested, reaching to pat her thigh. “Don’t forget to tell them the best part.”
“Oh right!” She pipes up, turning back around to search through her purse. “Your father wanted to make this really special, especially after our discussion over dinner.”
Sunghoon straightens up, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the three plane tickets she pulls out and waves between the seats. “Your father was gracious enough to hook you guys up with business class! The seats are a lot more spacious!”
“Oh wow,” Sunghoon chimes, attempting to snatch them only for your mother to smack his hand away. “Business class for all of us? That must’ve cost you a pretty penny dad.”
“Not all of us.” His father corrects, turning slightly to lower his prescription glasses down the bridge of his nose in a snobbish manner. “We will be in first class.”
Sunghoon’s jaw drops, jerking forward as the driver rushes into a spot at the terminal drop-off. “What?! That’s not fair!”
“Do you have a job?” He says quickly with a sharp tongue, smirking and exiting the vehicle with nothing left to say.
“What about us?! Your kids?? There’s still time to upgrade our seats!” Sunghoon chases after him, luggage dragging behind as you follow suit to check your bags.
“I got it.” Heeseung says, throat still dry and gravelly having just rolled out of bed and fallen back to sleep against your shoulder.
“Ah, my bags are really heavy Hee.”
“I can handle it.” He reassures through gritted teeth, the wind knocked out of his chest as he hoists your luggage onto the scale. “You pack a dead body?”
“Not yet.” You wink. “Who knows, by the end of this trip Sunghoon might be chopped into little pieces inside of my carryon.”
“I’m sorry about this, you know.” Heeseung’s arm lifts to wrap around your shoulder, pausing midair hesitantly as you both follow your parents and Sunghoon continues to bargain with your step-dad into the security line. “Genuinely feel so bad that we’re all here accompanying you on your dream vacation.”
“Could be worse I guess, could’ve just been me and Sunghoon.” Nudging into his side, you ease into the space under his arm with a smile. “At least you are here too.”
“Ah, I don’t know about that..” Heeseung plays with his messy hair, a nervous habit, biting down on his lip. “I haven’t flown in such a long time. Not since I was a kid and would fly to stay with my Grandma during summer. Never done an international flight either..”
“Are you nervous?”
“Kind of..” he hates to admit it, looking away shyly as you step out of your shoes to walk through the body scanners.
“Don’t be nervous.” Smoothly, you bump into him as you attempt to hop back into your shoes, face meeting his chest. “I’ll take care of you.”
Heeseung’s cheeks redden instantaneously, followed by the high pitched tone of your mother’s voice squealing and cooing over your ‘sibling relationship’. The blush rises further, making way to his ears as he ducks to look away under Sunghoon’s furious gaze.
He snatches the tickets from your step-dad, charging toward you to hook his elbow with yours. “Come on sis, I’ll buy you some coffee.”
“Aww, what a doll!” Your mother sings, waving you off before you can begin to protest.
“You can thank me at some point you know.” Sunghoon says snarkily, pulling you closer to his side the further you get from your gate. “You get to experience Europe in luxury now thanks to me, even get a nice early entry to your fancy overpriced seat now.”
“I’ll have to make sure Mr. Park knows how grateful I am then.” You sneer, pushing him away to get in the single file line of exhausted travelers desperate for a taste of caffeine. Sunghoon hums, draping himself over your back to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and lightly press his lips to your ear.
“And how do you plan to show Mr. Park exactly how thankful you are?” His lips lift against the shell of your ear into a smirk, gently kissing before pulling away to order, signaling for you to add yours.
“I can pay for my own.”
“Quit being a brat.”
“It takes one to know one.”
“Is that what you’re into?”
The cashier stares between the two of you, uncomfortable and mouth agape. Sunghoon quickly displays a charming smile and adds a hefty tip along with the payment, gripping your arm to drag you to a corner and continue on where you left off.
“Is that it?” He grins, flattening a palm to the wall above your head to trap you in place. “That whole emo grunge soft boy shit, it’s not just an act huh? What? Heeseung lets you slap him around in bed too or something?”
“He’s your brother.” You snap, shoving at his chest.
“Well what is it?” Sunghoon sinks down onto his knees quickly, sliding large palms down from your waist to your hips. “Want me to act like some pathetic groveling puppy for you?” He blinks up slowly, sucking in his bottom lip only to release the pink flesh with a coat of spit. Frantically you glance around, thankful that everyone seems too caught up in their phones or focused on the baristas working hard behind the back bar.
“I can do that for you too.” He keeps going, pushing his mouth out into a cute pout. “I can be whatever you want me to be. Go on.” Hands on your hips tighten, kneading your curves to encourage you. “Pull on my hair, maybe you’ll like it more than you think.”
His head lowers more, shooting your anxiety higher until his fingers find loose laces and his tongue clicks. “Can’t walk around with your shoes untied.”
“Hoon..” instinctively, you reach to stroke through freshly washed silky black strands, adding a light tug as you reach the crown of his head. Half-lidded lost eyes peer up at you, drawing your digits to ball up and form a fist, pulling with more frustration.
“Harder.” He mutters, successfully tying your shoelaces.
“Stop it.” You grit, fisting the tendrils trapped between your fingers roughly. “Get up.”
Pretty pink lips part open, tongue dragging across the top row of his teeth with extra time along his sharp canines. “Is that an order?”
“Two Americanos for Sunghoon!”
Breaking into a smile, he jumps up fast and steals a kiss before turning away to grab your drinks. “That’s my name!”
You haven’t even made it onto the plane yet, let alone the next two weeks in different foreign countries.
Fuck.
He smiles at you as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened, passing your drink to you before turning to grab a wad of napkins. With a swift pointed glare aimed at his back, you rush ahead to get away from him, not wanting to allow him more alone time with you. As long as you stick by your parents' sides and Heeseung’s, he shouldn’t be able to bother you much..
“Everything good?” Heeseung tugs his headphones off to hang on his neck, eyeing the Americano in your grip and your flustered appearance.
“Yeah.” You swat at the air with your free hand to brush it off. Biting your tongue to hold back a curse under your breath about how God damn annoying his younger brother can be. The evil little shit in question plops down right across from the two of you sipping on his coffee with raised eyebrows and a hint of smile playing at his lips.
“Oh, sorry for not getting you anything bro.” Sunghoon apologizes sarcastically, blinking in a mocking manner. “I know how upset your stomach gets from rollercoasters, gonna be tough for you being up in the air for this long.”
Heeseung smiles tight-lipped, slowly nodding and reaching to pat your knee. “Can I try yours?”
“Of course.”
Without missing a beat he smirks and leans into your hand, tipping the drink to his lips, not even bothering to take it from you, subtly sneaking a look at his brother’s expression falling into a disappointed frown from the corner of his eye. “Yummy.”
Sunghoon’s teeth grind, distracting his mouth with a long sip of his drink, obnoxiously stirring the ice around inside. Silently wishing for his brother to be struggling in the small plane bathroom with a line of angry travelers waiting for him to make the walk of shame back to his seat after blowing up the airplane's toilet. He laughs at the thought, rolling his eyes as you reach to wipe away a droplet of watered down caffeine from Heeseung’s lip with your thumb.
Disgusting.
“Kids, you father and I are boarding now!” Your mom bounces over, clapping excitedly. “We have priority, ciao my darlings! Next time I see you we’ll be in Italy!” Blowing a kiss, she spins back around to join your father in line, handed a glass of champagne before they even step on the plane. Real fancy.
“Can’t believe dad shafted us like this.” Sunghoon groans, eyeing his ticket before leaning over to read yours, lips pouting in thought. “Say, Hee, what’s your seat letter?”
Heeseung hums, lifting his ticket for both of you to see. “C?”
Pouty pink lips lift up, smacking his ticket against his palm as he jumps to stand and nods toward the flashing light announcing for business class to board next. Without another word he moves along ahead of the both of you, standing separately in line as you take a minute longer to grab your carry-on and end up a few behind him in line.
Heeseung chews on his nails in the meantime, eyes jumping around your gate, patting his pockets with his free hand. “Hee, you’re really nervous, aren’t you?” You ask, concerned by the little jump he makes at the sound of your voice. Immediately dropping his hand from his mouth, he rubs his stomach in an attempt to hide the audible sound that emits, shaking his head quickly with a forced smile.
“A little bit.”
“It’ll be okay baby, I promise.” You have to smile, rubbing his back soothingly as you walk onto the plane, mumbling to yourself about how cute he is.
“Row 23.” Heeseung says, lifting his ticket to read and scan the aisle numbers. “Should be right her—“
Sunghoon sits in the aisle seat, already leaned back with wireless headphones popped inside of his ears and his eyes shut. “Oh, we’re all together..”
“Ugh, well..” you grunt, shoving your bag onto the carrier above your row. “You should take the window, I think it’d help to have a hard surface to rest against if you feel nauseous at any point.”
“Are you sure?” Heeseung asks apprehensively, scratching his nape, feeling guilty. “Didn’t you say something before about loving the window seat..”
“These seats are pretty big.” You nod reassuringly, nudging him to sit down. “Never seen this much leg space before.”
“That’s because this is business class.” Sunghoon mutters, eyes remaining shut with a relaxed expression. “Not even a quality business class at that.”
“I think it’s nice.” You whisper, rolling your eyes as you settle down between your step-brothers. Stuck in the middle once again, the common theme your life seems to insist on following as of late.
“Yes, well.” Sunghoon’s neck twists, scanning your body up and down. “I’ll have to show you the real luxurious way to travel next time.”
Next time.
Glaring at him, you purse your lips and turn to sit on your hip, leaning against Heeseung’s side. “How’re you feeling?”
“Not bad..” he nods, clutching at the armrests at his sides as the plane begins to move. “Shit.”
“Here, you should take some of my melatonin gummies so that you can at least try to sleep.” Digging through your bag, you look up just in time to see his eyes scrunch shut, lips pulled over his clenched teeth to hold down a cry.
“Shit, this doesn’t feel too great.” Heeseung whispers, dropping his chin just in time for your hand to cup his cheek.
“Hey hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re with me.” Trying to lift his face up, you bring the gummies to his mouth, nodding for him to take them. “Sleeping through the flight makes it speed by.”
Heeseung nods, swallowing the gummies with a kiss along your fingertips to finish. He sighs frustrated, head knocking back against the headrest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Biting down on your lip, you pat his cheek and reach for the blanket provided by the plane, unwrapping it quickly to drape over your laps. “I think I know what can help..”
Sunghoon seems fast asleep as you peer over your shoulder to find his head tilted to one side, lips parted releasing shallow breaths. Scooting closer to Heeseung’s side, you lift the armrest between you, sliding a palm up his thigh. Initial surprise has his leg jumping up, eyes going wide in question.
“Shhh.” With a finger pressed to your lips you move closer until there’s zero to no space left between you, sneaking your hand up to his groin beneath the blanket. His lips part with a small sound, pupils large and dark, successfully distracted by your fingers wrapping around the shape of his length over his sweats. “To help you sleep..”
Panic rises up his throat, scanning the area before nodding and giving you the go ahead. He bites down on his lap the second your fingers trace beneath his shirt and play around his navel, circling the area before tickling your way down to the waistband of his sweats. “Be good.” You whisper, pressing your lips to his ear. “Don’t make a sound.”
He could grovel at that, eyes fluttering shut and back open to bump his forehead into yours with a knowing look. Letting you know how evil you are for this and how much he likes it judging from the way his cock twitches under the smooth glide of your palm sliding past his boxers.
A soft haziness draws his eyelids lower, hooded and heavy as you wrap around his size and pump him to full hardness. To anyone passing by you could simply appear to be cuddling, resting your heads together as a makeshift pillow, warm and cozy sharing a blanket. It’s nothing suspicious you wouldn’t normally see on a flight, but the thrill of it excites the both of you enough. Wrapping tight around his length to pull your fist down to the tip and smear a bead of pre-cum across his slit.
Heeseung hisses, biting down on his lip to contain any further sound of pleasure, gently nodding against your forehead to continue. Clutching your thighs together, you work to twist your wrist, jerking his length up and down with the help of wetness leaking from his tip.
It’s all hot breaths of air fanning across each other’s lips, the ends of your noses tapping occasionally, eyelashes tickling your cheeks. Drowsiness and arousal written across his face the more you work to stroke his length, expertly squeezing around the head how he likes.
“Fuck.” He curses, head dropping back to take deep breaths with his eyes shut. The bob in his throat moving up and down at a fast pace much like your hand. The hand job’s mostly dry, just slick enough to coat your palm to rub up and down without going too fast. It’s enough given your current situation to have his ass lifting off the chair, fucking up into your warm tight grip. Grasping the armrest on his right side he nods rapidly, turning to huff over your mouth. “I’m cumming.”
Without worrying about the mess you kiss him softly, noses pressed together as you finish him off and the lightest squeaked out moan sings across your lips. He falls flat to the seat instantly, head rolling from side to side as you cup around his cockhead to catch his release.
Heeseung’s chest rises and falls quickly, taking in deep breaths with a hint of smile on his face, turning to the side to mouth ‘thank you’ when you draw free and reach for the blanket wrapping to discard the mess in your hand.
“Sleep.” You mouth back, kissing his cheek before grabbing your purse to clean your hands off with a wet wipe.
Peaceful eyes blink at you slowly, head resting near the window, blowing you a kiss. “I’ll have sweet dreams thanks to you now.”
Fixing the blanket to cover his upper half, you settle back, squirming in your seat uncomfortably now with wetness stuck between your thighs. The seat of your panties clinging to your core the more you move to adjust. A gasp drops from your lips, jumping up at the arm slinging over your stomach from your left.
Sunghoon’s head drops to your shoulder, body slouched, hand landing between your thighs. Squeezing your lips, you jerk against him, bumping your shoulder on his cheek that swells up against you. “Ugh.”
Settling back in your seat, you roll your eyes, circling his wrist to at least remove his hand from the awkward position he’s ended up in. Thick fingers cup over your mound as you start to pull him away, lowly grumbling against your shoulder. “Thought you got away with that, didn’t you?”
Snapping your head to look at him, Sunghoon peers up behind thick eyelashes, squeezing your center over your pants. “Did all that for him and he can’t even take care of you?”
“Hoon.” You whisper sternly, nose twitching angrily. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Oh, I was.” He sits up only a bit, dragging his lips up the side of your throat to your earlobe. “But all of that—“
He pants mockingly- hah- ha- ahh-hah against your ear, finishing with a light peck. “You expect me to sleep through all of that noise the two of you were making?” His tongue clicks, glancing at Heeseung fast asleep next to you. “Can’t believe how fucking lazy he is, letting you suffer like this on a long flight?”
“I’m fine.” You grit. “I wanted him to sleep.”
Shaking his head, he releases you to grab his own blanket off his lap to throw over yours with his hand returning, shoving between your clenched thighs. “Well, good news for you, I’ve slept enough.”
“Sunghoon.”
It’s to your detriment how easily you ease up at the sight of his teeth gleaming, forehead resting against yours as he begins to smile. “Say my name again.”
“You’re seriously a piece of work.”
“You’re drawing too much attention.” He snickers, squeezing your inner thigh. “I can’t have you losing sleep over this problem.” Biting down on his lower lip, he positions his chin on your shoulder, gaze low to where his hand moves beneath the blanket.
“I’m not touching you.” You hiss, thigh jerking.
“You’re so mean to me..” he huffs a laugh, nose brushing along your throat. “First you didn’t even want me here, now you could care less about how exhausted I will feel when we land?”
“Why should I care.”
“Because I care,” he breathes, eyes fluttering open to look at the side of your face. “About you.”
“No you don’t.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this.” Thick fingers sneak in past the waistband of your sweats, accommodating easily with the extra space. Good thing you opted for looser bottoms to stay comfortable on this flight..
“You shouldn’t.”
“Then tell me to stop.” He whispers, lips grazing your earlobe.
The tips of his fingers follow the damp seam between your folds, pushing the cotton material of your underwear deeper. Silence grows louder with your breath, leaning back into your seat as he taps your bundle of nerves, stroking down lower.
“Tell me to stop.” He repeats, eyebrow raised.
You should. You really need to stop him. Why won’t your mouth work, why can’t you stop.
You swallow instead to coat your quickly drying throat with saliva, shivering as he laughs lightly against your ear. “That’s what I thought.”
His strong digits wrinkle together the seat of your panties, drawing them to one side to free your core for his touch. Soft light airy touches kiss up and down, the tip of his fingers working through the mess of wet slick that’s permeated. “You’re lucky this is a long flight, bet you’ve soaked right through.”
He tucks in closer, gaze lowering back to your lap that jerks up with each motion, forearm moving up and back down as he coats your cunt with arousal from top to bottom. “You got this wet from jerking him off?” He breathes out, teeth clenched.
He goes on without your response, circling your entrance that pushes out another wave of wet heat, convulsing against his touch. “Wanna be inside your tight hole.” He says huskily against your throat. “Should let me fuck you right now while he’s sleeping.”
Fuck. It’s his fingers dipping inside to the first knuckle that has your eyes rolling back, sucking down a whimper as you turn away only to see Heeseung sleeping cutely, lips pouted, panting short breaths out. Turning away, your nose lands in Sunghoon’s thick head of hair, inhaling a deep breath of his clean freshly shampooed scalp, adding to the dizzy atmosphere surrounding you.
“Should we? You know I can’t make it fast.” Thrusting his fingers in further, he lifts his face to look at you, eyelids heavy. “Should I meet you in the bathroom? Fuck you over the sink.”
“Hoon..” gritting your teeth, you have to bite down on the sides of your tongue to not moan. Three thick digits move in and out of you faster, sending up sounds of wetness past the blanket between your bodies.
“You’re so wet,” he huffs, thumb pressing on your clit, swiveling your nerves in a figure eight. “Wanna be inside you so bad.”
“N-no.”
“Ah,” his tongue clicks, biting back a smile, cheek dimpling. “It’s always no with you, where’s the fun in that?”
Fearing that you’ll let out a moan, you purse your lips together, the back of your head glued to the seat.
“We could join the mile high club.” He laughs quietly, pushing his fingers in as deep as they’ll go from this angle. Reaching the ends to find the spongy spot inside of you. “Doesn’t have to be now, we always have the flight back.”
His forearm jerks, heel of his palm smacking against your clit, digits shaking in place. Gripping his wrist, you stare at him pleadingly, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Wanna cum?” He asks, moving closer to shove his other hand inside. Without skipping a beat he circles your clit, massaging the stiff nub as he continues to assault your insides. “Squeeze that tight pussy around me, wanna suck you clean off you hand.”
Fuck.
That’s all it takes to push you over, nails digging into his forearm hard enough to leave crescent moon pink and red marks behind. A moan sneaks past your lips, masking the sound with a cough, kicking your feet on the floor.
“What a good girl, listened so well.”
To make matters worse, he brings his glistenings digits to his lips, gaze trained on yours. “Now you can sleep.”
“B-but..”
Sunghoon’s tongue passes between his fingers, leisurely licking at the mess coating his skin. “Don’t worry about me.” He hums softly, sucking his middle finger between his lips. “Not the first time you’ve blue balled me.”
“I can,” you stutter, directing your eyes to his lap. “..do it.”
“Sleep.” Popping his digit free, he grabs the blanket and tucks it around your arms. “I’ll see you when we land.”
The tip of your tongue itches to say more, swallowing down the incessant urge to say anything else. He’s right, this is for the best, you should sleep.. even if it feels peculiar and out of the ordinary.
Maybe he’s bored? Getting tired of you? Maybe it’s Miyeon..
As if he can hear your rampant thoughts, he turns and plants a kiss on your cheek. “I like being the last to touch you before you sleep, you’ll dream of me now.”
Yeah. He’s definitely not getting over you.
His cocky smile fades away as he lays back and sighs, eyes falling shut. “Now sleep.”
Right. Sleep..
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“That flight was a lot easier thanks to you.” Heeseung says between a yawn, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Thank you.”
“S’not a problem..” trying to ignore Sunghoon’s presence, you exit the plane together, catching up with your parents who also take time to stretch and rub the sleep from their eyes.
After an hour more at the airport you get inside of another taxi van, once again stuck between the two brothers.
“Get all that jet lag out of your system, kids.” Mr. Park says, pushing his sunglasses on. “We’ll be at the hotel soon, another hour or so.”
Luckily for you, Sunghoon takes his instruction to heart and immediately succumbs to sleep, setting in how tired you still really are after such a long flight. The rides calm and quiet to the hotel thanks to the time difference. Even as your eyes fall shut you’re mindful to not get too comfortable, keeping your neck up and not resting on Heeseung’s shoulder. Nothing that could raise questions or possible suspicions while in the presence of your parents.
The hotels every bit of five stars you could only ever dream of, greeted by a bellhop who takes your larger bags, led inside to a luxurious lobby fitted with beverages and fruits for guests.
“This is real nice.” You mumble, slowly spinning to admire the art details painted on the ceiling.
“Expected a Holiday Inn, did you?” Sunghoon snorts, adjusting his carry on.
“Alright kids, here’s your keys. Don’t bother us unless it’s an emergency.” Mr. Park laugh’s jokingly, immediately fixing his expression. “I mean it.”
“Be good.” Your mom adds, wrapping around his bicep. “Time for the honeymoon we deserved darling.”
Heeseung grabs your smaller bags, sleepily nodding toward the elevators. “Least we won’t have to see them with their tongues down each other's throats.”
The ride up to your floor remains silent, the three of you too exhausted after dealing with customs and the long shuttle ride from the airport. You can’t help but feel partially grateful for the lack of awkward tension after what took place on the plane.
“This is our floor.” Sunghoon announces, removing himself and his belongings first.
“I’m number 203.”
“Oh, I am too?” Heeseung slows down, watching as his brother unlocks the door to room 203.
“It’s a suite..”
“What’d you think princess? That we’d each be getting our own rooms.” Sunghoon says condescendingly, nodding to one of the doors. “I’ll take that one.”
Heeseung sets down your bags, taking in the large living room leading out to a balcony and spacious kitchen. “It’s not bad, could be much much worse. Which room do you want?”
Offering him a smile as a silent thank you for letting you choose first, unlike someone else, you pass across to the room near the kitchen instead of the one next to Sunghoon’s. “Oh it’s a little small, no bathroom..”
Heeseung calls you to the other free bedroom, pointing out the connected bathroom. “You should take this one, I don’t mind the smaller one.”
“I’m sure you’ll hardly spend time in there anyway.” You say mischievously, drawing him in to squeeze around his waist. “Can’t complain, only way my first time here could possibly be any better is having you here.”
He nuzzles into your hair, taking in deep breaths, hands caressing your back. “Wish it could be just the two of us..”
There’s a pang of guilt that thrum’s through your chest, burying your cheek against his chest for warmth. Without saying more than a sound of agreement you can’t erase the sensation of Sunghoon’s touch between your legs mere hours ago.
You shouldn’t feel immense guilt, you’re not technically in a relationship, but you could have stopped him.
You could have said no, could have not indulged him, could have broken his damn wrist..
But you didn’t, and that’s enough to have you cowering further into Heeseung’s hold. “Tired.”
“Me too baby, let’s get some rest.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“Let’s relax today.” You suggest, stretching out your arms as you approach Heeseung and wrap him in a tight hug. “Flight was so long, and my body clocks all off. Wanna go down by the pool for a bit?”
“A little late for a swim, don't you think?” Mimicking your position, he loops around your waist, sliding his palms down to where your bottom bubbles out.
“We’re in Italy..”
He chuckles softly, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. “Go put on your swimsuit, I’ll be back here in a minute.”
Sunghoon lingers around the kitchen area, pretending to scour through the different hotel provided snack options he can have charged to the room. Pretending to not listen or watch out of the corner of his eye as you stand on your toes to press a kiss to his brother’s cheek and run off to get pool ready. Of course, you won’t invite him, wouldn’t even think of it.
But that’s fine. He grins, picking up an apple from the gifted basket decorated with only premium quality fruits. He huffs a breath, shining the red apples skin on his shirt as he makes way to the balcony with a perfect view of the hotel's pool, and boy, is it perfect.
Because Sunghoon has a perfect clear shot of the two of you walking in, of the stringy red bikini hugging your curves beautifully, of Heeseung’s hand on your hip as he leads you to an empty cabana. Even if he can’t eavesdrop on your conversation at this distance, it’s good enough to keep an eye on how the two of you interact. Especially if he has anything to do with it, even better because neither of you will have a clue that your little pool date involved a third participant today.
“Hello, I’d like to order a bottle of your best Dom Perignon for my friends. They’re honeymooning and I’d love to surprise them with this gift.” Sunghoon explains to the bartender working the pool's bar, switching his focus to the bald man on the phone jotting everything down.
“That’ll be $290 sir.”
“Charge it to the suite, and throw in some of your best shots while you’re at it, keep them coming.” He instructs, biting down on his lip to contain a laugh. “Tell them it’s a gift from the hotel, something standard for your guests so that they don’t turn it down. Sweet kids, they’re too humble and refuse to accept my gifts.”
“Of course sir, will do.”
“Great.” He hangs up, watching as a waiter carries over a tray, the smile on his face growing as your face morphs to one of shock and Heeseung waves his hands to refuse the offer only for your surprised smile to fall into a pout.
Yes. Perfect.
“Aww come on Hee, why not?!” You whine, throwing yourself against his side to wrap around his arm. “Pleaseee, we don’t have to drink all of it.”
Heeseung visibly cringes, gaze shifting between you and the waiter. He lets out a long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “I really can’t drink any.”
“Heeseung, when will you ever be on vacation in Italy like this again?” Sitting up, you thank the waiter and motion for him to set down the tray, thanking him for the generous gift. The chilled champagne pours like liquid gold, taking a deep breath as you bring the flute to your nose and raise your eyebrows at him. “And not just in Italy, but with me.”
He laughs, face lifting to one side as he looks away and you crawl closer to him with another flute in hand. “Please? Just for fun, we could both use it after that flight.”
You really could use it after that, shaking off the thought of Sunghoon’s hand sneaking it’s way between your thighs.
“Just one drink.” Heeseung states, reaching for the flute you’ve extended toward him.
“To our first vacation.” Smiling, you clink your glasses together, practically moaning as you take a sip and your eyes roll back. “Oh, I really needed that.
Eyeing his own drink anxiously, he nods, admiring the way your shoulders instantly relax. It’s been over a year, he’s been good, stayed on track. One sip can’t hurt? It’s just some fancy champagne..
With a deep breath he brings the glass to his lips, sucking down a swig of mind crushing nightmares, demons he’s kept at bay until now.
One sip can’t hurt, but by the fifth time you’ve filled up his cup Heeseung can’t stop smiling. Can’t stop littering kisses up your chest and neck, can’t stop himself from feeling your body freely without a care, without concern for who could walk by.
“See? This is fun..” you giggle, lightheaded and tipsy by the time you empty the bottle. “This is what I needed.”
“Me? You needed me right?” He asks flirtatiously, nipping at your jaw. “God, you’re so sexy.”
“Stoppp.” Heat prickles your cheeks as you shove at his chest, reaching to cup his chin and push his lips out into a pout. “You’re so cute when you’re drunk.”
Heeseung blinks slowly, still in touch with his sober mind enough to register what you’ve just said clearly. “Never heard that before..”
“Whattt? I tell you how cute you are all of the time.”
Shaking his head, he circles your wrist and kisses your palm. “Usually everyone hates me when I drink.”
I hate me when I drink.
He sighs, curling up to your side, dragging your knuckles up and down his mouth as he loops your fingers together to hold your hand.
“What’s wrong baby?” You frown, pushing his hair back to gently pet his forehead.
He shrugs, blinking away moisture that’s made its way to his eyes, hot from the buzz building in his stomach. “Nothing right now, nothing’s wrong when I’m with you..”
“Mmm.. there is one thing.” You continue, clouded brain speaking with more confidence and honesty than you would sober. “Your brother, he’s such a pain in the ass.”
Heeseung’s smile returns, nodding and kissing your knuckles. “You’re right, he’s always been that way. Ever since we were kids. Sometimes I blame myself.”
“Why would you blame yourself?” You pause for a second, wanting to add that there’s nothing he could have ever done to encourage such deranged psychopathic behavior. “It’s your dads fault Sunghoon is the way that he is, if anything.”
“He’s definitely a part of it.” He agrees, pressing closer to your side. “Always feel like I could have done more, I should have done more. When our parents separated, that’s the last vacation I ever really went on..”
“I remember, sort of, that being mentioned..”
“I guess because we were so young, mom and dad didn’t think it’d be such a big deal. They promised to take us to Disneyland, only when we got there they checked into separate hotel rooms..” taking a deep breath, he eyes the empty champagne flutes sitting on the tray, now wishing for more to magically appear. “Mom told me we’d be taking a different flight home from dad and Hoonie. I didn’t really understand until we ended up at my grandparents house and stayed there for another year..”
“Fuck, no way, they just split you up like that without an explanation?” You ask, frown dragging down more.
“I started to understand after a while and.. once I figured it out.” His eyes fall shut, opening up to the same waiter returning with a flight of cocktails and tray of shots. “I started to drink.”
“Oh! Cocktails!?”
“Yes, for the lovely couple.” The waiter grins, setting the tray down. “Enjoy.”
“This is seriously the best hotel ever!” You cheer, too excited to down another drink to notice how much Heeseung’s frown has deepened, screaming at himself to not reach for another drink. “Wow, Hee you have to try this, oh my God this is seriously like drinking candy.”
“Yeah..” he whispers, fingers twitching. “One more can’t hurt.”
“Of course not! We’re on vacation babe, come on.”
With a more sober mind you wouldn’t have missed his tortured expression. Clear level headed thoughts could have stopped him from downing the next drink, from grabbing another, from slurring that you should order some more.
“Wait,” you hiccup, laughing, moving onto his lap. “We were talking about Disneyland.” You say cutely, tongue growing heavy inside your mouth. “Right?”
Heeseung’s glazed over eyes pan up and down your body, clutching your hips hungrily. “Yea that was,” he laughs, head shaking. “Worst vacation ever, l-last time I really saw Hoonie. Until high school.”
“High school?” Half registering what he’s even saying, you start to roll your hips down against him, bottom softly rutting on his crotch. “Whattt?”
“S’long story.” Droopy eyelids blink at you, tucking his bottom lip in, palms traveling to your butt.
“Tell meeeee.” You giggle, grabbing onto his shoulders. “That’s suchhh a long time?”
“Yeah it’s uhh— I don’t know. But Hoon, he really hated me. I started dating his crush or some shit.” He grunts, throat turning dry as he tries to focus on your waist curving in with each fluid movement. “I dunno, s-so dumb.”
“Seriously dumb.” You moan, completely lost in your blurred thoughts. The conversation flying over your head. “I think we should get back to the room babe.” You pant, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter. “Getting late.”
“One more drink?” He slurs, a lazy smile lifting one side of his face as he leans in to kiss your upper lip.
Shaking your head, you cup his cheeks, pressing your lower halves together harder. “I wanna go to the room, now.”
Letting out a sigh, he abruptly pushes you off, moving onto his knees to wave over the waiter. “In a bit.”
Landing against the cushion on your side you glare at him confused, clenching your thighs together as you sit up. “Hee, what the fuck?”
He waves you off, taking another shot, and another, and another..
The few minutes it takes for him to guzzle down the tray clears up your head enough to snap out of your mostly horny partially buzzed daze, grabbing his arm and tugging roughly. “Let’s go, right now.”
“One more.” He mumbles, losing balance when you pull again.
“Only thing you need to drink for the rest of the night is water.” You grunt annoyed. Struggling to stand up with him, carrying his mostly deadweight against yourself. Christ, how much did he drink?
The waiter had kept the shots coming, and while you took longer to recover after 1 drink, Heeseung had managed to down 3 faster than you could even straighten your vision. He makes a displeased sound, stumbling with your help toward the elevators.
“You’re sooo pretty,” he sulks, leaning against the wall with your hand pressed to his stomach out of fear that he’ll stumble and hit his head. “You really would look better with him.”
“What?” You mutter distractedly, blinking at the lit up list of floor numbers while trying to find the room key with your free hand in his pocket. “Who?”
“Hoonie.” He sighs, banging the back of his head against the wall with a grimace. “You’re all pretty and jaw dropping. I get why he’s hung up on you.”
Hung up? On you? Instead of contemplating that you successfully get the elevator moving, letting out a deep breath as you turn to face him and cup his warm cheeks. “Do you get why I’m hung up on you?”
He smiles drunkenly, more cute than usual somehow, shifting his face to kiss your fingers. “Are you? Cause—think I’m crazy about you.” He hiccups, eyes falling shut with a smile. “Being here with you makes everything better.”
“Yeah?” He shouldn’t be this cute with enough alcohol on his breath to set off a breathalyzer. But he nods and leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours.
“I’m saying too much, right?” He laughs, cheeks brightening up with pink even more. “Always do this—thisss why I shouldn’t drink.”
“I dunnoooo..” the elevator dings open, stopping at your floor, wrapping him in your hold to drag down the hall. “I like this Heeseung.”
“Why?” Grabbing onto the door frame when you stop, his neck bends forward to whisper by your mouth. “Why do you like me?”
There’s uncertainty swarming all across his big glossy eyes, scanning your face anxiously. “Why would you like me more than him?”
This is what Heeseung means when he says he shouldn’t drink, because an inebriated brain lacks shame, lacks the fear of being humiliated. The insecurities he hides with sobriety come to light, and much to his displeasure many of them trace back to his younger brother.
“If you come in here and drink a lot of water with me like a good boy, I’ll tell you all of the things you want to hear.” You reassure, pulling him to follow you inside the shared suite. The suite that you wish Sunghoon wouldn’t utilize so much, because of course he’s sitting on the living room couch watching an old Italian black and white film; hardly watching with his peripheral vision focused on the two of you near the entrance.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Making sure to keep your voice low, you avoid the eyes you can feel taking in every inch of your exposed skin, tripping on your way to Heeseung’s room.
“Mmmph.. but don’t leave me.” He whines behind you, wrapping around your waist. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere lovey.” He seems reluctant to believe you and let go as you try to get him to sit on the bed. Grabbing a hold of his face, you squeeze his cheeks until his lips puff out, completely enamored by the baby talk he keeps slipping in and out of. “I’ll be right back, you really need to drink water. I do too, like, badly.”
“What?” Grabbing for your hips, his eyebrows wrinkle together. “No no.”
“Hey, what did I say?” You retort, pinching his cheeks. “Don’t make this difficult, I’m trying to save you from the fat headache you’ll wake up with tomorrow if you don’t chug some water, alright? I’ll be right outside, won’t take long.” His pout deepens, shoving his lips further out for a kiss.
“Okay.” Content by the light peck you give him, he lets go and slumps back against the bed. Head spinning now that he’s sat down and can’t focus on the ceiling despite blinking many times. “Shit, I really am drunk.”
“Which is exactly why you need to drink water.” You mutter, heading out to the kitchen. Both of you really need to replenish your hydration, you can’t wake up hungover on vacation, it ruins everything. And judging by the way Heeseung can barely walk on his own two feet, he’s destined to wake up with the most bruising headache tomorrow.
“Guessing that you two were partying it up out there.” Sunghoon’s deep voice rumbles from behind you, causing you to jump and grab onto the counter as you reach for two cups. “Here, I’ll get that.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it.” Of course he’s too fast, reaching over your head with both of his hands. One to grip your forearm and the other to grab a cup.
“You’ll drop it.”
“I’m not helpless.” You snap, elbowing his chest that’s pressed much too close to your back.
“I know you aren’t,” stepping back, he gets you another cup. Motioning toward his brother’s bedroom. “Haven’t seen him like that in a couple of years.”
“We’re on vacation.”
“You really shouldn’t let him drink.” He says, backing away to lean against the kitchen island. “He’s an addict, in case he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“I know, not that it’s any of your business.”
Sunghoon makes no effort to hide his sharp gaze dragging down your figure, licking at the top rows of his teeth. “We all have our vices.”
“Even you? The epitome of perfection?” You mock sarcastically, tilting your head.
The smirk that stretches his face only solidifies how much he likes hearing that. Nodding and leaning back on the counter before raising an eyebrow at you. “Of course I do, care to take a guess?”
“Not really.” You scoff, reaching for water bottles only to be stopped by his arms caging around you, lowering his face near yours.
“I think it’s obvious what I’m addicted to.” He says quietly, eyes half-lidded as he glances down to your bikini-clad chest. “I can’t seem to get enough these days.”
“I think that you should seek help for that problem.”
“Do you?” A well groomed thick eyebrow raises, daring you to stop his hands from moving to your hips. “Because I could really use the help.”
“What’s taking so lon—“ Heeseung mumbles, leaning against the fridge as he rounds the corner from his room and immediately frowns. “What the fuck is this?”
Sunghoon shrugs, squeezing your hips firmly before pushing off. “Nothing man.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he spits, glaring at the younger through bleary glazed eyes. “Why don’t you fuck off?”
“Takes a lot of liquid courage for you to ever speak to me that way.” Sunghoon grumbles, turning away with a wave of his hand. “Not interested in hearing this boozed up bullshit. It was nothing.”
“Hee, it’s okay.” You whisper, wrapping around his waist. “Let’s get back inside the room alright?”
He seems reluctant, digging his feet to the ground weakly continuing to dart lasers at the back of his brother's head. “Fine.” Letting out a tired sigh, he lets you push him back to his room, eyebrows furrowed as he grabs onto your shoulders and looks over your face.
“Was he trying anything?” There's a lack of assurance behind his question. Whether it be due to the alcohol or not, you can’t swallow down your guilt fast enough this time.
“No!” You laugh uncomfortably, scratching at your nape. “You know how he is.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem. I do know.” Heeseung rights his jaw, lips tight, stepping around you to storm back into the living room. “Hey, little bro.” He calls out, cracking his neck loudly.
Sunghoon appears at his door, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised in an amused manner. “Hey, big bro.”
The older scoffs, eyes darting around the room, halting at a large clear bottle full of tempting poisonous liquid. “You wanna keep fucking with my girl?”
Distracted by the bottle, he fails to see Sunghoon’s amused expression morph to one of confusion, misses the way his eyes light up when his brother uncaps the bottle of vodka. “Your girl?”
“Did I fucking stutter?” Heeseung spits, taking a swig from the bottle, unbothered by the acidic burn running down his throat.
“Hee, we drank enough..” you intervene, placing a hand over his. “Come on babe, let's get in the shower.”
“S’not why we came back up here.” Ripping his hand away from your touch, he steals another swig, free hand untying one side of your bikini bottoms. “Is it?”
“Heeseung!” Quick reflexes help you catch the strings before they can fall off, staring at him in disbelief. “What the fuck.”
Sunghoon shrugs, moving back to the connected kitchen to lean on the counter again. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right bro?”
Tension fills the room at lightning speed, gulping the anxiety burning its way up from your chest.
Heeseung’s nostrils flare, teeth gritting, glowering at the younger as if he could rip his head off. “You’ve seen it all, been inside her, had your way, and she still picked me. Again.”
Again?”
Sunghoon shrugs, cheek dimpling with a small smirk. “Maybe if I played up a weak little groveling bitch act she’d pick me too bro.”
“You fucking—“
“Heeseung!” Wrapping around his waist you sober up quickly, at least enough to regain your strength. The nice drunken bliss you’d felt just minutes ago fading away the longer you stay stuck here between them. “I wanna fuck, right now.”
That seems to do the trick, softening his expression as he looks at you and breaks free from his sudden rage. “Yeah..” checking you out, he slowly blinks remembering that's why you came back up here. You should be back on his lap, sucking on his lips.
“C’mere..” you grin deviously, tugging him to walk back to his room with you. “You can’t leave me like this.”
He stops at the door before you can pull him in, shoving it fully open. “Hey little bro,” he smiles, holding the bottle up to cheers him. “Pay attention, maybe you’ll learn how to satisfy a lady for once. You greedy fuck.”
“Babe, c’mon..” choosing to ignore the way they glare at each other, you reach Heeseung’s bedroom, grabbing the doorknob.
“Leave that open.” He says sternly, kicking the door fully open with his hip.
“What? No, come on.” You argue, try to get him in and shut the door behind him at the same time. He stands tall, lifting the bottle back to his lips, pushing your hand away with his side.
“I said,” he repeats, making you walk backward toward his bed. “I want it open.”
“But..”
“But what?” There’s enough of a hint of malice in his tone to cut off what you want to say. Chewing on your lip and nervously balancing your weight from side to side. “Come here baby.”
Dragging you to his bed, he sinks down onto the mattress, placing a kiss on the skin around your navel. “S’crazy cause I’m always a little anxious when we fuck..”
“You are?” Genuine confusion passes across your face, could have really fooled you..
“Yeah s’cause I want you so fucking much.” He blinks lazily, licking at your exposed stomach, kissing and nipping between. “I dunno, like what if you’re not into it..”
Since you have fucked his brother, a fact he only wishes he could forget.
“Not into it?” Making him look up at you, you tickle his ear’s between your fingers.
“I don’t know..” he slurs, hugging your hips and looking out the door. A shadow that can only be his brother’s passing by. “Who’s the best?”
Heeseung’s hold around you tightens up, stroking up and down the backs of your thighs. “Best you’ve had, it’s me, right?”
Continuing to play with his ears, you nod and begin to move down to sit on his lap. Arms looping around his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me cum as hard as you do..”
Ouch.
Sunghoon better have heard that.
You’d never know how calculated his thoughts are, as if he’s unlocked his alter ego with liquid confidence. Untying the strings on your bikini top, he smirks. “Want you on your knees.”
Holding your bikini against your chest, you nod and crawl down onto the floor in front of him. Shyly glancing up to meet his curious gaze inspecting you. “Show me your pretty tits.”
Bending in closer he reaches down to cradle your breasts when you finally drop your top, thumbs running across your nipples appraisingly. “Wanna fuck them.” He says, flicking your nipples until they pebble rock hard. The air conditioning unit blowing cold air throughout the room not helping. He twists each of them between his thumb and pointer fingers, humming, testing the weight of them against his palms.
“But really..” squeezing your breast, his other hand drags up your throat, fingers tracing up your chin. “Can’t stop staring at your pretty ass lips.” His thumb pushes on your bottom lip, shoving between. “How good you’d look with my cock down your throat.”
Muscles tense up your thighs, trying to subtly rub them together as heat swelters between and soaks through your bikini bottoms. “Bet you look so cute sucking dick.”
Sunghoon would know.
Pressing your tongue to his thumb, all you can manage to do is nod. The wetness slicking up your bottoms becomes uncomfortable the more he prolongs this and makes you wait. Heeseung thrusts his thumb in and out a few times, smile slowly growing. “Want to?”
“Uh huh..” you couldn’t sound like any bigger of a desperate cock whore right now. Saliva pooling around your tongue in wads as he sits back and pulls his cock free. Fully hard, he wraps around the base and slaps it against his jeans a few times, sliding the pre-cum down his shaft.
The veins along his cock visibly throb, the head flushed an angry red, twitching where he teases and plays with the tip. “Open that mouth up for me baby.”
Nerves ignite the more you drool at the sight before you, reminding yourself that you’ve sucked dick before. One related to Heeseung.. can’t be too different.
Slowly propping your mouth open, your tongue rolls out, hanging over your bottom lip. “So hot.” He hisses, slowly sliding the slit lining the tip against your tongue. He fucks the head in and out of your mouth for a minute, muttering to himself how cute you are. “Think you can fit all of this in there?”
Probing a finger inside your mouth, he pulls on your cheek, popping it open. “Take every inch?” He asks darkly, glaring at your lost expression. “One way to find out.”
Without another word he grabs you by the back of your head, other hand circled around the base of his length. Pulling your head down onto his cock until he hits obstruction and hits the back of your throat. “Fuck baby. You’re a natural.”
The initial shock has you gagging, spit spilling down your chin, shoulders hunching in trying to keep your mouth around him. He doesn’t allow you to move either way, pushing down on the back of your head more until you’re really gagging. Thrusting up against your gag reflex over and over again, really testing out how much you can take.
“Fucking—yeah, that’s so fucking good.” He grunts, pressing your nose against the light trimmed hair surrounding his size. Wet gagging noises fill up the room, Heeseung’s groans and growls drowning them out each time he bottoms out in your mouth.
He keeps holding you down to an agonizing point, only able to swallow around his cock, spinning his drunken mind over the edge. “Fuck!”
Tugging you off, he slaps the wet shaft on your cheek like a wake up call. Choking and focusing on taking deep breaths when you feel tears flow from your eyes. Peering up light-headed from lack of air. Heeseung smiles, pushing his cock back between your lips. “Make my cock disappear baby.”
He slides back in slowly, excruciatingly slow, really making you swallow down each inch. The smile on his face morphs to a sadistic one when your big watery eyes meet his. He pushes and pushes, standing up with both hands on the back of your head to really fuck your throat. Throwing a leg over your shoulder, he twists your bodies until the back of your neck hits the edge of the bed, using the new position to aim his cock right at your tonsils.
“Such a good fuck hole baby, letting me use you however I want.”
The pain between your legs reaches a new high, clutching at his jeans and dragging them down. You scream around his length, tears rippling down your face. Heeseung pulls out abruptly, taking a deep breath and laughing. “Almost got me.” Smacking his cock down on your face, he drags the tip along your cheek, mouth, nose, leaving trails of spits and precum all over. “Look at you, so fucking pretty for me.”
Pushing the tip in and out a few more times, he groans, balling a fist in your hair to pull you up. “On the bed.”
Crawling onto all fours, you look over at him, back arching nicely, bikini bottoms still on. He follows you onto the mattress, discarding his shirt and pants before pressing his hips flush to yours. “Where do you want it?”
His hard wet length lodges between your thighs, slowly fucking against your bottoms. Ruching up the material up in his fists, gripping onto your stringy bikini bottom firmly as he builds up a speed. The material wedges up further between your buttcheeks, eyes rolling shut when he lands against your backside extra hard, sending your shoulders to press flat against the bed.
“Come on, speak up.” He grins, smacking your ass. “Tell me where you want to get fucked.”
Anywhere.
At this point, he could do whatever he wants with you. Finding it impossible to fathom up any type of thought as your face presses deeper into the bed. Arousal surges up your spine, another crack ringing out from Heeseung roughly landing another slap across your ass. Dry fucking your bikini bottoms that have completely soaked through, you sink lower against the bed. Lip starting to sting from being bitten raw. The delayed reaction of pain stinging up your backside only registering by the 5th smack.
“Can’t even speak up can you.” A smug smirk stretches his lips, thumb sliding to press your bikini bottom deep between your buttcheeks. “Could fuck you here..”
Squirming away, you shake, legs stretching open more. “N-no..”
He chuckles, untying the strings hanging on for dear life to keep your bottoms up. Balling the material up, he brings it to his nose, stealing a long whiff before throwing them aside. “Smells like your pussy wants me the most..”
“Ah—please.” You swallow, face flushed with heat. “Please put y-your..put it in—my pussy.”
“Put what in?” He says cruelly, dragging his nails down your back to your ass. Cupping and kneading the meaty fleshy.
“Cock, your c-cock.” You croon, squeezing more tears out. “Please..”
“Want me to fuck your pussy baby?” He teases, swiping three digits between your thighs, collecting a glob of slick to spread around. “So wet.”
Arching deeper as he circles your clit, an embarrassing sound claws its way out of your throat. Eyes clenching shut when he circles your pulsating hole. He drags back to your clit, circling around the nub, back to your hole. Back and forth until you’re a tingling mess, begging for him to fuck you.
“Yesyes!” You breathe raggedly, fisting at the bedding. “H-hurts, please.”
“Pretty little pussy hurts?” His tongue clicks, scissoring two fingers inside. “So tight..” kissing the backs of his teeth, he rolls your clit under his thumb, digits stretching wide inside of you. “After what I just did to your mouth..”
Biting on his lip, he fucks his fingers into you slowly. Curling the tips against your inner walls. Laving at his swollen mouth as he pulls out and smears the wetness across your labia folds. It’s everywhere, all the arousal for him, the desire and hunger your body screams for him.
That’s what he wants to see, slapping the back of your thigh. A needy little please emitting as he cleans off his hand on your ass.
“What was that?” He wants to laugh a little bit meanly, but his cock might damn near burst if he doesn’t get inside of you soon. Too turned on by your lack of shame for him. “Say it again.”
“Please..” you breathe out, letting out a surprised gasp when Heeseung shoves you to fall on your side. Manhandled onto your back, wanting to see your face fall apart when he stuffs you full of his cock. “Please fuck me.”
A door slams shut from behind him, smirking proudly as he hoists your legs open and settles between your thighs. He pauses there, holding himself over you, arms bridged around your body.
Flicking from his face to his cock, you could scream, breathing in sharply. Chest rising rapidly. “Seungie, please. Please fuck me.”
The sound of your pleading is almost as good as the release to come, savoring it as your begging washes over him. He nods, licking the sweat away from his upper lip, slotting a palm over your hip to hold you in place.
“Shh shh,” he groans, admiring your hung open jaw. The way you stare up at him with your head thrown back. Grabbing your thigh with his other hand, he presses it down flat to the bed, thrusting the entirety of his cock forward to fill you up in one smooth thrust.
“Yeah,” he mutters cockily, watching every inch disappear inside of you. “That’s what you wanted. Doesn’t that feel good baby?”
This is what he wanted, to watch you breakdown, lose your mind. The way you are right now, looking at him like he hung the fucking moon, drooling like a wild animal. So brainless, nothing but his.
Heeseung pulls his hips back and snaps them forward aggressively. His patience dissipated the second your warm cunt sucked around his length, instantly milking him. “That’s my good girl.” He picks up the pace even more when you whine in response. Rocking into you hard enough for the headboard to smack against the wall.
Shivers rattle up and down your spine as he grabs your breasts, hips meticulously snapping forward. The heavy grip on your chest helps him speed up even more until the pace becomes punishing. Pinching roughly at your nipples between harsh breaths. Each thrust hitting his cock so deep, so deep and hard.
“Fuck, take my cock so good.” He moans, hips circling, the tip kissing your cervix. Slapping your tits, he pushes up and reaches for your thighs, pushing them up for the backs of your knees to lay on the crook of his elbows. The vigorous pace he fucks you with snapping enough force to slide your back up the bed, reaching your hands out to push and smack at the headboard.
“Seungie..” you gasp, neck arching up, completely blissed out. The sound emitting around the room so wet, so nasty and messy. Slick pouring out past his length, trickling down past your ass making a pool of arousal on the bed. “G-gonna cum, Heeseung, I’m gonna—“
The high-pitch tone you moan out his name in makes his stomach bubble, only fucking you into the bed faster when you cry out and ball up your fists. “Yeah? Then fucking cum.”
He doesn’t falter one bit, gaze falling to where your hips connect. Carefully watching the juncture where his cock disappears inside of your cunt. Sucking in a sharp breath, he slaps the sides of your thighs. “Cum.”
“Ahh shit!” You shake through it, gasping for air, clutching at a pillow. Groaning loudly as you tip over the edge and Heeseung continues to fuck you through it, not slowing down at all. Squeezing your eyes shut, you convulse, crying out loudly, cunt clenching tightly around his cock until he has to slow down.
“Fuck.” He grits, using all of his strength to plow through it and grind his cock through the pulsating wet heat of your orgasm. It’s good, so good for both of you. Falling limp and breathless under his weight as he hoists your legs up completely and bends you forward. The mating press stealing the little bit of breath you have left.
“Hee?”
“Did I say we’re fucking done?” He exhales raspily, not allowing you to get away as he locks you into a new position. Fully in control with your legs propped on his shoulders, feet dangling limblessly by his head.
“H-hurts..” you buzz, body crushed by the white hot sensation of over sensitivity.
Not letting up, he fucks through the whines emerging from your lips. Pounds away despite your thighs shaking, muscles trembling around him. Keeps slamming in and out to chase his own release.
“You asked to be fucked.” He says between clenched teeth, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. Erupting tingly warm sensations from your gut to your chest, groaning loudly between your cries. “So you’re getting fucked.”
It’s the overload of dominance and fury that has your next orgasm rushing ahead full force. Borderline uncomfortable as the pleasure rips through you again, hurling you into a hurricane of over sensitivity. The waves of white heat pass through each limb, emptying your lungs free of air.
Heeseung can only groan through it, balls slapping loudly against your ass. The tips of his fingers digging into your thighs. “Squeezing around me so fucking good when you cum.” He says between short breaths, fucking hard. “Come on, again. You can do better than that.”
That really makes your head explode, wailing and bursting into tears as you snake a hand to your aching clit. It hurts, hurts so fucking good. The way his length relentlessly thrusts inside of you, molding you to only take his cock.
Shuddering through the painful pleasure, you squeeze around your clit. Pinching the bundle of nerves until you jerk, throbbing profusely beneath your fingers. Biting on your bottom lip until a metallic copper spills onto your tongue.
“Fuck.” Heeseung slows down, growling through clenched teeth. Pushing your legs even more until you’re forced to release your clit, feet bouncing by your head. The orgasms more painful than the last, but it’s good enough to slow him down. Squeezing your eyes shut as he buries in deep, breathily groaning. Cock twitching inside you against your convulsing walls.
Pulling out, he lets your legs fall back down, gripping around the base of his cock. “So fucking pretty when you cum like that.” He salivates. Free hand running over your wet stomach, arousal making its way down to the middle of your thighs under each ram of his hips.
“C-can’t anymore,” you whine, squeezing your thighs shut with your hand hovering over your core. “Sore..”
Heeseung licks at his mouth, patting your hip, sneaking a look at the open door. “Don’t be greedy.” He says it loud enough for Sunghoon to hear, in case he happened to come back out. “You get to cum over and over again thanks to me and I get nothing?”
Given any other day without the help of alcohol, he wouldn’t have been able to last this long. Not after this type of fucking, silently grateful for the liquid courage his brother had to remind him that he needed to act this way..
“That’s so selfish.” He laughs, slapping your hip before manhandling you onto your stomach. “Fine.”
He’ll be nice, content enough by the sound of his brother’s room door slamming shut some time ago. Grabbing your arms he pulls them back, wrapping a hand around both your wrists. “Stay put baby.”
Twisting your neck to look over your shoulder, you catch the crazed look on Heeseung’s face. Stroking his cock over your ass with hungry eyes, he places it between your buttcheeks, licking at his lips. “Wanna fuck your ass.”
You clench up at that, wrists shifting in his hold, earning a slap on your butt. “Not right now.” He winks at you, dropping a glob of spit along the crevice, moving it around with his length. “Fuck, think you want it though..”
Crossing your ankles, you quietly moan as he begins to thrusts between your ass. The cock head rubbing against your rim incessantly. The sensations still too foreign and new, exciting, digging your toes against the bed when you feel your hole twitch after he spills more spit. The rubbing makes your stomach hot, still weak after multiple orgasms, but desperate to feel him everywhere.
Mouth, between your breasts, filling your pussy, claiming your ass. You’d let him, if he really wanted to..
“You’re so wet back here.” He mumbles, hips throttling against your backside faster and faster. “Could fuck your ass, could slip it right in.”
The clap of skin on skin seers between your thighs, clenching them together to make the squeeze around his cock tighter somehow. “What if I fuck your ass?” Heeseung teases, releasing your wrists to lay his chest against your back. Arm coming around to choke around your throat.
His thrusts become more erratic, more sloppy. The tip catching on your rim more than once with each pass of his length rutting between your ass. “Bet it’d feel so good. So fucking tight.” He whimpers, pulling your back into an arch with his bicep tucked under your jaw. “Fuck, oh fuck baby.”
It hits you first, letting out a breathless squeal, scratching at the bedding. The heat between your bodies boiling over the edge, tipping you off to reach your peak once again.
“Shitshitshit.” Heeseung groans, licking up the side of your face, pressing messy kisses to the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, thank you.”
Desperation rolls off his tongue, losing his pace against your backside as powerful tremors roll through his body. Thrusting right against your rim for the tip to push in, he shoves up fast. Palms flat on your shoulder blades, blinking the sweat and tears impairing his sight to focus on his cock pouring out string after string of white creamy cum. The release shakes right through him, trembling against your figure pressed flat to the bed, cum dripping down to pool at your rim making the filthiest picture for him to savor.
“Holy fuck—“ collapsing against you, he struggles to breath. Chest moving rapidly against your back, crushing your lungs at the same time.
“Hee..” you scramble, too weak to push him off.
“Sorry so sorry,” he mutters, kissing your shoulder before rolling off to your side. “Give me a minute, I’ll clean up.”
Laying like that next to him, you can’t form a single thought. Watching the shadow of his side profile as he recuperates, breathing coming back down to a normal pace. He sighs, hands dragging through his damp sweaty hair before turning to kiss your cheek and stumble off the bed.
Taking no longer than a minute to wet a towel, he comes back and cleans off your back, gently patting between your thighs. Seemingly sobered up enough to remember to do this. You smile and work with him to get under the blanket, shivering as the warmth embraces you.
“Was I too rough?” He mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah..” you smirk, burying yourself deeper into the pillow. “Liked it.”
Letting out a sigh of relief, he pecks your forehead, softly stroking your cheek for a minute. “Goodnight.”
“Night baby.” You hum, slowly entering a mythical universe full of dreams.
“Hey hey,” a soft cool touch pats your cheek, stirring you awake. “Drink this, or you’ll be hurting bad tomorrow.”
“Mmphh?” More than already half asleep, you open your mouth against a glass pressed to your lips, neck held up by a firm hold.
“Swallow.”
Between blurred vision and a bit of help you manage to get a few pills down, whining your way back to the pillow you’d been resting on.
“Good.” Sunghoon hums, tucking the blanket in around you. “Get some sleep.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Waking up to the sound of birds chirping would be lovely, the smell of a hot pot of coffee, a warm and cozy bed to cuddle into.
But today had other plans for you.
Squinting your eyes open, you sit up abruptly, covering your mouth at the aggressive sound of throwing up coming from outside of the room.
“Heeseung?”
The sound gets worse the longer you sit there and try to gather your thoughts, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you stumble free from the hotel bed, legs tangled up in a sheet.
“You might not want to go in there.” Sunghoon greets you with a large smile, sipping on water. “He’s been emptying his guts for an hour now. Surprised it didn’t wake you up sooner.”
“Oh my God, Hee?” Tugging the sheet around your body, you lean against the door, rapping your knuckles along the wood. “Are you okay??”
“No! Don’t come in here!” He says raspily, throat run down. “Please, don’t!”
“Are you sure?? Do you need anything??”
“Go away!” He gags again, the noise rising bile up your throat.
“I can’t..” covering your mouth you back away, stumbling back into Sunghoon.
“Don’t worry, I gave him some medicine and water.” He lets you know, passing you a fresh cup of tea. “How’re you feeling? You both drank a lot last night..”
“What even happened..” rubbing your head, you sip on the tea. Sitting down on the couch. “I didn’t drink that much.. I guess that’s why I don’t feel awful.”
Sunghoon nods, leaning against a chair. “Heeseung’s never known his limit.” He sighs, shrugging. “Anyway. What are the plans for today?”
The bathroom door bursts open with an unavoidable rancid smell permeating past Heeseung’s long frame slumping against the wall.
“Sick dude, you need to take a shower..” Sunghoon implores, waving the air away in front of his face. “Just like old times huh? Stumbling out of the bathroom covered in puke.”
“Hee..” you jump to stand, not wanting to get too close when you see the state of him. “How’re you feeling?”
Ignoring his brother, he wipes one of the smaller hotel towels down his face, holding an arm out for you to stay back. “Terrible. Fuck I’m sorry. Sorry if I woke you up..”
“It’s okay,” you hesitate, wrapping your fingers around the sheet held around your body. “Why don’t you take a shower and get cleaned up. We can play it by ear, maybe stay in today.”
Sunghoon scoffs, standing up straight, motioning between the two of you. “We’re not staying out here an entire week. You’re really wasting another day locked up inside this hotel? Is that what you flew across the country for?”
Heeseung frowns, silently agreeing. “I don’t feel up to going anywhere.” He says, more evident as his hand raises to his mouth to hold back another gag. “You should still go.”
Taking a few deep breaths, he quickly shakes his head, rapidly waving before slamming the door shut and returning to kiss the porcelain bowl.
“I should stay..” you lament, eyes drooping lower the more it settles that you really are wasting another day..
“Let Heeseung rest today, he needs it after all that drinking last night.” Sunghoon circles your wrist to lure you away from the shared living room, eyebrow arched up curiously. “You aren’t seriously going to let him steal one of your days to explore the city?”
“I feel bad, it’s my fault he drank so much..”
“You don’t get to visit Italy whenever you please, you know?” Sunghoon frowns, unrelenting with his small backwards steps toward your bedroom. “It’s still early enough for us to check out The Vatican. Remember when you watched that documentary and kept raving on about wanting to visit?”
Of course you remember, the question is why he remembers. “You’ll go with me?”
Sunghoon scoffs, leaning against the door frame with a soft smile. “I’ll go anywhere with you. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can pass by the shops and get some coffee in our systems before we head out.”
Eyeing the shut bathroom door, you ponder for a minute, shifting from foot to foot. “Give me a bit to freshen up, I’ll meet you down there.”
He pouts, reluctant to let you close the door to your room as he bats thick eyelashes at you in a playful manner. “I can just wait for you here.. nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Get out!”
Sunghoon chuckles, mumbling on his way out to not pack your bag much since he has ‘daddy’s credit card’ to cover any expenses.
“Yeah yeah..” even while getting ready you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about Heeseung, setting out water bottles and medicine for him on the kitchen counter.
“Going to explore the city,” you call through the door, knocking lightly. “Call me if you need anything from outside. I’ll try to be back in time for dinner.”
“Don’t worry.” Heeseung replies, sounding exhausted. “Please—please go have fun.”
“Won’t be as fun without you.” You whisper, shouting your goodbyes through the walls before heading down to meet up with Sunghoon.
The thing about your step-brother is that he really has no clue how to dress down, which really lessens the options hung up in your hotel closet. Perhaps a sundress today, something that would pop against your skin and hug your shape better. Not to impress him or anything, but to at least better your chances of not appearing like a slob next to some model dressed to the 9’s.
Sandals, a sundress, a sweater for the evening when it cools down, and a lightweight satchel. Easy, not trying too hard at all. Even if you take a little extra time to style your hair and ensure your makeup can hold up through the European summer heat.
“Ah, of course.” You mutter to yourself upon finding him standing outside of the coffee shop. Black slacks hang from his hips like a dream, buttoned down shirt tucked in accentuating his slim near non-existent waist, and hair quaffed back without a hair out of place other than the piece dangling down over his forehead. He’s a perfect vision, the usual, nothing to gasp over anymore as you’ve grown accustomed to his utter perfection.
“Well, don’t you look stunning.” He smiles, pointing his arm out in a triangular shape for yours to slip between. “Shall we?”
“No funny business.” You warn before hooking your arm through his.
“I would never.” He grins, directing you by his side to get in line. “Americano?”
“Yeah, that’s simple enough.”
“I’ve hailed an Uber to pick us up, says we’ll be arriving in about 25 minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
You realize any nerves Sunghoon used to elicit have subsided as you sit in the cramped backseat of an Italian made vehicle. Even with your limbs pressed together and the occasional adjustments he makes until his arm is looped over your shoulder as he casually speaks and points out the different architecture through the car window along the way, you can’t help to think this is comfortable.
And comfort isn’t always a good thing. Especially as you shift for a better view and his chest presses to your back, face closer to yours the more he explains the difference in environment and building structures.
“Why do you know so much about this stuff?”
“You think I’d be graduating with honors if I hadn’t also studied European history?” He says cockily, stroking down your arm. “I’m excited to see The Vatican too, it’s been a dream of mine for a few years now.”
Google translate has become your most reliable tool this past week, reaching for your phone as the ride comes to an end only to be stopped by Sunghoon bellowing out what can only be described as broken Italian; the driver responds with a sharp tongue, waving for both of you to exit his vehicle quickly.
“You speak Italian?”
Sunghoon laughs, rounding about to grab the door for you before you manage to get it yourself. “I practiced a bit after we booked this trip.”
“This trip you forced your way into?” You say snarkily, nudging his side as you begin the mile long walk to enter Vatican city.
“I told you, I’ve always wanted to visit Europe too.” Sunghoon nods to one of the many street vendors lining the pathway. “Hope these are still open by the time we leave, I always like to purchase souvenirs made by the locals.”
The variety of carts sell different items from foods, art, handmade bags, religious memorabilia, and jewelry that beams beneath the bright sun.
“Oh my God, this is beautiful.” You trail off, drawn away from whatever Sunghoon’s continued to go on about. “I’ve always wanted one like this.”
Black pearls slide through your digits, the necklace on display attached with a fat price tag that has you releasing the piece as fast as you picked it up. “That’s pretty.”
Sunghoon comes up behind you to pick up the necklace, nodding to the cart vendor. “I’ll take this one.”
His wallets out before you can argue, even so your palm lays on his wrist as you shake your head. “Hoon, I was just looking.”
“Nonsense, it’ll look great on you.” He nods, counting out a wad of Euros to cover the fee. “And it will add to the nice memories of your trip.”
Sunghoon takes the packed up necklace and motions to your neck. “You should wear it right now, you know, it will look great in the pictures we get today.”
“Okay..”
Swiping your hair to the side you take a deep breath, shivering as the pearls meet your skin and his long fingers slowly glide up past your collarbone to connect to the clasp. He leans in close to whisper, shutting the necklace to hold together. “There, you see? Beautiful.”
And it is, very very beautiful, you think as you admire the black opal against your skin in a small scratched mirror hanging from the side of the vendor's cart. “Thank you..”
Sunghoon fails to respond, having turned around as a group of girls giggled and passed by with mischievous smirks, waving coyly at him, a few even winking. He waves back nervously, laughing under his breath and reaching for his nape to rub at.
“So handsome.”
They say, continuing to gawk and gaze back over their shoulders on their way down the path. “I said thanks.” You speak up, mildly annoyed.
“Huh? Oh yeah yeah.” Sunghoon turns back to wave at the girls again, adding a small salute and shy laugh. “It’s no problem.”
“Right.” You say, growing more annoyed. “Let’s keep going before this crowd gets worse.”
“Oh yeah, definitely.”
It seems to become all the more obvious just how many women(and men) double take as your step-brother walks by. Growing eyes and pleased smiles take over the strangers faces upon taking in his modelesque physique and striking features, not to mention the Italian nonnas oohing and ahhing over him before breaking into a chatter of compliments.
Quite the crowd pleaser. You can’t help but to roll your eyes, finding yourself moving closer and closer to his side until you cave at the sight of a gorgeous girl lighting up and biting down on her lip as she checks him out.
“Hoon.” Putting on your sweetest smile, you squeeze around his bicep and press fully to his side. “Thank you again, for making me do this.”
Sunghoon leans in to bump his forehead to yours. “I told you, anywhere you wanna go, I’ll be there.”
And you’d believe it if not for his wandering gaze, running up and down the sets of Italian model legs trotting around you. “Seriously, thank you for suggesting this.”
“Hey!” Pinching his chin, you force his eyes back to yours. “We’re here to appreciate architecture, rare relics! Art God damnit!”
He laughs, taking a hold of your wrist, smoothly gliding his fingers between yours. “Yes, we are, aren’t we.”
The Vatican’s gorgeous, something photos alone could never truly capture. Your jaw’s on the floor from the moment you step inside, twirling around slowly to admire the art above you.
Click. Flash. Click.
“Did you just take a picture of me?” You stop, hands on your hips, tongue poking against the inside of your cheek.
“Am I not here to be your photographer?” Sunghoon quickly takes another, catching you off guard with the flash on his phone.
“Hey!” He gets more shots of you walking toward him with your arm extended to cover his phone lense, smiling from behind the screen. “Get pictures of the art! Not me!”
He hums, motioning for you to continue walking. “Thought you’d want to document this moment is all.”
“Of course I do.” Getting your own photos and videos, you think about showing Heeseung what he missed out on later. Unfortunate that he ended up drinking so much.. but that’s not what you need to be thinking about right now. “I’m not photogenic.”
“Who says you’re not?” Sunghoon frowns, pointing out a large staircase ahead. “Go stand over there for a minute.”
“Hoon..”
“Come on, I’ll prove to you that you photograph just fine.”
“Let’s not waste too much time with pictures alright?” Begrudgingly you stand near the stair railing, off to the side enough for other tourists to still pass by. Sunghoon goes on about how it’s not you, but likely a bad photographer, which shouldn’t be an issue since he’s oh so great.
He even gets on his knees, determined to prove his point, not caring about dirt and dust trekked through ending up on his slacks. “Try placing your hands there, yeah, and tilt your chin in, that’s it, beautiful.”
“Alright alright that’s enough.” Embarrassment has you covering your face, hiding from strangers slowing down to judge you.
“Look.” Showing off the pile of photos he took, he zooms in on one of the last ones before you covered your face, hand just above your chest with a shy smile beginning to creep up. “Really like this one.”
“I look like an idiot.”
“You look gorgeous.”
He’s still smiling unblinkingly at the photo when you look at him, raging a storm of warmth beneath your cheeks. “Let’s go up these stairs.” You end up rushing past the groups of foreigners around you, eager to gain a little distance from your step-brother.
“Hey, slow down.” He laughs, grabbing onto your elbow. “The paintings aren’t going anywhere.”
“Pft I know that,” slipping free from his hold, you nod ahead toward a statue. “Madonna della Pietá.”
Sunghoon clears his throat, standing too close by your side. “When Jesus was taken down from the cross and placed in his mother’s arms..”
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re some genius art historian at this point.” Rolling your eyes, you continue to read the description of Michaelangelo’s statue depicting Mary and Jesus.
“Well,” he pauses for a minute to take short breaths, hands tightly clasped behind his back. “There’s always been something about this piece.”
For once his attention isn’t on you, gawking at the statue with gloss coated eyes. “Some believe that Michaelangelo wanted to create a work describing the heart’s image. When I first read about Pietá I wondered if a mother’s undying love is what fuels a heart. What would we be without a mother after all.”
“Sunghoon..”
He blinks furiously, turning away from the statue. “I had to write a paper about it.” Clearing his throat, he proceeds on without waiting for you. Leaving you uncomfortably staring at the preserved piece of art.
A mother’s undying love.. something Sunghoon was never given.
You could ask what the paper was about, analyzing religion? The hanging on the cross? Motherhood? Or you could just drop it. Ignore that sour feeling building up inside of your stomach. Remember who Sunghoon is even if you feel an inkling of remorse for him.
“It’s no wonder you’re such a good tutor.” You jab his side, attempting to shift the atmosphere back to a playful one. “Brainiac.”
He grins a little, phone lifting to mask his face and get another photo of you. “Ugh come on, here.” Grabbing the device from his hands, you start to get pictures of him. “Enough of me! You’re here too.”
“We need some together.” He says not even trying to pose, grabbing your hand to hold the phone higher and get both of your faces in the shot. “You know, to prove to our parents that we actually came here. Come on, smile!”
His cheeks dimple in, distracting you as you look at the screen on selfie mode reflecting back your faces. “You’re too tall.. cutting off my head.”
“Fine fine.” He crouches, cheek brushing against yours. Getting a few shots in of the both of you smiling before making a fast turn with his pursed lips landing on your cheek.
“Sunghoon!”
Even with you landing slaps down on his arm he still managed to get a couple of photos, cheerfully walking away through the rest of the church. “Do not show those to my mom.”
“She’d probably love these.” He steals a look at the pictures, biting back a smile. “Look at us bonding now.”
“Right.. yeah, bonding.” You murmur, continuing to walk and check out the rest of the church.
“This has been nice.” Sunghoon nods, rubbing this stomach. “I’m a little hungry though.”
“Ah, I don’t really want to eat..” slowing down, you check your phone to check in on Heeseung. No messages, he must have knocked out after the way his body rudely awoke him. “Trying to save room for dinner.”
“Oh come on, I saw a crepe stand out there.” Sunghoon points to the other side of the street full of food vendors. “We haven’t even gone that way yet. You know, the desserts in Europe are nothing like the shit we get in America.”
“How would you know?” You pretend to frown, mostly pouting, sticking close to his side. The sense of feeling that you’re being closely watched returns, catching different sets of eyes darting from you to your step-brother. Can’t take him anywhere..
“Dad brought me out to London once for a business trip when I was really into Harry Potter.” He recalls, ordering a chocolate crepe to share since you insist on watching your figure.
“Bet you really related to Malfoy.”
“Whattt?” Sunghoon laughs, holding the crepe to cut a piece off for you. “I’m no Slytherin.”
“Oh, please!” You snort, moving your neck back when he raises the fork to your lips. “You’re sooo Slytherin!”
“Am not.” He says, tongue click, continuing to shut and open his mouth for you to take a bite. “Come on, we only have one fork.”
“I can feed myself.”
“You don’t need to, that’s what I’m here for.” He tuts, placing the fork by your lips again. “Now open up, say ahhh.”
Against your nature, you meet his gaze, slowly propping open your mouth for him to slide a piece of crepe onto your tongue. “Oh that’s..”
“Told ya..” Sunghoon forks a bite for himself, letting out a pleased hum. “Delicious.”
“Alright, I guess that’s actually amazing.” You admit, bumping into his side for another bite. “But you’re still a Slytherin.”
“You have me all wrong.” Feeding you another piece, he brings the empty fork to his mouth, biting on the plastic to hold it in place. “You got a little..”
He swipes at your bottom lip, cleaning off a smear of chocolate, breath lodged in his throat when you blink up at him. Pushing down on the juicy center of your lip, he sinks in for your tongue to meet the tip of his finger. Biting on his own lip as you unintentionally lick the bit of chocolate clean off his skin without breaking eye contact.
“Think I’ve had enough.” You cough, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Chest fluttering, forcing yourself to look away. “So uhm, what house do you think you’d land in then?”
“Pfft,” finishing off the crepe, he wipes his hands clean and throws away the trash. “I’m obviously Gryffindor.”
“Ah, I can see that.” You giggle, rolling your eyes. “Cocky, big headed, full of yourself, egotistical.”
“More like Courageous, daring, willing to do anything to get what I want.” He declares proudly, standing up straight with his chest puffed out. “And I do mean anything.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” Checking your phone again, you sigh, eager to wrap this excursion up.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your house?” Sunghoon asks curiously, evidently forming his own opinion already.
“Slytherin, duh.” You tsks, playfully punching his shoulder.
“Ah yes, Hufflepuff personality, Slytherin mindset.” He jokes, throwing an arm around your waist. “Happens all the time, I can see why you’re confused.”
“Believe me,” sliding from his hold, you begin to walk away from the food vendors. “I’m Slytherin.”
Raising an eyebrow, he follows after you, more intrigued to delve into what you mean by that. You’re not as innocent as you like to act, dumber than you try to display if anything..
“We should start heading back.” You suggest, directing him toward the nearest street corner. “I told Hee we’d be back for dinner.”
“Ughh.. why do you even care if he eats dinner? He’s such an asshole for doing this shit on your vacation.” Sunghoon says petulantly. Rolling his eyes as you drag him out to the path to hail a cab, not wanting to walk the long trek through the street shops again.
“The issues you have with each other are seriously starting to give me a headache..” you sigh, shoving him to get inside the backseat of a taxi that pulls up. Quickly showing the driver the hotel address on your phone, you lean back, leaving ample space between you and your step-brother. “I told you, it’s my fault. I made him drink that first night..”
“He’s an adult.” Sunghoon sneers, pushing his legs open wide until your knees touch. “Last I checked he should be fully capable of making responsible decisions for himself. What were those two years of therapy for anyway, as if he’s the one that was left abandoned.”
As much as you’d love to get into it with him, be extra nosey, not even your curiosity can stop you from yawning. The summer heat and tension between the brothers, tension between you and Sunghoon, all of it really has been wearing you down. Sinking further into the seat with your head resting on the window, you finally relax enough. It’s not as if you’d really gotten a good night's sleep, still sore between your thighs after the evening’s activities..
“I’m not a therapist.” You mutter, yawning. “Wake me up when we get there.”
There’s a quiet grunt that travels from your side, a few choice words mumbled under his breath. Listening to Heeseung’s complaints and worries is one thing, but there’s zero reason to grant Sunghoon any of that courtesy.
He wants to pick a fight with you, mention that you’re only not suffering today with your head in a toilet thanks to him. Because maybe he conveniently packed hangover medication for you, just in case. Maybe he threw it in his bags with hopes of this happening. Maybe you and Heeseung both walked right into his trap, easier than tempting a fat kid with candy. It’s almost unbelievable how well this all worked out in his favor, if only he can figure out how to make it happen again..
“Wake up princess.” He announces, shaking your shoulder. “We’re here.”
That car nap was not nearly long enough to recover from this day. Brushing it off you head up to your room with Sunghoon, quietly entering to find Heeseung sat on the couch drinking water, nervously jumping up when you approach.
“My baby.” You smile, wrapping him in a tight hug. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He beams, skin shining after hours of trying to recover. A nice clean scent of soap wafting off his skin and hair. “You have a good time?”
“Super fun.” You chirp, running fingers through his hair. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too.” Going in for a kiss, he frowns when you dodge him, large eyes slumping at the corners.
“Sorry, I feel stinky..” you admit, grimacing and pulling away. “Shower first and then we can go find some food?”
He smiles, rubbing your arms up and down. “Fine fine, I’ll get dressed.”
“You look cute already.”
“I could say the same about you.” You add, winking and passing him to your bedroom.
And I could start throwing up myself, Sunghoon thinks, sporting a face of disgust. Pretending to look at his phone, he blocks your way. “The pictures,” he says, motioning to the screen open on the photos he took today. “Want me to airdrop them?”
“Oh yeah, for sure.” Handing him your phone, you unlock it, continuing to your room. “Just toss it on my bed when you’re done.”
“Sounds good.” He nods, not missing the way his older brother’s glaring at him. He waits for the sound of the shower to play, raising his eyebrows at the older. “You really missed out today.”
“Yeah?” Heeseung questions, sitting down on the couch and unlocking his phone. “What exactly did I miss?”
“You know we’re here to see Italy, right?” Sunghoon laughs sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Sitting down on an ottoman by the couch, he drags a thumb across his phone screen, selecting each photo to send.
“I’m here for her.” Heeseung bristles, choosing to forget how he paced around pulling at his hair after sobering up. The thought of you alone with his younger brother for so many hours drove him more insane than he’d like to admit. Possibly even to the point of opening and closing the hotel's bar menu, picking up and hanging up the phone multiple times to stop himself from making an order. He couldn’t stop imagining the two of you together, touching, bumping into each other, holding hands, laughing together.
It made him feel more nauseous, too sick to even think about food. Not until you walked through the door and immediately went up to him was he able to calm down, ease his worries and relax enough to take a deep breath.
He’s being stupid. Insecure, silly, worrying about nothing..
“Oh my bad,” Sunghoon chuckles, getting up to leave your phone in your room. “Think I airdropped you the pictures too, just ignore that.” He shouts out before walking to his bedroom. “I’m gonna take a nap, today winded me. Probably order room service, so don’t worry about me.”
“No one’s worrying about you.” Heeseung replies under his breath, thumb hovering over a photo of you smiling. The options to accept or decline 47 photos wait for his response, chewing on his bottom lip as he accepts and they load onto his phone.
You look so cute, so pretty, smiling shyly and posing in your sundress. He smiles scrolling through the photos, cursing at himself for not being the one to take them for you. Probably impressed you how well Sunghoon was able to capture these beautiful pictures of you..
The ugly thoughts invade his head once again, face falling more and more as he scrolls through photos of you admiring the Vatican one after the next. The way you seem unaware, so enthralled by your surroundings, in awe.. Sunghoon must’ve taken these when you weren’t paying attention, too caught up in the art and architecture. These gorgeous photos you’ll look back on years down the line, precious memories, ones that Heeseung did not make with you.
He fucked up. He really fucked up..
Feeling down on himself again, he’s ready to lock his phone shut. Scratching his thigh roughly, pretending to not feel the itch shooting through his limbs. He swipes to the next one, breath catching in his throat when he sees a selfie shot of you and Sunghoon. It’s only the top half of your face, his brother’s handsome features taking up most of the screen.
You took pictures together?
He has to see the next, swallowing the dryness tightening his throat when he sees you both smiling, cheeks only an inch or two apart. The space between you is barely there, such a pretty smile stretching your cheeks wide.
You look good, and what’s worse is you look good together. He knew it, he knew you’d make a good looking couple. Both of you are attractive in your own right, complimentary, suitable for each other.
You haven’t taken photos together yet, maybe you should. He stares longer, wondering if you’d look better by his side, wondering why you’d ever choose him over Sunghoon..
It’s the next photo that has his spine stiffening ramrod straight, coughing on his spit from trying to moisten his throat. He feels more sick than ever now. The smile on your face stings through his chest, the glimmer in his brother’s eyes.
His lips pressed to your cheek..
It hurts to see. Not because he feels betrayed, not because he has any right to tell you he’s uncomfortable with this, but because you look like such a happy fucking couple.
It’s worse than seeing you side by side in a documented memory. It’s beautiful actually, some shit you’d see on Pinterest under ‘couple goals’ and it makes him want to lurch, covering his mouth and shoving his phone away. He sits for a minute, festering with anger, frustrated beyond belief that this is seriously happening. That this is happening even as adults.
That this is happening with a girl he really fucking likes and doesn’t want to lose.
“Hee?”
Too caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the shower turn off, doesn’t hear your bedroom door open. Doesn’t notice you standing there in a towel, skin soft and glistening wet. His hand slowly drops from his mouth when he looks at you and can’t even force a smile, standing up fast to get to you; fists balled up at his sides.
“Are you not feeling well?” You ask, wrinkling between your forehead full of concern. Sick, so fucking sick how much that pulls at his heart strings. How much it hurts to think about you with him, with anyone other than himself.
“No.” He says flatly, expressionless. “I’m not feeling well.”
With big confused eyes and a sad pout, you reach for his forehead, pressing the back of your hand down. “You’re a little warm..”
Grabbing your forearm, he removes your touch, taking slow steps back. “Think I’ll skip dinner tonight.”
“What? But—“
“Not hungry anymore.” He nods, turning to snatch the bar menu from the kitchen counter. “But I am thirsty.”
“I can go grab us some more water bottles if you want?”
He ignores you, picking up the hotel phone and placing an order for 3 different bottles of alcohol. “Charge it all to the room.” He says before hanging up. “And make it fast.”
“Heeseung, what're you doing?”
If looks could kill, the disappointment written all over your face could rip his heart out and trample him to death. He shrugs, looking away, tongue poking out from the inside of his cheek. “What? You didn’t seem to mind yesterday. Remember how cute I am drunk?”
“You’re cute when you’re not drunk too..” you whisper, clutching the towel closer to your body, seeming confused. “Did Sunghoon say something?”
There you go mentioning him.
“Something?” He raises a curious eyebrow. “And what exactly do you think he’d have to say to me? Did something happen between the two of you?”
“W-what??” You panic, head shaking. “No!”
“Then why are you asking?” He squints, stepping forward to corner you. “You got all pretty to go out with him, spent all day alone together, really expect me to believe nothing happened??”
“Heeseung I—“
The doorbell rings, immediately stealing his attention to storm over and rip the door open, smiling and rolling in a cart with bottles dunked inside of ice. “Wonderful.” He turns to you, popping open a clear bottle of what you assume to be hard liquor. “Now this is a vacation.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why am I doing what?” He scoffs, not bothering to fill a cup. Taking a shot straight from the bottle. “We had fun yesterday didn’t we? Maybe that’s what we are, I’m your crazy party boy.” Rolling his eyes, he takes another swig. “I fuck you how you like and take you to concerts, let you treat me like your bitch boy.”
The clear look of anger targeted at him has him looking away, chugging down more as fast as he can. Not wanting to be level headed or clear minded for this anymore. “He’s the one you can prance around on these fancy vacations, show off to the world.”
“What did he say to you?!” You fume, grabbing his hand holding the bottle. “Come on, talk to me!”
“Nothing.” He glowers, snatching his arm away, another swig down. It’s enough now to have his stomach bubbling, warm, full of acidic burning tingles. “I should have just fucking gone with you. It’s my fault.”
“You didn’t feel good..” you lament, teeth grinding as he takes another drink. “And you’re going to feel like shit again if you keep drinking like this.”
“Is it so bad that I want to have fun with you now too?” Playing with the etched words on the bottle, he grins, head shaking. “You wanna spend more time with him or what?”
“Why do you keep bringing Sunghoon up? I don’t care about him.” Running a hand through your half-dried hair, you pull at clumps, feeling tense. Aggravation rising each time his lips wrap around the bottle of clear liquid in his grip, finally realizing what door you’ve opened.
No one likes me when I drink. That’s what Heeseung had said, and now it clicks. You get it now. He’s not casually drinking for fun, he’s doing it to mask some type of hurt you haven’t begun to understand, because you should have listened better. Too focused on yourself and your own needs, too dumb and immature to handle whatever it is he could be going through.
Whatever it is Sunghoon could also be dealing with. Once again caught in the middle of their trauma and pain, you see no other way to deal with this other than doing the only thing you know how to do best.
Heeseung taps off the bottle, already reaching for the other, in disbelief when he looks at you through half-lidded glossy eyes and raises it to his lips. “Because, you like him, don’t you.”
He’s not asking, flat out informing you like some news broadcaster. “You like him, and you can’t deny it.” He huffs, smiling, dragging his tongue along the opening. “I see the way he looks at you, but I should’ve paid more attention to the way you look back..”
“You’re being irrational.” Holding onto the towel loosely, you step up to him, lifting the bottle in his hold to your lips. “Let’s have fun.”
“Yeah?” That seems to please him, cheek wrinkling to one side. “What type of fun are you thinking?”
One sip incinerates your throat, hiding a grimace as you glance down and fidget with the cotton fabric clutched in your grip, slowly letting go. “I’m all wet.”
Heeseung groans, taking a sip as his eyes follow inches of your skin being revealed. “You look fucking good.” His tongue drags heavily between words, leaving a thick layer of spit across his bottom lip as he leans in and breaths out pure alcohol across your face. “All that for me?”
“Yeah,” you nod sheepishly, eyeing the bottle, slowly stealing it free from his hold. “Now fuck me.”
Stumbling back surprised, he raises the bottle to his lips, taking a swig with a reaction this time. The liquor much darker, mixing treacherously with the clear vodka he’d already downed. “Get your pretty ass over here.”
Stepping back toward the couch, he sets the bottle down on the floor, reaching to unzip his pants. You stagger for a minute, tempted to make sure Sunghoon’s door is shut. Not that it should matter after yesterday, or after everything you’ve done.
Walking naked over to where Heeseung leans back on the couch, you can’t ignore how annoyed—almost angry you feel. Reaching for his jaw to make him look at you, you grit. “I said fuck me.”
“Yeah, I a-am.” Already slurring, he pats his thigh. The room beginning to spin now that he’s sat down, blinking rapidly. “S-sit on my face baby.”
His tongue drags out, lolling lazily across his lips. As drunk as he already seems, you can’t deny he looks good. Extra sultry and heated, reaching for your hips where you stand between his spread open thighs. He pulls you in, face crashing between your hips taking in a deep inhale. “S-smell so good, sweet fucking pussy.”
It shouldn’t be this tempting, shouldn’t feel this good to let him pull you forward until you get on top of him, knees sinking into the couch by his hips. “You’re gonna make me fall..” you giggle, playing with his hair, still slightly damp from washing it hours ago. “Should be criminal how cute you are like this..”
Helpless and dumb, extra pouty, dopey, smiling hard enough for his large bambi eyes to disappear. “T-think ya just like me.” He professes, eyebrows raising.
“I do.” Gripping his shoulders, you lift up, forgetting that Sunghoon’s only a wall away fast asleep. “I like you a lot Hee..”
“Like you more,” he hiccups, neck leaning back on the couch, blearily blinking up at you. Wrapping your hands around his throat, you slowly lower down until your middle brushes along his chin. Keeping yourself steady with a light hold on his neck. He gurgles a little, breathing heavily, mouth opening wide.
“Sit down.” A crack claps off your backside, shocking you to fall forward and land on his open mouth. His hands grip your ass after delivering a rough slap, urging you to really sit on his face.
More smacks barrel down, manipulating your hips to rut forward, no choice but to bounce away from the strikes he continues to land. “Ugh, Hee..”
It’s impossible to not roll your hips down faster, fucking your clit against his nose furiously. The rubbing motion setting off each nerve with his tongue filling you up. Huffing weak breaths against your cunt the more he struggles to breathe with your hands squeezing around his throat, persistently bouncing down on his face with his large palm squeezing your ass.
“Fuck fuck, yes!” Unable to control yourself, you really get into it. Losing your mind when he wiggles the width against your inner walls. Obscene wet sounds clapping out, his struggled gasps for air, the wet draining from your hole.
So nasty, so fucking nasty. Despite being unhappy with the involvement of alcohol, you can’t deny how much better the sex is. How much raunchier Heeseung gets, rougher, really treating you like a bitch in heat.
In a lot of ways, you needed this from him. Needed this viscous type of lust, to lose yourself in him. Palpable tension has taken more than a toll on you, the guilt and confusion, attraction and rage. This is the only way to forget the quicksand that’s filled up every corner of your life, sinking deeper and deeper.
His tongue delves through the mess of slick pushing out of your cunt. The muscle works extra hard to push against each hard clench that traps him in place, sucking and slurping loudly.
Without being able to get his fingers to reach your hole from this position, he teases the dip of your ass. Tracing the line, prodding between to faintly brush down your rim. Fuck, if only you’d move up just a bit so that he could lick you from your asshole to your cunt. Wanting to have a taste of everything right now. He sucks around your pussy, kissing and licking up the pathway to your clit. Trapping the swollen bud between his teeth, he tugs it between his lips and sucks ferociously. Making your thighs crush around his head, groaning when you release his neck.
“I’m—g-gonna cum!” You whimper, stomach curling with tight heat. Jerking against his face, having to grab onto the couch to keep yourself held up as you tremble and grind down. Hitting your peak this way has you whining desperately, pussy clamping around his tongue pathetically.
Loud pleasure rocks through the room, without a doubt waking anyone up within close proximity. Even the neighbors in close by suites could probably hear your pleasured screams.
It’s not the first time you’ve squirted, but through blurred vision Heeseung thinks he might cum from this alone. Blinking slowly and heavy as he licks his lips clean and tries to catch the fluid gushing from your hole, entranced by your inner thighs trembling above his face. The cries you let out barely reach his ears through fog and cotton that's stuffed his brain, sighing and slumping back flat without an ounce of energy left. No doubt he’ll feel it in his jaw tomorrow.
“Holy shit..” you weakly slink down to his lap, helping yourself down with your hands on his shoulders.
Insatiable attraction and sexual connection could break through the rough right now, really solidifying that this is what you want. The drinking isn’t that bad, not when everything else between you never fails to blow your mind. Still shaking after a minute of catching your breath.
“Fuck you’re seriously soo—“ he trails off, head falling back panting for air. Lips shiny with arousal, pouring down his throat. Light reflects off his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, swallowing as his eyes roll back. “I’m so f-fucked.”
“Huh?” Too eager to get his dick out, you slide down his thighs. Drawing his hardened length out to stroke, spreading the precum around. “So horny right now baby, need you to fuck me.”
Heeseung hisses when you start to jerk him off, not lifting his head as the room spins above him. It’s all too much, having to clench his eyes shut. The timing too perfect with you lining him up to your entrance, slowly lowering down to take an inch. “Ughh,” you moan brokenly, strung out and high from riding his face. “So good, that’s so good.”
He’d agree with you if the floor would stop moving, if his neck felt like it could lift on it’s own, if the light wasn’t starting to go black behind his eyes.
He’s been here before, drunk off his ass, half-near passed out with his cock deep inside of a warm hole. Memories race through his head, falling back onto a cloud as they shoot past him and draw him further into a drunken dreamland. At least the couch is soft, unlike the many floors and walls he’s crashed against in the past, even waking up on sidewalks and lawns after an all night rager.
“S-so full.” You whimper, grinding down, palms sliding up his chest. “Baby.”
His chest steadily rises and falls, mouth hung open blowing out calm breaths, eyes rolled back shut. Slowing down, you lean in, taking in how calm and easy his features are, as if he’s—
“Hee??” You cry, landing your palms on his chest firmly. Not hard enough to slap, but at least to jolt him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
No way he seriously just passed out. No fucking way.
This can’t be happening. Yeah he drank a lot, but passing out right as you start to fuck?!
After failing to get his eyes open, you let out the longest disappointed sigh. Low key actually wishing for round two of yesterday to forget any of the feelings budding up for his brother. Convinced that another brutal round of fucking could do the job..
“Fuck my life.” Grumbling to yourself, you gather your towel from the floor. Staring at him with the saddest look on your face.
How the fuck did this happen.
How the fuck have you seriously ended up here? Your own boyfriend—whatever he is, getting whiskey dick while inside of you?!
You should help him back to bed. Try to wake him up, or at least leave a trash can out for him to hurl into in case. But after losing any sense of self-confidence you can’t find the will to be a good person right now.
Fuck this. You storm off, missing that Sunghoon’s door has opened on your way to the bathroom between your rooms.
Fuck that was terrible.
This is terrible.
Somehow you’ve made this worse.
Grabbing a fresh towel, you eye the shower and contemplate hopping in again, urged to scrub your skin raw. Until it hurts and stings, burns until it bleeds. Anything to forget that seriously just fucking happened to you.
“Seems to be a reoccurring theme,” Sunghoon shatters your inner monologue, jumping and twisting around with a hand clutched to your chest. “Always dropping the ball and leaving you hanging.”
“God, get the hell out of here.” You breathe, snatching the towel to press against your front.
“Cute.” He smiles fast, instantaneously dropping. “You know I’ve literally been inside of you.”
“You’re so annoying.” You sigh, tired and more frustrated than you can even comprehend. Stuck somewhere between heated arousal and anger, pent up after getting so close only to be let down. “Not tonight, okay? I feel like shit.”
Sunghoon actually looks concerned for once, leaning against the door bathroom connected to his room, lips drawn down. “Hey, he’s just drunk.”
“Yeah.” You sigh disappointedly, fixing the towel around yourself. “You said he drinks a lot right?”
His lips tweak from side to side, contemplating what to say. “He quit for a good while.. haven’t actually seen him this bad since our first year of college.”
“Oh, so..” sniffling, you can’t stop the warmth pushing from behind your eyes. Sucking in your bottom lip to contain a whine. “Is it me? Do you think it’s my fault he’s acting out like this?”
“Hey hey,” Sunghoon doesn’t bother to approach you cautiously. Cupping your cheeks to wipe a droplet from the corner of your eye before it can roll down. “Don’t cry because of this. I guarantee you he’ll wake up regretting all of this tomorrow, probably feel like such an asshole.”
In fact, I’m banking on it.
As comforting as he’s trying to be, you can’t stop the tears already springing free, crumbling in his hands. “I shouldn’t have encouraged him to drink, I didn’t know how bad it’d be..”
“Look at me.” He cooes, cleaning up the wet tracks rolling down to your chin. “No reason you should be crying on your dream vacation like this. Especially not because my brother can’t control his little vice. Don’t worry, alright? He’s gotten help for it before, he’ll be fine.”
He’s gotten help for it before..
“Is Heeseung like..” you slump, pressing closer to his chest. “..an alcoholic?”
“It’s possible.” Sunghoon shrugs, diverting his gaze for a minute. “He said our mom would frequent bars everyday toward the end. I’ve read that it could be genetic, you know, addiction.”
“That must have been hard for him to be around..”
As much as Sunghoon wants to throw out a ‘what about me?’ So desperate for someone to feel bad for him. Because he didn’t even get those memories with his mother. Didn’t even get to cherish the good nor the bad, and hearing about it from his brother only made him more resentful. Even if it hurt, broke his heart, he could only ever wish to have been there with his mom in the end. To suffer with her, to have some type of love for her that would have warranted sympathy the way Heeseung had.
“You have to put yourself first.” He coughs, clearing his throat to shove those thoughts aside. Forcing a smile, he reaches for a tissue to wipe your cheeks properly. “Enough with the tears, alright? Unless..”
Taking a step back, he reaches for your hands, coercing you to let go of the towel that's loosely tucked into place. “You want a real reason to cry, one that makes you feel too good.”
“Hoon..”
“We don’t have to fuck.” He bemoans, mouth dragging down to one side sadly. “Let me make you feel good.” He shrugs, drawing you closer, chest pressed to yours. “I know you didn’t finish..”
He waits a few seconds, each one ticking away loudly in his head. Thigh easing between yours, rucking the towel up higher for him to settle between. The warmth emitting from your core immediately meets his upper leg, watching for any sign of resilience. Met with the sight of your lips parting open, eyes going hazy, and neck arching back slightly; he takes the chances to shove in more. Thigh nestled up right against your cunt.
“Will you let me?” He says breathily, reaching for the top of the towel barely holding on. “Make you feel good.”
Say no, tell him to stop, pick up your towel and get inside of the shower like you’d been planning.
“K..” ah, it’s as if your subconscious has no control over what leaves your mouth. That’s all it takes for him to grab onto your hips, burying his digits in roughly to really knead your curves between his fingers. Each touch tells you the story of how much he’s missed touching you like this, how he too feels it. He needs it, he wants it.
Sunghoon can’t imagine choosing anything over this right now, let alone getting his dick deep inside of you. He has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from saying it. To keep down his harsh comments about how his brother doesn’t deserve you, even after having to listen to you cry on his cock more than once now. He know he can fuck you better, how you really need. He can make your thighs shake just from this, rolling down onto his thigh, getting that delicious friction right up against your clit.
“Wanna kiss you.” Licking at his lips, he rubs up to your waist. Squeezing and dipping in, peering over your shoulder at the bathroom mirror reflecting the size difference between you. His hands large around your middle, further emphasizing how easily he could crush you.
The sound of your breath draws him back, beginning to pant raggedly the more you roll your hips down and rut up his thigh. Planting his foot steadily, he helps you move faster, dropping his forehead to press against yours. Lowering your eyes, you nod, just barely, lips pouting out for him.
He’s wanted it since earlier today, only scoring a small tease with his lips on your cheek. The pictures have been driving him mad, imagining the folder he’d fill up with his tongue inside of your mouth, your eyes rolled back, spine arched up off his bed.
This kiss feels long overdue, really taking his time to lean into it, groping up to your breasts. He flicks your nipples, pinching them between his fingers until you moan into his mouth and he sneaks his tongue in. This is what he’s been craving, being close to you again. Not only fucking but intimacy you can’t achieve with a quick nut.
The staggered breaths, noses bumping into each other, plush lips fighting against his to deepen the kiss that's already brought you as close as can be. His chest tightens as your breath turns shakey, eyes clenched shut the faster you ride his thigh. It’s amazing to kiss you this way, lulling your release with no more than his lips. But he wants more, his greedy heart thrumming wildly begging for a taste.
Landing a few searing pecks on your upper and lower lip, he cups your face to take in your lustful gaze. Glazed over eyes, swelling lips parted open, cheeks flushed with heat. That makes his cock jump, hissing away the way he can hear a painful cry shouting at him from inside. Leaving you with one more kiss, he lowers to spread your legs, salivating at the vision before him.
Wet, chubbed up, a strip of well groomed hairs leading down to his heaven. The space between your legs he’d give up anything to be buried inside of for hours, days on end. Fingers, tongue, his dick, whatever the fuck you’ll give him.
The silence would kill him any other time, distract him with questions asking why you’re not screaming, why you’re not crying. But when your hand reaches into his hair and pulls, it stings right to his cock. Eyes fluttering open to find yours, nails digging into the soft skin of your thighs.
Another tug at his scalp loosens his jaw, heavy eyelashes fanning open. Panting above him behind your ample chest rising rapidly. This is different, hotter, sensual..
The sounds of your aroused exertions dancing together before he leans in still focused on you. Tongue lolling out loosely, lapping your clit without a challenge. The map of your body ingrained in his memory, making it seem all too easy to work you on his tongue.
“Ahh, shit.” You hiss, draping a leg over his shoulder. Your free hand on the counter keeping you held up even as you sway and jerk forward. “Inside i-inside, fuck me with your t-tongue.”
Sunghoon groans deep, rumbling through your core. As much as he wants to spend extra time torturing your clit, he knows Heeseung left you hung up to dry and suffer. His tongue circles your entrance, coated with a thick layer of wet arousal combining with his spit. Flicking a few times to tease you, he really grips onto your inner thighs, holding you hard enough to not budge. Even as tremors roll up your legs and chest, you can only pull on his hair.
Each tug has him releasing moan after moan, gliding the tip of his tongue inside when you finally pull extra hard making his forehead bunch up. He slaps your inner thigh for being so rough, while also egging you to do it again, teasing you with short penetrative licks.
“Hoonie.. please.”
Lucky for you, he can’t deny how fucking pretty you sound whining. Moistening his lips with the abundant amount of wetness pouring out of you, he pushes in the rest of the way.
It’s more than maddening to have his tongue inside of you right now, only minutes after Heeseung had been 9 inches deep. You can’t control the way your hips jump forward, pelvis smacking his face as you start to roll up and down his tongue. Everything about it feels nasty, shameful, stirring up a taboo heat through your chest. It’s wrong, after all the guilt you’d just put yourself through.
But it feels so right. Stretching your fingers through his silky locks, pussy clamping down on his tongue with each long thrust in.
“You’re g-gonna make me—“ you stammer, head tossed back, stomach fluttering with butterflies. “C-cum, I’m—“
Sitting up on his knees, he really grabs onto you good. Tongue jamming in and out, emitting the filthiest wettest sounds between his face and your cunt. The mess of slick trailing down his chin, neck soiled with your arousal, completely drenched. He’d drown in it, suffocate inside of your pussy, die with his tongue stuck in this very spot.
“Fuck—ahh, fuck.” The way your face scrunches up makes his knees go weak. Gripping the bathroom counter by your sides to hold his balance. Release forces his tongue out enough for it to spill onto his neck and chest, licking up what lands on his lips. He swallows stiffly, teeth grinding, taking in long deep breaths through his nose to not bust inside of his pants. Allowing you to catch your breath and go lax against the bathroom mirror while talking himself down from pulling his cock out and fucking you like an animal. A few minutes go back before he stands and cups the back of your neck, stealing your breath with another long hard kiss.
His fingers lift up, glistening wet, exactly the same way they looked on the plane..
“Won’t get tired of watching you cum on me like that.” He admires, bringing his digits to your lips. “Better when you’re wrapped around my cock..”
Slipping past your lips before you can get a word out, he licks at the wet slick trickling down his hand past the digits permeating your lips. Meeting your mouth halfway to suck the clean together. Hungrily dipping in and out for a minute until you’re both slurping more saliva than your release.
“Can’t have you go to sleep with this mess..” he says huskily, squatting back down to his knees to stretch your legs apart. Large hands clasping your inner thighs, tongue dragging from your open entrance to your clit. Light strokes work to thoroughly clean you up, dragging fat stripes from side to side with his gaze intently watching your face fall apart.
A light kiss on your mound finishes off the job, leaving your legs trembling enough to satisfy him with the thought that you’ll see him in your dreams tonight.
“C’mere.” Sunghoon instructs, standing back up. Scooping you up from the bathroom counter, he quietly grunts, adjusting your weight around his waist to securely pick you up.
“Where you taking me?” You slur, still coming down from your orgasm. Head instantly falling down to rest upon his shoulder.
“Bed.” He smiles to himself, kissing the top of your head. “Been a long day for both of us.”
“Mhm..” you yawn, allowing him to lay you down and get you tucked in. Sleepily blinking up at him with a confused expression.
Cocking an eyebrow, he settles by your side and fixes your hair, pushing loose strands away from your face.
“This is weird.” You mumble, lips smacking together tiredly.
“What’s weird?”
“This. You. Everything.”
“We can talk about it tomorrow.” Yeah. Tomorrow when his brother will undoubtedly be too fucked to do anything with you. Judging by that entire fucking bottle he downed..
“S’weird..” you yawn again, eyes falling shut, breath turning shallow.
He watches you succumb to your exhaustion, leaning on a propped up elbow as you drift off.
“You might not understand yet,” he whispers, speaking to himself. “But I’m doing what’s best for us.”
Not just me.
That’s what he tells himself. That this is what’s best for the both of you, not only to fulfill his greedy desires, to enhance his larger than life ego.
Getting up from your bed, he heads back out to the living room to find his brother still passed out on the couch. Fast asleep, drooling like a baby completely unaware of how chaotic and ruthless the world outside of his dreams can be.
That’s Heeseung’s problem, he doesn’t get it.
Nice guys never win. Not in this dog eat dog world. Their dad taught him that, it’s every man for himself, even if it means destroying a relationship with your own bloodline.
If his brother had fucked off, would he have cared this much about having you? He thinks about it, unlocking his phone to admire the new background he set of you, his favorite of the photos he took today. Because you’re smiling, softly smiling, genuinely staring at the photographer instead of the camera. His chest squeezed the longer he looked at it, zooming it to be sure.
Any doubt, petty reasoning, self-absorbed desires.. they disappear whenever he’s with you. And as much as he hates to acknowledge it, he’s attached. Very attached.
“You shouldn’t have gotten in my way.” He glares at Heeseung, shutting his phone. He sighs, turning around to go to his own bedroom. Not wanting his brother to wake up mildly drunk and start a fuss if he finds you in bed together.
Stopping at his door, he looks at him one more time, void of any remorse. “It’s time to take out the trash big bro.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The ring of your alarm going off has you patting around for your phone, groaning as you sit up and finally shut it off only to find yourself alone.
You definitely did not end the night alone..
Did Sunghoon go back to his room? Who cares. He shouldn’t have ended up in your bed in the first place. You need to stop letting this happen.
What if Heeseung’s puking out his insides again? You should check on him first. Make sure he was able to even make it to the toilet bowl on his own..
He’s sitting on the edge of his bed when you reach the cracked open door to his room. Leaned over with his elbows on his knees and a contemplative expression stressing his face.
“Hee?”
He peers up, eyes swollen, lips puffy as if he’d been crying. “We need to talk.”
pairing. step-brother sunghoon x female reader x step-brother heeseung
genre. I Would Give Up Heaven If I Had To.. AU, pwp, dubcon, fluff smut humor angst etc
warnings. morally grey characterizations(mostly Sunghoon), profanity, toxicity, mentions of body/weight, sibling rivalry, cheating, mentions of death, full smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
wc. 23,000+
now playing. Gods & Monsters//Lana Del Rey
a/n. dear readers, I know you have waited and waited and waited, and I want to say thank you for that, I appreciate the patience🫶 please remember to be nice, I hope it was worth the wait🩷
ps- apologizing now for reblogging this to tag everyone, and double apology to anyone I did not get, forgive me🩷🩷🩷
The brothers in question exit from the same car, the older of the two coming out of the backseat drowning in a black hoodie that hangs past his fingers, masking his eyelids where the hood droops over his head. Some old vintage band hoodie perhaps, the logo too tattered and faded to read. He moves like a black cloud amidst the drizzle of the beginning of a storm. Slow, dangerous, impending, waking shivers up bystander’s spines with his presence.
The younger strides statuesquely in all his glory, head held high flaunting his perfectly sculpted 90 degree jawline that could cut through glass windows. His steps move in a sleek stride, akin to floating in the way he moves as if no crack, rock, or rigged ground could break his model-like Paris fashion week runway walk. His steely gaze never deters, not once distracted by the many calls of fawning and giggles following his lead.
“They’re so opposite.” Your friends continue to chatter, whispering in front of you where you stand by the school’s parking lot sharing your morning greetings; most of the time before class is consumed by gossip and recounts of the weekend, the usual banter you mindlessly sift through. “I guess they look somewhat alike, both tall.. slender, similar in build.”
They shrug and turn to face you, eyebrows lifting curiously and deviously grinning. “You probably know better than anyone now that your mom’s dating their dad.”
Your friends chortle back and forth for a minute about how even Mr. Park is still attractive at his age, and it’s a shame that both brothers don’t take after their father. “Well? Come on,” one of them pokes at your arm. “Don’t be selfish, spill!”
They want to know more about the Park brothers, details you can’t divulge into, because really you don’t know much yourself. No more than every other student that may share a class here and there with one.
“Bet she has a crush on one of them.” You hear between a giggle, a round of laughs bursting and vocals rising in pitch.
“Heeseung’s so her type, bet she’s already hooking up with him.”
“Nah, Sunghoon has something about him behind that cleancut preppy image, you can tell he’s hiding some secrets.”
“I’ve only met them once,” you interrupt before they can continue to dissect and assume. “They seem..” shrugging you fail to come up with much else, heading off to class unable to tear your thoughts away from the two brothers.
Opposite from each other would be an understatement. They’re completely unlike, a scale weighed down on one end as the other lifts high, lit up by light and praise.
The first and only time you met the boys outside of school had been over dinner, your mother had been a nervous wreck; spinning and running around in a frenzy, forcing you to wear some high-collared prim and proper dress that hit below your knees. ‘Can’t have Mr. Park thinking I’ve raised some floozy now can I sweetie?’
Meanwhile, a frown etched your face as you gazed across the table where two men sat uninterested, phone in hand, still sporting their same attire from school earlier. Nonetheless their father showed up dapper as ever, crisp suit and tie, hair coiffed back neatly away from his face displaying every feature even in the candle-lit all too fancy restaurant he’d dragged you all to.
‘I’ll order for us.’ Mr. Park carried himself with a confident arrogance, one passed onto only one of his sons from what you could tell.
‘Now boys, put the phones away.’ He said shortly, lips pursed together glaring daggers at the two. ‘And sit up straight would you? What have I told you about hunching over Heeseung? Remove that damn hood while you’re at it, this is a fine dining establishment not In-N-Out.’
Mr. Park snapped quickly, his demeanor immediately altering when taking in your mother, speaking to her in a sugary sweet tone. ‘You look absolutely breathtaking tonight my love.’
She flushed, making your nose twitch in disgust and divert your attention away to the menu, anything to not stare ahead at Sunghoon’s flawless side-profile, not that you hadn’t taken the time to while he scrolled engrossed through his phone, fingers tapping and tapping while a smirk grew on his lips.
The evening had been uneventful for the most part, your parents gushing about their trip to Greece last month; the one that your mother came back from squealing and proclaiming ‘I think he’s the one.’
Mr. Park had quite a bit to say about Sunghoon though, clasping his son on the shoulder with a pride-filled smile. ‘One day he’ll be my senior VP, my Hoon’s got a bright future ahead of him. Real smart boy this one, got offered a free ride through university without even needing my help or a generous donation.’
Sunghoon laughed deeply, waving off his father’s praise. ‘It’s all thanks to you dad, seriously what good would I be without your aid to finance the best education.’
A pearly white sharp smile had your mother gushing, letting out a cringe-worthy sigh with her palms pressed together. ‘Oh, all my hard work to provide the same and here mine is failing three of her easiest classes.’
‘Mom!’
‘Ah, yes, it seems you can deliver the ingredients on a silver platter, even hand feed them and your children could still disappoint you.’ Mr. Park’s eyes thinned, head tilting in the direction of his elder son. Heeseung avoided him, continuing to lose himself in some mobile game with his phone hidden beneath the table as he had all night. ‘But you know, Hoon’s a great tutor, so good that I’ve had teachers beg me to let him work over summer. Education comes first of course, don’t want him to stress and take on too much while interning at my company over break.’
Mr. Park motions toward you, cocking an eyebrow. ‘Maybe he could help you this school year, I’ll even allow him to do it for free.’
Sunghoon hid a grimace behind his smile, nodding and blinking rapidly at his father’s suggestion. ‘Would love to.’
He’d made you swap contact information, but Sunghoon never bothered to reach out and set-up any sessions. Not as if he had the opportunity to approach you in class, not that he even knew you shared any classes.
Deep in thought you strolled to the back of the class, slumping into your seat to tune out and lose yourself, much like everyone else who opted to hide out from questions and eye-contact with the professors.
Heeseung always loomed back here as well, the corner preferred, an oversized hood tugged over his head to shadow the upper half of his face leaving his lips mostly visible. Most likely as unaware of your presence as you once were of his, at least until that dinner.
You could say something to him, reach out and tap his shoulder, start to wave to greet him when you enter class.. something about that night crossed your mind time and time again, pivoting the sour thoughts away; your mom and Mr. Park could always break-up anyway.
Mom💞: ‘Have important news tonight sweetie, come home right after school!’
“I wanted to tell you before the official announcement gets sent out.” Your mother smiles wide before you as if a clothes hanger has gotten lodged between her cheeks.
“What announcement?”
“As you know, things have escalated quickly between myself and Mr. Park.” She continues, grabbing a hold of your hands to control the anxious tremor rolling through her limbs. “I know you loved your father more than anyone, as did I, but you know how happy Mr. Park has made me.”
The rest of her words blend with white static noise filling your ears. It was inevitable that this day would come eventually, from the first time you peaked through your window blinds and caught sight of her flirting with your next door neighbor as they pretended to water the bushes and shared sneaking smiles, the itch up your spine resembling a warning.
“We’re moving in together.” She finishes, chewing at her lower lip nervously. “All of us.”
All of us.
Mom. Mr. Park. You.
and his two sons.
“Sunghoon’s really smart.” Your mother forces a smile after reading an e-mail from your professor over your shoulder. “I’m sure Jinyeong mentioned something about one of his sons tutoring to make extra money, couldn’t have possibly been about Heeseung.”
Typing out a response to your professor about her jam-packed schedule and that she will outsource educational assistance for you, she huffs, leaning back after hitting send. “That Sunghoon is a God-send if you ask me.”
I didn’t ask.
“I’ll have to beg him to help you out, maybe his father can encourage him with extra incentive.” Frowning at you, she tugs on the flimsy string of your tank top. “What have I told you about covering up more around the house? We live with men again, you can’t walk around displaying all of your body so carelessly anymore.”
Your mother could really care less if you feel offended by her commentary on your appearance, evident by her gaze scanning downward with an irritable tweak tugging her lip. “You know, I don’t pay for all these cute little gym sets for you to use as loungewear. When’s the last time you worked out? Slacking off in school and doing a poor job of maintaining your figure? What type of honorable hard-working man do you think you’ll be able to attract with no brains or looks to your advantage?”
“Yes mother.”
“Yes what?”
“Uh.” Sitting up ramrod straight, you frazzle, having tuned her out some minutes ago. “I’ll study harder and workout more.”
“And?” She nods to a baggy full of grapes by your side, cocking a snarky eyebrow at you.
“Oh..” you’re tempted to mutter something about how you’ve only had a handful, not even having time yet today to eat a proper meal. She wouldn’t care anyway. “Eat less.”
She grins, reaching over to tuck loose tendrils behind your ear. “You should pop into Jinyeong’s home gym downstairs, there’s even a sauna, it’s lovely.”
Unfortunately for you, she’s right, your step-father’s home gym is lovely.
“Rich people really live differently.” You mumble, popping your headphones on to warm-up with a walk on the treadmill. You can’t complain about your new living situation, Jinyeong, as he insists you call him now(because you both know dad would be too weird) has been extremely welcoming and accommodating to not only your mother but you as well. His sons on the other hand, too soon to say much about.
Heeseung has hardly spoken more than a few words, just as closed off and quiet as he comes across at school, and Sunghoon, well Sunghoon is perfect.
10 minutes of humming along to your sweat playlist and bouncing random thoughts around, you walk the gym contemplating if today should be an upper or lower body day, one accidental glance at your backside in the mirror solidifies your decision to focus on your lower half today.
“Deadlifts it is.” You groan to yourself, wiping your palms free of moisture before adjusting the weight. “No way Jinyeong lifts 150…”
“He doesn’t.” A loud deep tone passes beyond the low volume of your music, making you gasp and turn around in your bent position too fast, easily losing your balance and landing on your ass.
Sunghoon glares at you from the entrance, trudging in with a loose muscle tank and sweats on. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Uhm, working out?”
He scowls, watching you struggle to get back up as he steps around you to steal your spot before the barbell. “And why pretel do you think you can be here during my time?”
“Your time?” You guffaw, tempted to roll your eyes. “Well damn, I didn’t know we had a schedule to adhere to?”
“You think you’re funny.” Continuing to glower, he shoos you away with one hand, directing his chin toward the door. “Ha ha, now leave.”
“I just got here?!”
“I could care less.” Sunghoon’s jaw tightens, fully flexed in all its sharp glory. “Alexa, play Hoon’s Workout.”
To your disgust, Jay Park blasts through the speakers hung from corner to corner, the familiar beat of MOMMAE plays around you.
Of course he listens to Jay Park.. douche.
“I said get lost.” He rasps, stretching his digits out to wrap around the barbell.
Allowing your eyes to roll up, you shrug and glance around opting to set up on a yoga mat to stretch while he occupies the squat rack area. Sunghoon snarls behind you, annoyed that you won’t take the message he’s stated loud and clear to leave.
What are you even doing here? Do you even workout? He grunts, hoisting the barbell up with a burn building up in his thighs and calves, peering out of the corner of his eye where you’ve begun to stretch.
Nice ass.
Wait.
What.
Shaking his head, he turns away to take a swig from his water, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyelids. Licking his lips, he throws his head back for more, turning casually to watch your ass push out as you stretch your waist and back on all fours.
What the fuck.
Sunghoon coughs, clearing his throat before returning to his lifting stance, adrenaline pumping faster with each sneaking look he steals as you twist and groan with a crack coming from your back. The stretch has you faced away, a perfect opportune moment to get a real good look, taking in a deep gulp as he squints to admire how obscene your workout shorts are; scrunched deep enough between your ass to show off everything, absolutely everything.
He groans, half from the ache in his lower back, half from the ache forming between his thighs. Sunghoon shakes it off, whatever it is, toying with the ring suddenly tightening up on his finger. “Hey, you.”
He says, intending to come off rude. “I’m done over here now.”
Without much more, he turns to the free weights, going for the 50 lbs to warm up his triceps. An excited jump swoops through his stomach as you get up and make your way back to the squat rack, adjusting the weight to less than half of what he normally does his reps with. His tongue clicks upon noticing that from the mirror where he watches you get into position, moving away from the barbell on the floor to lower your shoulders beneath the rack.
“Terrible form.” He mutters, unknowingly too loud with your music paused for this very reason.
“Excuse me?” You snap, turning at your neck to glare at him. “You still have more to say?”
Sunghoon drops the weights obnoxiously, loudly landing on the foam mats. “Your form looks like shit.” He smirks, turning around and snapping his fingers. “Who taught you to curve your spine like that? That’s a sure way to hurt yourself, princess.”
“Don’t call me that.” You say with a disgusted sneer. “My forms fine.”
“It’s trash.”
“You’re trash.”
“Oooh, you get a lot of reaction with those comebacks?” His tongue clicks repeatedly, stepping up behind your back to grab your hips. “This.” He smacks the side of your thigh, igniting a jolt up your back. “Squeeze your ass and stomach in, at the same time princess.”
Against your better judgment and that little irritating voice squealing in the back of your mind at the close proximity you’ve landed yourself in to the Park Sunghoon, you do as he says, albeit struggling to hold in your core and glute muscles. “Good good.” He says in a low whisper much too close behind you, palms dragging up to your waist to squeeze. “Now bend your knees, the back of your ankles better be hitting your ass if you’re doing it right.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.” He grins, pressing closer until his groin meets your bottom. “Eventually you should be able to hit that, if you’re doing it right.”
Sunghoon would know after all, slowly licking his lips behind you, he focuses on the low groan vibrating out from your chest as you push back up to stand and huff.
“See how that felt different than that weak shit you were doing?”
“Whatever.” Rolling your eyes, you squat for the next 10 minutes, thighs on fire from engaging your muscles in a new, different way. Dumb jerk was right, of course he was.
“Not too shabby.” Sunghoon says, handing you a water bottle from the mini-fridge, because yes, even their gym has a fridge. “But you could be better.”
His pointed teeth protrude at the next roll of your eyes, wrapping long fingers around your upper arm before you’re able to get away. “This wasn’t an invitation by the way, I better not see you in here again during my gym time.”
He winks, smacking your backside as he shoves your arm away. “And I mean that!”
Grunting, you pat off the sweat from your back, ready to hit him with a round of offensive drags about his form.
Sunghoon’s back muscles greet you as you turn back around, jaw falling to the floor with each twitchy flex they give as his triceps burst and he groans with each lift.
Right.
Things could be worse.
Things could definitely be worse.
Things are definitely worse.
After another email from your professor, your mother begged over dinner for your step-brother to help you pass the classes you’re lacking in. Much to his reluctance and added bribery from his father, he agreed with a forced wide smile, glaring ominously at you from the corner of his eye
“This is such a waste of time.” Sunghoon hasn’t tried to make any qualms about his disdain for your current predicament. Moaning and groaning more than actually bothering to assist you or answer your questions in any type of way, at least when he’s not fixing his perfectly blown out hair if even a strand moves out of place.
“I took this class last year.” He continues to whine. “Wasn’t even hard, well..” his eyes drag over to one side, head shaking at your less than flattering hunched over position. “Wasn’t hard for me, but I suppose for someone like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re quick to snap back, leaning away from your study guide to stretch your arms above your head. Sunghoon doesn’t bother to hide taking in the arch your spine lifts into, chest pushed upward the more you lean back to loosen your shoulders. He even hums appraisingly, pursing out his lips pleased.
“When we were working out together the other day, I noticed something about you.”
“Before or after you chewed me out for invading your space?” You snicker, rolling your eyes and settling back to sit comfortably. “I told you, I’ll join a gym again and leave you to be at peace.”
“It’s not that.” Sunghoon waves you off, nodding to the stack of study guides. “You need to pass these classes, right?”
“That’s why I’m here, genius. Taking up your sweet precious time.”
He doesn’t miss the snarky attitude you add, not sparing him attention as you return to rereading the same question for the fifth time.
“I was my high school’s valedictorian, top of the Dean’s list for the past 2 years, scouted by every Ivy League in the world really.” He shrugs, motioning to the display of plaques and honors hung up on his bedroom wall. “You know that though, you can’t be that stupid. Even extraterrestrials wish I’d visit to share my wealth of knowledge.”
“Good God man, get to the point.” You glower, ready to snap the mechanical pencil in your grip in half.
“This tutoring thing is pointless.” He pauses, deciding to leave out the part about you actually being stupid. “Girls like you have no purpose in excelling academically, especially not now with my father’s last name attached to yours.”
“What the fuck does that even mean? Girls like me?”
Sunghoon smirks, nodding slowly as his gaze drags from your crossed legs up to your torso and the less than fond grimace you stare him down with.
“Girls like you..” he reaches for your knee, walking his index and middle finger up your thigh. “This little emo baggy clothes aesthetic, you’ll grow out of it someday. It’s what your mom wants, right? Judging by the way she scolds every move you make, fixes your hair, makes you wear those drabe goody church outfits around my father to impress him.”
Sunghoon leans in closer, falling to a whisper as his digits reach the top of your thigh. “Who knew what you were hiding under all this,” he tugs on your t-shirt, biting down on his full pink bottom lip. “There’s a standard to uphold now that our parents have wed.”
He licks his top lip purposely, leaving behind a coat of spit that accentuates how perfectly shaped his pout is without even trying. Distracted by his hand playing with your top, you realize too late how close he’s moved his chair to yours. “Money changes people.”
“What? You think I can be easily swayed by a bunch of stuck-up rich assholes like you who think you’re superior just because daddy keeps your bank account full?” Your hand circles his wrist, not without feeling your heart rate spike upon contact. Sunghoon’s as cold to the touch as he looks, grinning when your grip tightens around him.
“I have sure-fire way to find out.” He splits into a smile, gingerly tugging your fingers off his wrist before twisting and rubbing the skin dramatically with a hiss. “Here’s the thing,” Sunghoon stands up, moving to a cabinet full of paperwork, all ordered and labeled much too neatly.
“You want to pass these classes, right?” He stops to look over his shoulder at your confused face. “Or what was that again? Mommy’s not going to fund your European summer vacation trip? That one you’ve been dreaming about and making Pinterest boards for since middle school?”
“She told you about that?” You grumble, whispering to yourself. “That bitch..”
“Shh, that’s no way to speak about your mother, she’s a lovely woman.” He winks, snapping his fingers. “Here it is. I took these courses my first year of college. Top grades in my class, of course.” Sunghoon shrugs, pulling out two thick folders. “You see because of tutoring, I’ve saved all my study guides, assignments, tests, quizzes, cheat sheets, well— you get the point. Right here, I have everything to help you pass these courses with minimal effort on your part required.”
“Why didn’t you just say that to begin with?” You say annoyed, standing up to snatch the folders from him.
“Nuh-uh-uh—“ Sunghoon has the nerve to laugh, lifting the files high above him and throwing back his head to cackle when you jump up in an attempt to steal them anyway. “Why would I make it that easy for you?”
“Why not??” You grunt, slapping his arm. “You don’t want to tutor me! I don’t want to be here! Let’s do us both this favor so my mom can get off my ass.”
Sunghoon snorts, flicking your chin condescendingly. “First lesson in Economics, everything has a price.”
“You want money??” You ask completely bewildered. “With all the money your dad gives you, you really need more from me??”
He analyzes the distraught anger building up between your wrinkled eyebrows, nodding and smirking. “I didn’t say anything about money.” Sunghoon waves the folders in your face, smacking them lightly on the top of your head before laughing again when you swing at him again.
“I said a price.” He thumbs through the stacks of paperwork, biting back a smile. “You have something I want.”
He steps closer to you, reaching for the hem of your shirt again. “Something you’ve done a real good job of hiding.”
“Wha—“
Sunghoon tilts his chin in, eyes half-lidded with his head angled lower, grazing a thumb across the waistband of your shorts. “How much are you willing to do for me to get what you need?”
“You’re not serious.” Your palms itch by your hips, ready to slap the growing smirk off his face.
“Maybe I am..” he trails off, dipping his thumb past the button of your shorts. “Depends..” he tugs, pulling your hips to his. “How serious are you about your dream summer vacation? Because if I was you.. I wouldn’t fuck up this opportunity I’m offering you.”
“You—“ stammering, you pull away until the
backs of your knees meet the edge of his bed, cursing under your breath. “You want..”
“Wanna fuck you?” Sunghoon says flatly, eyebrows raised to patronize you further. “A lot of air passing through that head of yours?”
“Man, fuck you.”
“I’m giving it my all.” He shrugs, throwing the folders onto his bedside table. “Listen, you’re giving me virgin vibes. Is that what this is about?”
“What?!”
“Ah, I should have known.” Shrugging, he points a finger up and down your figure. “You’re one of those prudish types. That’s why you cover up so much, yeah?”
“I’m not a virgin.”
Sunghoon’s shoulders fall, squinting at you apprehensively. “Then what’s the deal? What, you’re the only girl within a 50 mile radius that hasn’t thought about my dick?”
“You’re actually insufferable.” You say, stunned that you’ve even found yourself having this conversation. “Besides, our parents are married now.”
Sunghoon smiles, not a charming or genuine smile, a vindictive terrifying one at best. “Exactly, little step-sister.”
Who knew that the Park Sunghoon is really nothing but your average typical perverted horny young-adult man. You frown, taking in his clean-cut pristine appearance, that shallow sinking sensation of realization melting between your chest.
All men are the same.
“You’ll really help me pass?”
Sunghoon nods greedily, moving into your personal space to nudge your chin. “Trust me, you couldn’t fail even if you tried with my help.”
“Okay.” You whisper, scanning his room for a fast way to escape.. if you need to. “Why me?”
Sunghoon laughs breathily, reaching for the end of your t-shirt to slowly inch up your torso. “Why not you.” He pokes your navel, index finger dragging upward, tracing the center of your stomach up to where your bra lays.
Whiplash hits hard between the churn in your stomach and a shiver rippling up through your limbs. Given any other scenario, one where you weren’t being threatened so-to-speak to pleasure your step-brother, you can’t deny that you’d give in willingly either way.
Sunghoon in every sense is fatally attractive. From his deep voice, to the aromatic musky sweet cologne wafting off his clean soft exfoliated skin, to his, well, devastatingly gorgeous unflawed face; you have to tell yourself once again, things could be much worse.
“What do you want me to do?”
He grins, tapping your forehead with his free hand, index finger prodding condescendingly. “Not that dumb after all. Knew you had it in you princess.”
Sunghoon cups your breast, thumb pushing at your nipples through the cup of your bra. “Take it off.”
He takes one step back, motioning with his chin for you to hurry up. The easy part is pulling your shirt off, not as if he hadn’t seen you in a sports bra the other day. Crossing his arms, he nods for you to continue, biceps bulged out from where they clench against his chest.
Heat of embarrassment traces up your neck, smoothing the straps of your bra off your shoulders as you look away and reach back to unhook the clasp, dropping the garment down to your feet. Sunghoon pouts his lips, quietly whistling and returning to his spot, much too close, close enough to lodge one of his thighs between yours. “That wasn’t so hard now was it.”
Cupping your hips, he peers down, taking in your chest up close with the top row of his teeth searching for his bottom lip to dig into. Unbeknownst to you, it’s been awhile.
Four weeks actually, Sunghoon realizes at the first twitch of his length against his pants, lodging himself closer to your center for you to feel it.
“Very pretty.”
Fastening your waist, his digits dig into your sides, forcing a gasp to spill from your mouth. “I was right.” He says smugly, tickling up past your chest and now hardened nipples. “Noticed those pretty lips first.”
Sunghoon gets your heart racing easily, splaying a palm over your throat as his other hand cups your chin, dipping his thumb into the fat of your bottom lip. “Bet $1000 they’d look even prettier struggling to take my dick.”
His thumb sneaks in past your lips, pressing against the center of your tongue until you whimper, chest pushed up against yours. “Show me how pretty that mouth can look.”
He keeps whispering about your slutty mouth and breasts, thumb shoved into the hilt allowing for you to mimic a blow-job around him. Lips circled around the digit obscenely as you slurp his thumb and dip your head up and down. “That’s it, suck me real fucking good just like that until I cum all over these pretty tits.”
Sunghoon’s thigh jerks up between yours, digging up higher until his muscle flexes against your warm crotch. “No gag reflex princess?” He grins, neck bending in close to lavv at the mess of spit pouring free from your lips suctioned around his thumb. “Messy messy messy.”
The grip on your neck tightens, forcing a burning itch up your throat, eyes squeezing shut as you cough and unintentionally bite down on his hand. “Fuck!”
Sunghoon hisses, tearing his hand away with a shake to get rid of the sting, glaring at you as he returns to grab your jaw roughly. “What the fuck was that?”
Bleary wet eyes stare back at him, bottom lip drawn out innocently, his tongue clicks, shaking his head annoyed. “Don’t fucking do that again.”
Sunghoon rumbles deep within his chest, pushing down on your shoulders until you drop to your knees in startlement, recuperating quickly to get between his thighs as he sits and manspreads before you. He slaps your hands away faster than you can say ‘ouch’, drawing them to your chest with a dramatic pained hiss.
“Not like that,” he tuts, unbuttoning his pants and nodding to the zipper. “I’m even giving you a head start, say thank you.”
Tight-lipped, you crouch in closer and mutter a ‘Thank You’, burning head to toe from the embarrassment, because whether you want to admit it or not, Sunghoon’s hot. You can always fib the truth, but the damp material between your thighs will give you away each time; having to clench your legs together for a bit of relief.
“Good, now remember what I said, no biting.” Sunghoon warns you again, pinching your chin. “No hands either, get me off with that pretty mouth only.”
Lazily, watching you with hooded eyes, Sunghoon reaches lower to run the pads of his fingers down the zipper of his pants, taunting you further. “I’m waiting.” Continuing down, he traces the prominent shape of his cock, starting from the base and working to the tip as he lines the shape. The chubbed up girth clearly visible this up close, already swelling your throat just from looking at it.
The silver zipper gleams back at you, dangling a bit as if to mock you more. Thickly swallowing, you scoot in on your knees, nose brushing the shape on your way to catch the zipper between your lips and struggle to pull it down, his pants tighter from the stretch of his hardened cock ready to rip through the material.
Sunghoon chuckles when you finally manage to get the zipper down, wishing to further humiliate you, if only his cock agreed. “Little princess doesn’t know how to suck dick, huh?” He coos in a fake sweet tone, shifting up to push down his pants past his knees. “What do you say?”
“Thank you..”
“Fast learner, I like that.” He laughs mirthfully, nodding to his hard-on once again. “Let’s see what you got.”
“You said no teeth.” You say, growing annoyed the more you watch his cock throb, confined by the tight material of his briefs. The wet spot at the tip indicates more than enough that he’s tired of waiting. “Take it out!” Rolling your eyes, you slap his knee, demanding he at least do that.
“No wonder you’re failing so many classes.” Sunghoon mumbles, rolling his eyes back at you and shoving his briefs down past the wet head of his cock, widening your gaze as you take all of him in, all.
“Two classes..” you trail off, suddenly antsy as he circles the base of his length and strokes upward fully displaying the full thick long size of his girth. “You’re huge.”
Sunghoon snorts, squeezing under the head for his foreskin to pull back around the bulbous tip, glistening with precum. “Don’t look so terrified, it’s unbecoming.”
Even his fingers brighten with a shade of pink, the whites disappearing as he strokes and tugs against the tip. “Now.” Biting down on his lip he adjusts for the head of his cock to hover near your parted mouth, dragging the wet head slowly along your upper lip. “Let’s see if that gag-reflex is actually nonexistent.”
Without waiting another second he reaches for the back of your head, tangling his fingers through your hair to push your face toward his lap and glide past your lips. The intrusion throws you off initially, coughing around the fat stretch pulling the corners of your lips apart further. “Fuck, feels real good.”
The heavy weight of his cock rushes spits down your chin as he builds up a pace, balls hitting your chin the more he works you up and down while simultaneously lifting his hips up to hit the back of your throat. Sunghoon groans, teeth clicking together from biting down hard to keep his voice low, thrusting harder and rougher until your throat gives and loosens up around him allowing him into the back of your throat. “Oh fuck!”
Finding the perfect angle to have your mouth constricted around his length, he holds you down; ripping tears from your eyes from the constant burn around your lips, incessantly stimulating the inside of your mouth and suppressing your breathing.
It’s agonizing at first, making Sunghoon’s abdominal muscles lock up and suck in from the lack of sound coming out of you. His eyes roll back, circling into your mouth easily in disbelief.
“Your throats such a perfect little fuckhole for me, huh?” He babbles, finally pulling out. The release pouring out wads of spit down your chin and neck, wide-eyed as you catch your breath.
“Is that pussy wet?” Sunghoon bends forward, reaching to pinch and tug on your stiff nipples, twisting the buds between his fingers. “Don’t lie to me, I can see it all over your face.”
“Y-yes..” succumbing to the invisible weight against your chest, you nod; head dropping shamefully in a weak attempt to hide what you can only imagine the mess looks like all over your chin; staring down blearily at the river of spit and precum running down your chest, meeting in the middle before splitting off under your chest.
“Does it hurt?” Slapping your breasts, he grips one, digits kneading into the fat and pushing it up higher on your chest; his other hand wrapping around your neck to lift your gaze back to him. “Pussy hurts so bad doesn’t it?”
Gulping beneath his grip, your eyes fall shut with a whimper, tears streaking down the sides of your cheeks. Huffing for a breath under his choke as you crumble and can’t find your voice to say more.
“Come on,” Sunghoon shakes your neck, jostling your head, making your eyes snap open. “Fucking look at me.” He bites, reaching his other hand up to stroke your hair away from your face and examine the wads of tears clumping your eyelashes together. Swollen wrecked lips hung open desperately panting for air, lines of wet and dried tears racing down under your chin. “Tell me exactly what your pussy wants.”
It’s more than degrading, because he knows you don’t want it, not really. Not your mind, your heart, but just like the rest, your cunt will always be your downfall. Greedy for cock like any common whore.
“Y-you,” you cry, fitting your hand around his wrist as a silent plea to loosen his grip on your throat. “Wants you.”
Smirking to one side, his gaze sparks with a different type of vindictiveness, one that lets you know that you won’t be getting none of that. Holding your neck back, he scoots forward until his ass nearly hangs from the bed, gripping around the base of his angry blood-filled cock to slap angrily between your chest. The sudden smack of hot flesh on your wet breasts has you arching up, coughing with another squeeze around your throat. “Think I don’t know that princess? I bet you could cum from this alone. You know how big of a slut you have to be to get off just from sucking cock?”
Sunghoon drops your neck with a wide pleased smirk, releasing his hold on you to scoop under your breasts, pushing the fat mounds together for his cock to perfectly sandwich between with a guttural groan. “Oh fuck, that’s it.”
He thrusts viscously, pumping between your breasts, eyebrows bunched together releasing short breathy hisses through his pursed lips. “Fuck, look at the way those tits bounce, better than a pussy.” Sunghoon groans, slamming his cock in and out, losing his hold on your breasts the more ferocious his movements become.
“Hold your tits for me.” Sunghoon growls, snarling when you don’t move fast enough. “Push them together, squeeze around me real tight baby.” Grunting, he wraps around the back of your neck, hips moving on their own to fuck between your jiggling breasts, spit and precum guiding the way for his cock to slip right through, the tip hitting the hollow between your collarbone.
Each thrust has you jerking under his control, his hand gripping your nape rougher for more command over his movements. Ramming his girth in and out, he mutters multiple curses, hips twitching up with one last thrust before reaching up into your hair, gathering enough in his hands to create two pigtails.
“Back in that slutty mouth.”
Sunghoon’s pull on your hair snaps your neck back, mouth popping open for him to freely shove the entirety of his size back inside. The tip of his cock slides past your tonsils, finally making you gag and lurch around him, coughing out copious amounts of drool around his size as he relentlessly hammers in chasing after release.
“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it!” He shouts between gritted teeth, hips angled to stretch your mouth wide open. Balls deep with every inch of his cock drenched in a mess of spit, the heat and suction from your lips grows overbearing; burying as deep as he can with your nose struggling to breathe against his neatly trimmed pubic hairs. “Ugh!”
Pulling hard enough on the tufts of hair balled up in his fists, he shouts behind sucked in lips, eyes wrinkled shut to stop himself from screaming out loud. Between panted breath, Sunghoon orders you to swallow, grinding his hips forward leaving you with no choice but to comply. Mouth locked around his cock as long streaks of cum shoot inside the back of your throat, gurgling around his length as he fills you up. Tightening his grip on your hair almost punishingly, he pulls the tufts tightly into his fist; cock buried deep ensuring you take every last drop.
“All of it.” he croaks, tone breaking into a rasp. “Swallow all of it.” With one more deep grunt, he pulls out, the last bit of cum spilling out onto your chin. Wet cock dragging down your cheek with a satisfied cocky smirk on his face.
“You look way too good with my dick on your cheek, could seriously get hard again just from looking at you.”
Sunghoon sighs, collapsing back on his bed with a long-winded sigh, head dizzy from the aftermath of his orgasm still passing through his limbs. “Fuck that was too fucking good.” He says more to himself, sounding elated, completely missing the grimace painting your face as you lick between your teeth, nose scrunched up.
“Done?”
Sunghoon’s hand lifts, waving your question off. “Yeah yeah.”
He pushes up to stand just in time to see you use the inside of your shirt to clean off your chin and chest, tongue clicking because he should have made you swallow that too.
“I’ll let you know when we can have our next session.” Sunghoon winks, standing up to wave the packet of completed aced quizzes and assignments over your head. “If only you took school as serious as you take sucking cock.”
Snatching the packet from him, you leer, ripping open his bedroom door ready to run for the bathroom to douse yourself in shower gel and scrub the fuck out of your skin, halted as you come face to face with the other Park. Thankfully not your step-father.
Heeseung’s eyes go wide as if he’s been caught, eyes shifting back and forth up and down the hallway for a way to sneak off.
“What are yo—“
“I can explain!” Heeseung whispers urgently, running a hand through his hair anxiously, grateful that you closed the door behind you. “I mean, I didn’t hear anything.”
“What?”
“I mean—“‘he stutters, waving goodbye and shaking his head dismissively before jogging down the hall to his bedroom.
“Weird.”
A much needed shower keeps your mind occupied from delving too deep into what Heeseung could have been doing out there, passing by more than likely. Maybe. Scrubbing your forearms and stomach down until your skin burns, you hiss, replaying the sounds of Sunghoon’s moans and pleasured breathy whines. What the hell did he mean by ‘next session’, did he really plan to make this a recurring activity?
Why would he want to start up some type of fuck-buddy situationship with you either way? As the bathroom mirror clears up of fog, you brush at the backs of your teeth roughly, swearing that you can still taste particles of his tangy cum. Leave it to some dickhead to be the first to spill his load inside of your mouth, he’s lucky you didn’t regurgitate it and spit it all back in his face.
It’s no worse than the random hot frat guy you’ve hooked up with at a party, or bartenders that slipped you their number at a club to meet up at the end of their shift; other than you know, the whole parents married to each other: siblings through matrimony aspect.
That’s one way to make yourself feel better about what just happened, shrugging it off as you exit the bathroom and make way to your bedroom, paused on the way down the hall to glimpse in the direction of Heeseung’s room. A low murmur of music drifts from his cracked open door, focusing on your hearing at the familiarity. “Is that?”
Too nosey for your own good, you creep toward his bedroom, lighting up at your correct recognition. “You like Deftones?”
Heeseung jolts up in his computer chair, dropping the vinyl record in his hands at your surprise entrance. “Shit.”
“Oh, sorry.” You flinch, hoping your presence didn’t crack the record as it hits his bedroom floor. “Should have knocked..”
“My fault my fault,” he waves calmly, internally screaming with quick a fast analysis of the record and vinyl for any damage. “All good.” He breathes, finally getting a look at you only to choke on his spit at the towel wrapped around your chest. “Oh uh..”
“I love this song.” You nod, moving further into his room to read over the various posters hung up from wall to wall. “Wow, you have good taste.”
“Wait,” he sits up, ignoring the lack of clothing beneath that towel. And the sweet scent of vanilla and peach now filling his room, the driblets of water still clinging to your skin; glowing in a ridiculously unrealistic manner where you stand..
“Did you say you like Deftones?”
“Love them.” You correct, moving inside to sit on the end of his bed, thighs pressed together tight. “My favorite band actually.”
“No way.” Heeseung looks down to avoid making it glaringly obvious how hard he’s fighting to not stare at every inch of your exposed skin. “That’s crazy.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?” You scoff, making your step-brother shake his head.
“One of my favorite bands too, maybe my all time favorite.” He informs, coughing to clear his throat and stand, moving to a crate full of records. “What’s your favorite release?”
“Probably Diamond Eyes, I won’t lie. This Place Is Death is like the best song ever.”
Heeseung can feel his ears burn, swallowing as he turns to show you an original copy of the first release of said album. “You have good taste too, I really like Beauty School.”
“Great choice.”
Heeseung nods timidly, moving to the record player to play your favorite track. “There’s something really out-of-body about this song.”
“Right? It’s like floating, weightless. The vocals and music harmonize together so good, it's like I’m in a dream.”
Heeseung does his best to ignore the suggestive lyrics for now, returning to his seat. “Have you seen them live? I went to their last tour, great setlist.”
Pouting, you shake your head ‘no’, gripping the connected top of your towel to adjust the tightness over your chest. “I wish, my moms kind of.. strict, I guess. I’ve stopped asking her about concerts after hearing no a handful of times. Don’t need another lecture about how this type of music is for the low lives of society, bottom feeders, boot lic—“
“Oh woah woah.” Heeseung interrupts with an uncomfortable chuckle, trying not to take any of it personally. Your mom does seem like a hard ass..
“Sorry.”
“No no, I’m sorry, that suck’s seriously.”
Shrugging, you give him a playful frown. “Nothing you could do about it. All she cares about is my looks and grades, and my role in society.” Even if it’s just to end up becoming some wealthy man's stay-at-home housewife to be cheated on someday. Not that you need to bring up that part.
Heeseung pinches his bottom lip in thought, nodding along to what you’re saying, choosing to shove aside the sound of his brother's grunts and heavy panting at the mention of your grades. “They’re playing next week actually, maybe…”
“Oh really? Are you going?”
He hums, going on about how many concerts he’s been to this year alone. “If there’s a tour in town, I’ll be there.”
“Ah, I’m jealous.” Digging your toes to the floor, you sit up straight and clutch your towel with a mortified expression. “Oh my God, I’ve been sitting here this whole time like this?!?” Rushing to stand, you skitter quickly for the door, turning to bow apologetically. “My heads all foggy, I wasn’t even thinking.”
Heeseung laughs softly, muttering off a ‘no no no it's all good’.
“My doors usually open,” he shrugs, jokingly mentioning to knock at least so he doesn’t end up wailing out a loud high-pitched scream that he’ll never be able to live down. “Whenever you wanna hang out and listen to music or whatever.”
“I’ll make you regret that.” You grin, waving before making your way out.
Heeseung lets out a long sigh, mostly from releasing the tension in his back after trying(and failing) to fight off his perverse thoughts.
She’s fucking Sunghoon anyway, he reminds himself. Of course she is. Everyone’s favorite Park brother, even their parents.
Heeseung shoves that aside in the meantime, laying back on his bed to enjoy the faint traces of your body wash left behind.
Heeseung’s been on edge ever since overhearing his brother on the phone, almost forgetting himself of the younger’s relationship. He sits stiffly against his headboard, gnawing at his lip to quell away his nerves. They’d be back soon from picking her up, and luckily luring you to his bedroom had become easier the more you realized how many bands you both listen to.
“So, what are you doing later?”
Even from the side of your face he can tell your eyebrows furrow, confused that he’d even ask. “Mom didn’t tell you about the dinner?”
Bile rises in his throat at the casual way you say mom, swallowing down the need to correct you. Shaking it off, he repeats to himself to focus before time runs out.
“I had plans to meet up with a few friends tonight, we scored some last minute tickets to the Deftones concert a few towns over. Might go explore this new record store beforehand, you’re welcome to come.” Heeseung scratches his nape apprehensively, focused on you thumbing through the crates of vinyls lined up along his bedroom wall. “My friend Jake, he uh.. he can’t make it tonight, change of plans. I offered to buy his ticket off of him if you wanna…”
“A concert tonight?” You frown, ending your search when one of the album covers catches your eye, gently drawing it out and delicately freeing the record. “This is one of my favorites by them, you have good taste”
Heeseung silently agrees, lifting the record player's needle for you to set it in place. “Yeah, we can go out to Rick’s Rockin’ Records too, I haven’t been since they moved to a new location out there. Maybe grab something to eat, or.. whatever you want to do. I already asked dad if I can borrow the car tonight.”
“Hmm,” music thrums from his speaker set-up, the volume low blending in well with the darker atmosphere he’s built in his bedroom. “Can’t do that today, mom said tonight’s really important. Something about meeting Sunghoon’s friend, I don’t know she wasn’t super specific.”
Heeseung sighs, chewing on his nail as he sits down on his bed and watches your hips sway slowly to the beat of the music. “About that—“
“I should probably get ready actually,” you groan, turning to look at him with an annoyed sneer. “If not I’ll never hear the end of it over dinner. Surprised your dad’s letting you go out?”
“Well..” Heeseung stands in an attempt to distract you and try to keep you in his room longer if possible. Not that it would help to keep you away from heading downstairs at some point..
“What if I talk to your mom? You said you never get to see them when they tour.” Heeseung says in a rushed panicked tone. “I don’t want this free ticket to go to waste.”
“You would do that for me?” You squint back at him confused, from barely having more than a few run-ins and conversations over music in the last few weeks; his eagerness seems misplaced, unusual even.
“I mean,” Heeseung can feel his mouth drying up, patting his palms down his sides to calm his nerves. “It’s not a big deal.”
The telltale sound of a car engine shutting off outside of his window steals both of your attention, cursing under your breath as you peer through his blinds. “I have to get ready.”
“Wait wait!” Heeseung blocks the door before you can manage to leave, awkwardly stretching his arms out. “The other day, with my brother..”
“Oh.”
“It’s not like that.” His hand waves, reaching to massage his temples. “There’s something about him that I think you should know.”
“No no, it’s okay. I’m not into him like that.” You lie, avoiding his gaze. “My mom’s making him tutor me, that’s why I was in his room. I mean like, when you saw me.”
Heeseung nods, mouth opening and shutting repeatedly. “Do you like him?”
“What? No.” You answer too fast, huffing out a laugh while peering around him for an escape. “Why would I like him? He’s..”
“Everyone likes Sunghoon.” He says factually, expression drooping as he nods and steps aside.
Yeah. Everyone. Including you.
The shout of your name breaks your thoughts, saved by the bell as your mothers tone rings out akin to an alarm. Lifting up onto the balls of your feet you apologize and scamper away to rush out of Heeseung’s bedroom.
“You better be ready!” She follows, making you work urgently to race through your closet for an outfit she would choose for you. Something to make you seemingly presentable enough in the presence of whomever your mother considers ‘important’.
What if it’s one of Sunghoon’s attractive friends? He’s good looking, good looking people tend to know each other, right? He seems to prefer when you show more skin.. but a deadly glare from your mom may not be worth it only for a few fleeting glances of interest.
A knee length high-neck dress can’t make her mad, you’re positive she purchased this for you at some point anyway.
Another shout of your name has you jogging toward the stairs while hopping into a pair of flats and attempting to zip up the back of your dress all at once, the extra hobble down the last few steps drawing a round of attention your way right as you land with a deep breath and smooth out the wrinkles down your front.
“There you are.” Your mother glowers, eyeing you disapprovingly and reaching to tug on one of your earlobes. “Not even a pair of earrings? Could you be more of a slob, darling?” She whispers, wrapping an arm around your back and leading you into the living room.
Sunghoon stands near his father, back facing the both of you as he nods and laughs at something obscured by their combined size.
“Our guest just landed an hour ago and still had the decency to at least wear a pair of high heels. What’s your excuse?”
High heels?
“Ah, there you are.” Your step-dad turns, unveiling a petite blonde, still small in stature despite the 5 inch pair of stiletto Chanel pumps pinching her toes. Perfectly feminine and radiant where she stands close to Sunghoon’s side. “This is Miyeon, Sunghoon’s girlfriend.”
Heeseung leans near one of the entrances, gaze bouncing back and forth from his brother, to you, to Miyeon. The air is heavy enough to shatter through glass, freezing you in place with wide eyes. “Girlfriend?”
Sunghoon clears his throat, avoiding your questioning glare as he reaches to pull Miyeon in and places a kiss on top of her head.
“Yes, they’ve been together since middle school, can you believe that?”
“No. I can’t.” You say stoically, going fully ignored by your step-brother.
“Miyeon attends school in New York, but she’s back home for the week.” Your step-father informs, smiling lovingly at his son and his presumed future daughter-in-law.
“Middle school.” You repeat under your breath, eyes darting around for something to distract you. Heeseung comes near, not missing your surprise.
“Hey, I’m heading out soon if you—“
“Yes!” You pipe up abruptly, reaching for his arm, aggressively nodding. “Right, the concert!”
“What concert?” Your mother asks, tongue clicking annoyed. “What have I told you about concerts”
“I invited her.” Heeseung states confidently, excusing himself to stand in front of you. “If that’s okay with you, dad? They’re her favorite band and she never gets to see them. I had an extra ticket so I offered..”
“That’s awfully nice of you Hee.” Sunghoon says with a sleek gaze, hugging Miyeon tighter into his side. “What about Jake?”
“He’s feeling sick.” Heeseung snaps back at his younger brother, returning to his father who looks contemplative.
“That is nice of you.” He reiterates, humming and reaching for his wallet. “Get something to eat too, since you’re not staying for dinner.”
Your mother’s eyes widen at that, biting down hard on her teeth to force a smile. “Ah, I cooked enough for all of us.”
“It will be good for the kids to spend time together.” He shrugs. “Leftovers never hurt anyone darling. Here Hee, don’t stay out too late or your mom won’t be able to sleep.”
He hands over a rolled up wad of cash, reaching for the keys in his pocket. “Take my car, Hoon’s going to need his to drive Miyeon home later.”
“I thought I was staying over?” You hear her whisper to your step-brother, the scowl between his eyebrows unwavering as he glares back and forth from his brother to you.
“Since when have the two of you been close?” He asks, ignoring Miyeon’s question.
Heeseung shrugs, wringing the keys around his fingers. “Learn something new everyday, don’t we?” He subtly peers from his brother to the girl by his side, fast enough to go unnoticed to anyone other than Sunghoon.
“I think it’s nice.” Your step-father speaks up. “I’m happy to see you kids getting along like real siblings.”
Heeseung forces a smile, unable to explain to himself why that comment even bothers him. “We’ll be safe.” He says to your mother, nodding for you to follow him.
“Uhm,” matching his pace you smooth down the dress you wore specifically with your mother’s judgemental glare in mind, not bothering to even say goodbye to Sunghoon nor his girlfriend. “Should I change?”
Heeseung shrugs, scanning your figure swiftly and scratching the side of his neck. “If you want to feel more comfortable? It’s a general admission show so..”
“Give me a minute, yeah?” He nods, adding that he’ll get the car started as you jog up the stairs and burst through your closet, ripping off the stuffy drab outfit from your skin. ‘What should I even wear to a concert?’
“What the fuck is this about?” Sunghoon surprises you, jumping up with a gasp and tugging a sweater in front of your chest. “Why is Heeseung taking you out?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?” You snap back, hissing under your breath after hearing the faint sound of conversation bustling downstairs, Miyeon’s charming laughter sprinkled between. “I wouldn’t have..”
“Wouldn’t have what?” He steps forward, crowding into your space inside of your closet. “Suck my dick the way she never would?”
He smirks, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and lifting his other to show off a silver band snuggly fitted on his ring finger. “We’re promised to each other.”
Sunghoon whispers, grazing your upper lip. “That means waiting until marriage.”
“You cheated!” You hiss, shoving his stomach. “You made me cheat with you!”
“I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do.” He says in a mean-spirited tone, flicking your chin. “Besides, you think I’d ever treat my future wife like some slut?”
“Fuck you.”
“Soon.” He nods, inching in to lay a soft kiss on your Cupid’s bow. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Whatever this thing is you have going on with my brother, cut it out.”
“There’s nothing going on between us.” You shove, digging your palms against his stomach. “He’s nice, unlike you.”
“Yeah. He’s a real good liar.” Sunghoon grits, easing off you. “I have to get back to dinner, disappointed you won’t be joining us.”
“Sure you are.” He reaches for your neck again, large palm engulfing most of it.
“Really wanted to see you try to cover up your guilt.” His tongue clicks, tilting his head to the side to smile. “The look on your face when my dad introduced you,” he sucks in a breath between his teeth, dimpled cheeks sinking in. “It was priceless.”
“Get away from me.” You try to push again, digging your nails into his waist.
“You thought..” he strokes down your cheek, forehead resting against yours. “That I like you, right? Already dreaming of your step-brother turning into your boyfriend?” He hums, pinching your cheek. “Cute.”
“Sunghoon! What’s taking so long!” Your mother calls from downstairs, halting your next snide remark.
“One second!” Rolling his eyes, he turns back to you, thumb smoothing under your eye. “Take what I say seriously.” He sighs, pecking your chin and bottom lip. “Don’t piss me off.” With a fake smile and lit up eyes he lays one more kiss atop your mouth, pulling away enough for his words to trace across your lips. “Because I’ll find out, and whatever you think you’ll get away with here— you won’t.”
Straightening out, he winks, patting your cheek and laughing when you look away with a clenched jaw. “Asshole.” You mutter, quickly pulling out an oversized old t-shirt and shorts to throw on. Having made Heeseung wait long enough, and now even more annoyed than before you forgo the idea of picking out something cute.
It’s just your step-brother anyway, he’s seen you look worse.
Running out of the house before your parents can try bother you with a lecture do’s and don'ts you apologize, hopping into the passenger seat short of breath.
“Sorry sorry, my mom,” you wave, giving your mind a second to conjure up a lie. “You know, doing her mom thing.”
Heeseung smiles, nodding to your seatbelt and backing out of the driveway. “Don’t think we’ll have time to grab a bite before the opener, if that’s okay with you?”
Ignoring the rumble in your stomach, you nod and shoot him a thumbs up. “It’s fine, seriously thank you for getting me out of there.”
Taking in a deep breath you start to settle, watching the road and listening to the soft tune of what you recognize as Deftones latest release, stealing a glance at Heeseung’s phone to confirm. “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s up?” His lips pout, drumming along to the beat as you enter a freeway.
“When you invited me to come with you tonight..” Heeseung clears his throat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.
“Did you know?” Chewing your lip nervously, you sit up straight to watch his side and the blush rise from his neck to the middle of his face. “About.. her?”
“I’ve known about Miyeon for years.” He says, focused on the road. “I knew she was in town too.”
“Did Sunghoon ask you to keep me distracted?”
He blinks surprised, eyes going wide. “Sunghoon doesn’t speak to me unless he has no other choice.” He says flatly, gripping at the steering wheel tightly, losing interest in the change of song. “I invited you because..”
“You saw what happened the other day?” You ask, turning away remembering the awkward silence you shared with your step-brother after your tutoring session.
“Well no.” He trails off for a moment, letting out a long winded sigh. “I know how my brother is. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together..”
“Are you going to tell our parents?”
Heeseung shakes his head out of the corner of your eye, seemingly flabbergasted you’d even ask that. “I’d never do that. I really mostly invited you hoping to.. yeah, completely avoid this from happening.” He laughs nervously. “I’m not too good at this, whatever this is.”
“No no it’s okay.” You try to emphasize it’s not a big deal, even if the invisible weight crushing your chest says otherwise. “I really appreciate that you thought of doing this for me. I’m excited! This is way better than sitting around eating my mom’s terrible cooking and listening to your dad rant about how amazing Sunghoon is for the hundredth time.”
Heeseung grins, loosening back up, fingers returning to tap along with the music. “He does tend to do that.”
As much as you can’t fight off your thoughts from racing back to Sunghoon, you keep up conversation with your step-brother, both doing your best to avoid bringing him up again. Heeseung made the effort to get you away from a possibly ugly situation, the least you can do is at least try to have fun. Sunghoon will have to be dealt with later.
“Lines not too bad.” Heeseung parks, directing his chin to the front of the venue. “We can probably get barricade.”
“Cool.” You shrug, not wanting to give off how clueless you are about concert culture as you make your way to the line of fans noticing many seem paired off, couples mostly.
Standing by your step-brother lamely attempting to come up with a topic to talk about, you bump into his side to relieve some tension. “I’m seriously so excited.”
Heeseung’s eyes meet yours, soft and large as he takes in your face up close and nods. He contemplates a reply, sorting from ‘I’m happy to hear that.’ and ‘that’s good, I’m glad.’ Before looking away and muttering.
“Should be a lot of fun.”
When Heeseung had mentioned getting a spot on the barricade you hadn’t realized he meant being front row, as you passed the ticket check and made your way inside he pointed out an empty spot the two of you could squeeze into, albeit a bit tight you managed to get in together and celebrate. “I can’t believe we’re in front!” You squeal, hopping up and down slightly.
“We really lucked out.” He glances around, wishing he’d at least had enough time to hit up the bar for drinks before the opener. Usually Jake could handle holding down a spot for them but given your naivety he opts to stay by your side. “I know you haven’t been to any concerts before but just a heads up, the crowd can get a little rough.”
“Oh, a lot of pushing?”
“Yeah.” Heeseung notices you’re surrounded by mostly larger men, a few girls sprinkled around here and there. At least the audience had a good mixture of both in comparison to the usual show. “If you’re uncomfortable at any point, let me know okay?”
“Ah, I don’t want you to worry about me.” You say, anxiously fixing your hair, only now realizing just how crammed in and close you are to everyone. The warmth building against your back grows suffocating as minutes go by. “I’ll be fine Hee.”
Heeseung’s cheeks warm up, blaming it on the crowd filling out and getting heavier around him; not the shortened nickname that you’ve never used with him before. The opener finishes setting up, riling everyone up with their introduction and fast paced music. True to your step-brother’s warning, the pushing shocks you initially, throttled forward to be stuck against the top of the barricade railing. You smile through the sting of pain hitting the top of your ribcage, mentally noting to check for bruises later.
“Definitely need to check them out after that.” Heeseung swipes his phone open, tapping to follow the band. Showing no signs of discomfort he turns to you, smile falling. “You good?”
“Yeah yeah, uhm Deftones go on next?”
He shakes his head, full on frowning and snaking his arm around your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t feel good up here, we can move to the back.”
“No!” Draping your hands flat on the barrier, you push up to straighten your spine, cringing at how it aches already. “I want to watch from up here.”
Heeseung’s mouth shifts to one side in thought, eyeing the area around you before bracketing his arms on the barrier. “Get in front of me.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll stop the shoving.”
“But you’ll get pushed..” you hesitate, hearing snickers from a group of guys behind you.
“I’ll be fine,” Heeseung motions, encouraging you to move in front of him. Easing into the space he created for you, a sense of relief washes over you, taking in short breaths of air without 3 bodies crushed against you.
He taps the top of your head with his chin, leaning to the side of your face with a smile. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks Hee..” you offer an embarrassed smile, already feeling ashamed that your step-brother did all this to end your humiliation in the first place.
Heeseung does his best to ignore the bickering and scoffs around him, especially the group behind whispering about how the two of you should move to the back. ‘It’s not our problem that your girlfriend can’t hang.’
His neck prickles with sweat, ears perked up listening to the rest of their conversation. ‘Pretty prissy girls like that have no business up front anyway. Dude needs to leave his little girlfriend at home next time.’
Biting down on the backs of his teeth he has to stop himself from twisting around to yell that you’re not his girlfriend, saved by the next band that starts up; he relaxes and keeps the crowd away from you; accepting the brunt of the pain himself.
This is something a guy would do for his step-sister too, right? Why assume you’re his girlfriend, you could easily just be a friend..
Everything’s mostly smooth from there until Deftones attack the stage and guitar riffs blast through the speakers, swaying the crowd unanimously to follow along with the beat. He curses, clenching his fist on the barrier to keep you from following the force of eager bodies.
“Hee, are you okay?!” You ask in a panic, placing your hands over his fist. He nods fast, biting on his tongue as your fingers loop between his to hold him closer to you. His slow reaction allows enough space for another body to squeeze its way through the front, plastering his chest to your back with a gasp from the extra lack of space.
“I’m good! I’m good!” He says, trying to keep his cool with a smile and focus on the show that you’ve been waiting for. “It’s your favorite song!”
Heeseung nods ahead, too worried about keeping you safe to even take in that you’re fully crushed under him, the barrier digging into your chest. Trying his best to enjoy the show he shakes his head and sings along with the words he can remember, breath caught when your head lays back on his chest and you smile up at him.
“I love this song!”
This isn’t Heeseung’s favorite song, but he remembered that it’s yours, and right as you pull your conjoined hands to lay against your stomach; this song sounds better than ever.
“I love it too.”
“That was soooo much fun!”
The two of you managed to squeeze through the crowd fast, your step-brother mentioning wanting to check out the merch before you head out. “I’m sooo sweaty.” you say, shaking off your shirt.
Heeseung looks over the tour shirts hung up, digging out the money his dad gave him. “Want one? We have enough.”
“Oh yeah, that one's really cute!”
“We’ll take two of those.” Heeseung points at the t-shirt, counting enough cash out for both.
“Matching couple tour shirts.” The merch guy says with a laugh. “So cute how many of you think of concerts as date nights.”
“What?” He says with a gulp, peeking from the corner of his eye at your surprised reaction. “We’re no—“
“That’ll be $50, knocked off $10 for the good looking pair.” He winks, passing you the shirts. “Now make this guy go buy you something to eat honey, and whatever you do after, it’s none of my business.”
“Uhh..”
“T-Thanks.” Heeseung stammers, hooking your elbow to drag you out of the crowd toward the exit. The air suddenly a lot tighter and harder to breathe in.
“That was weird, right?” You ask, following him to the car. “Well,” you pause, eyeing him over. “I guess we don’t look alike at all.”
“People don’t assume the opposite sex can be just friends anymore I guess.” He scoffs, opening the passenger door for you. “He was right about one thing though, you hungry?”
“Starving.” You reply, tossing your bag onto the seat. “But first.”
Heeseung’s eyebrows lift, taking a step back as you begin to remove your shirt, mouth hung open confused. “What are you doing??”
“Told you, I’m drenched.” You say, fanning your chest. “I’d take off my bra too..” you shyly smile, shaking open the new shirt your step-brother just paid for. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Tugging on the shirt, you reach around beneath to pull off your bra straps, struggling to unclasp the back. “Sorry Hee, can you help?”
He swallows, eyes gone wide and nodding. “Uh, yeah sure..”
Heeseung moves behind you, pushing the shirt up to your shoulder blades and biting down on his tongue to not comment on how soft your skin feels. No. That’d be weird, right?
“I think the clasp is stuck..” he mumbles, nervously toying with one of the bra clasps that won’t unlatch.
“Ugh, fuck.” You sigh, swatting the air behind you. “Just rip it off.”
Heeseung tightens his lip, air pushing out of his nose to not groan. “Okay.”
He pulls the connected material apart, the sound of seams snapping and popping open under his strength following.
“Jesus, get a room man.” A drunk concert goer slurs out as he passes by, your bra coming undone finally right as your step-brother curses and presses in close to hide your exposed lower back.
“Fuck off.”
“You know what? He has a point.” You laugh, shaking the t-shirt down your torso. “My step-brother removing my bra for me should probably be done behind closed doors..”
Heeseung can feel his chest rumble from your laughter, shoulders and upper back shaking against him. Instinctively taking a step back before vibration can travel lower as he imagines exactly that.
“Pizza sounds good.” He changes the subject fast, moving to get inside and get the engine warmed up. “You down?”
“Pizza sounds great.”
The two of you fall into easy conversation, excitedly discussing your favorite songs and parts of the concert. Easily finding a place open for 24 hours on the way home, albeit the slices of pizza more stiff and cardboard-like at this late hour with only one employee working the night shift.
“I hope it wasn’t too hard on you, having to watch out for me.” You say apologetically.
“Wasn’t a big deal, seriously, don’t mention it.”
“I felt really bad though.” You lament, helping him by carrying the box of pizza. “You still got to enjoy the show, right?”
“Are you serious?” Heeseung waves you off, reaching for the passenger door again before you can open it yourself. “Best concert I’ve ever been to.”
“Right?!?” You joke, settling back into your seat with a laugh. “I say as if I’ve ever been to any others, but I have a feeling this will be one of my favorites.”
“I’ll take you to more concerts.” Heeseung hums, tapping the steering wheel before taking off. “Do you wanna go home right now? Or like..”
“Nah, mom will kill my dopamine high if I have to talk to her right now.”
“You’re right.” Snapping his fingers, he mentions the time. “There’s a park not too far from home, it’s empty by now. We can go there to eat and rush home fast if our parents get mad about the hour.”
“Sounds good.”
The parks nice and quiet, a few street lamps barely lighting up the small area where you settle at the top of the jungle gym and sit facing the street with your legs dangling from the top level of the structure.
“Pizzas not that great.” Heeseung laughs, shrugging, stuffing his mouth regardless.
“It’s perfect for a midnight snack.”
Agreeing, you fall into a comfortable silence, attempting to hide your shiver as a chilly breeze passes through. It’s too nice to head home now, unwilling to unless your phone starts to buzz with your mother shouting on the other end.
“Cold?” Heeseung removes his hoodie before you answer, leaning over to lay it down on your shoulders.
“Now you’ll be cold.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
He nods, looking away to admire the speckles of stars scattered between smog and clouds. Heeseung’s really nothing like his brother. No, because Sunghoon wouldn’t wish to spend time with you in this way, unless it involved his dick in your mouth or wherever..
“Hee, can I ask you something?”
Turning to face you, his lips tremble a bit from the rising crisp night air, raising goosebumps along his arms. “What’s up?”
“This is probably..” you hesitate, pulling his hoodie in tighter to your chest. “I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to..” The skin between his eyebrows folds together, head bobbing up and down for you to continue.
“It’s just, Sunghoon..”
Heeseung sighs, leaning back on his palms and dropping his head back. “I don’t know what he thinks about you, he doesn’t talk to me.” He says calmly before you can finish, laying back down flat with his eyes shut. “Sorry, can’t help.”
“It’s not that—well I mean..” you lower, laying on your side to watch his eyelashes twitch against the tops of his cheeks. “You guys really don’t talk and I guess I’m nosey..”
“Oh.” Heeseung blinks, eyes going wide at the realization of how close you are. “You mean like why we don’t talk?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugs, nibbling his bottom lip from side to side nervously. “We used to be really close, inseparable until our parents got divorced.” His eyebrows furrow, smoothing his palms together onto his stomach. “Hoon lived with our mom for a few years, he was always her favorite.”
Regret begins to seep through your chest, feeling like an asshole for even asking now. Of course their rift had to be more personal than some petty feud between brothers..
“We were still somewhat close during that time, but much like now, dad favored Hoonie too. He’s the baby, you know how it is. He needed more attention and coddling I guess.” Heeseung shrugs again, mostly to keep the topic light. “When we were kids he really looked up to me.. at least I always thought so.”
His breath deepens, releasing longer exhales and shutting his eyes again. “Mom got sick, really sick..”
“I’m sorry Heeseung, you don’t have to tell me..”
“It’s okay.” Tucking in his upper lip, his eyes squeeze tightly, taking deep breaths before continuing. “I kind of dealt with her illness.. maybe improperly? I don’t know, I was a kid..”
“I’m sorry..”
“Hoonie..” his eyes stay shut, squeezing together at the mention of his brother. “When she passed away, I think he really needed me. I couldn’t be there for him.”
Silence thickens between the two of you, laying back down fully by his side in hopes of offering some type of comfort, a silent one of upper arms flushed together.
“I sort of lashed out..” Heeseung goes on, voice more strangled. “I blocked him out when he needed me the most and when the time came that I needed him,” he shrugs softly, huffing. “He wasn’t there for me anymore. I can’t blame him.”
Anything you can think of to say evades your mind, coming up blank with words that would be enough to show your sympathy. Without much thought other than how nice your step-brothers been, you reach for his hand and loop your fingers between his; bringing them down between your sides with a squeeze.
“He looked up to me when we were younger.” Heeseung at least sounds less tense, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes relaxing. “It didn’t really help that he was getting bullied at school too back then. He was a runt, small thing.” There’s an evident smile in his tone now, small enough to barely lift the corner of his mouth.
“I should have stepped in and defended him but..” he grips your hand tightly, thumb brushing back and forth. “Don’t think I regret anything more than those years.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“In some ways.” Heeseung clears his throat, lips pouting. “The least I could have done was take care of him, he’s my baby brother after all..”
“Nothing could have prepared any of you for what happened. Someday he’ll understand that..”
Heeseung wishes he could agree, but while his mourning period led to sadness and a crushed sense of hope, his brothers landed him in darkness. A cold bitter darkness, gradually day by day stripping away the last specks of light that once made up all of Sunghoon.
“Yeah.” He lets out a tired sigh, head shaking and forcing a smile. “I’m sure someday we’ll live our own lives and he’ll see me as his trustworthy older brother again.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“Haven’t talked about this in such a long time honestly.” He smiles, lifting your hands to rest on his stomach again. “Dad would be shocked by how much we’re getting along right now.”
“It’s weird, right?” You laugh meekly, eyes drifting to your conjoined hands. “That you’re like…” drifting off, your nose crinkles; recalling your friends joking about which of your step-brothers you’d be hooking up with first. “My brother.”
Heeseung’s eyes open up, stomach folding in from shooting up, letting out a hollered laugh. “Oh that was really weird, especially after having to hear that you’re my girlfriend from random strangers for the past 3 hours.”
He sits back up, easing his hold out of yours to smooth a palm down his nape out of nervous habit.
“I can understand them.” You sit up with him, grabbing onto one of the steel bars to lean in closer to him. “We don’t make a bad looking couple.”
Heeseung’s thankful for the lack of lighting as heat rushes up his neck and burns its way under his eyes, cheeks more than likely bright pink full of blood. “Ah—well, good thing I’m not your type.”
“What?”
“You like Sunghoon.” He says nonchalantly. “Everyone likes him, he’s my brother so like—no I don’t get it.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I see the way everyone fawns over him though, pretty used to it by now.”
“I don’t like Sunghoon.” You grumble. That’s a lie, possibly, or maybe a conversation you’re not ready to have with yourself, let alone your step-brother. “And honestly, you’re way more my type than him.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious!” You shriek, reaching for his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re freezing!”
“It’s not that bad, feels good after being stuck together in that pit.”
“Come here,” scooting closer to him, you pull him into your chest, arm wrapping around his back to draw him into your warmth. “Can’t have you getting sick on me, we have concerts to go to now.”
Heeseung blinks furiously, tucking his chin in to ignore the rapid pace his heart gains, beating against his chest fiercely enough to fear that even you can feel it. “You’re right.” He keeps it short, lips trembling more due to his nerves than the temperature.
“This feels nice.”
He nods, shifting slightly to rest his arm around your lower back and make the position you’ve ended up in more comfortable. “We should probably head home though, before your mom realizes you’re not safely tucked in bed.”
“I don’t know Hee.” You murmur, digging your nose into his now dried head of hair, a tangy scent of sweat and shampoo left behind. “I don’t want this night to end.” Or to have to see your brother again, let alone deal with whatever that was all about earlier..
Heeseung shivers against your chest, more from his excitement, but accepts the coo you let out and soothing rub down his spine. “Okay okay, don’t want you to catch hypothermia. You’re right, it’s getting late.”
“Sorry,” maintaining eye contact with his lap, he removes himself from your hold, taking deep breaths to ward off his thoughts.
She’s your sister. She’s your sister. She’s your sister.
Step-sister.
“Before we go, I really do want to say thanks for everything.” You say, completely unaware of the mental war your step-brothers battling with. “From getting me out of the house, the concert, this cute shirt.” You lean back, pulling at the hem, only pronouncing your breast more through the material; not allowing him much of a choice but to look and notice how hard and obviously perked your nipples poke through. Right.. your bras currently residing in the backseat of the car..
“The pizza, bringing me here.” You list out everything, sporting a giant smile. “I seriously haven’t felt this happy in awhile. I kind of.. really needed this before losing my mind.”
Heeseung returns the smile, sharing your sentiment silently. “I’ll do my best from now on to make this a part of our routine.”
“It’s really a shame.”
“Hmm? What is?”
“That our parents ended up together.” You mumble, scanning his face anxiously. “You’re better than—I don’t know.. kind of lame to admit but I tried to picture different scenarios in which we’d somehow get to know each other.” You struggle to say, sucking air between your teeth. “Ah, I guess I kind of had a crush on you? Not really? But kind—“
Heeseung’s thighs bounce against the jungle gym, resisting the urge to lunge at you and smother you in kisses. The need grows harder and harder the more you go on and demurely shift around to avoid his gaze. It’s the whiny pout you fall into while saying you may or may not have had a crush on your step-brother that sets him off; pushing his upper half toward you and dropping the weight of his mouth upon yours with heated urgency.
It’s harder and sloppier than he intends for, swatting away every thought and emotion that could fully develop since the day you stepped inside of his bedroom with a curious glint in your eye. Beyond physical attraction, Heeseung can’t stop the annoying itch in his chest, the one warming him up from inside out everytime you’ve looked at him tonight. His nose crushes into the side of yours, the seam of his lips engulfing more of your top lip than managing to act out an actual kiss.
Drawing away with flushed cheeks, he licks his lips and begins spewing out an apology, shaking his head embarrassed. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m—“
The back of his head bounces against the metal walls behind him, hissing against your lips shoving into his. Mouth more commanding than his as you scramble to invade his space and drop your bottom onto his lap.
“Sorr—“
“Shh, kiss me back, kiss me.” Between rushed bated breath and a messy lock of lips, you rock further into him, reaching for the holes scattered around the jungle gym walls to bury your fingers in and cage his head between your arms.
Heeseung’s hands flail for a minute, slapping down on your hips to grab onto something with a groan as your tongue probes between the line of his lips for access. The wet slip of your tongue glides through easily, making him gasp inside of your mouth as you wiggle a way through to taste the spit gathered at the sides of his tongue.
“Woah,” he draws back, lips already swollen from the short kiss. “What—we can’t!”
“Why?” Your eyebrows lift, concerned but dropping your bottom onto his lap hungry for more. “You don’t feel it??”
“What?!” Heeseung sits up, belting your waist to keep you in place, regrettably as you swivel in place right against his groin. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you like me?” You say pathetically, nearly ready to give up the more humiliating this becomes.
“Of course I do!” He laments, massaging up your sides. “I think I like you way more than I’m supposed to.”
“Hee, you’re not my brother.” You state, tucking his cold hands inside of your shirt to warm up against your stomach. “There’s nothing wrong about us kissing.”
Heeseung swallows, telling himself- well that’s simply not true. Other than that fact alone that you are… sleeping with his younger brother.
“It’s late.” Heeseung sighs, pretending to yawn. “Let me take you home and we can talk about this after a good night's rest.”
“You can’t be serious.” Half offended and with a last stitch of effort you grab onto his hands, pushing them up your stomach, brushing along the underside of your breasts. “I know you feel it.”
Heeseung gulps, head dropping back against the jungle gym with a groan. “Yeah I.. I feel that..”
“It’s okay Hee, I want you.” Leaning in, you capture his mouth once more, sucking in his bottom lip as your hands encourage him to squeeze your chest.
As hesitant as he feels, Heeseung can’t stop himself from squeezing your breasts, eyes fluttering shut as his length throbs inside of his boxers. “I want you too, you have no idea how bad I want this..”
“Let me see,” you say between kisses, rubbing your tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Show me, do anything you want with me.”
Heeseung’s stomach sinks, unable to stop his mind from drifting to the rough sounds he heard coming from his brother’s bedroom. What if you’re expecting him to be like Sunghoon..
“Please, let me take you home at least. I promise..” he breathes between your lips, softly layering kisses. “I’ll show you.”
“Ugh, fine.” Reluctantly you agree, it is cold out here after all and anyone could walk by, not that you’d mind the idea of getting caught..
Heeseung struggles to tear away from your mouth on the way back to the car, spending another extra 5 minutes with you pressed up to the door and his hands roaming freely under your shirt again. “If you don’t drive me home right now I am going to take off my clothes right here.”
“Okay okay.” He chuckles, running around after getting you inside and clicking your seatbelt. Heeseung mentally pats himself on the back for choosing a park not far from home, especially when you pull his right arm away from the steering wheel to guide him between your thighs.
“I’m so wet for you Hee.”
Practically crashing as he turns into your neighborhood, he coughs, squeezing your inner thigh and speedily parking to get out as fast as he can. “My room.”
Heeseung wraps your arms around his waist, a soft smile spreading across his lips as you both struggle to get up the stairs with your limbs locked around each other. “Your room because you wanna play DJ?”
He blushes, turning the doorknob behind his back and draw you into his bedroom.
“That obvious?”
“You’re really cute.” You confess, bunching the sides of his shirt up in your fists to keep your bodies close. “Like really really cute.”
Heeseung’s cheeks could alert the fire department, burning up his face hot enough to make his eyes water up. “Ah, you think I’m lame.”
“I think you’re..” the two of you shuffle toward his bed, slowly lifting his top up to his waist. “Sexy..”
He pulls it off the rest of the way for you, tossing the shirt aside, feeling shy even in the dim lighting entering from the window; breath caught in his throat as you duck to lick his chest, lips trapping one of his nipples with a gentle suck. Fingernails trail down his abdomen, grabbing onto the waistband of his jeans.
“No no..” taking a hold of your hands as you start to unzip him, he stammers taking in your mouth falling to a frown. “No! I mean, feels really good, but..”
Heeseung squeezes your hips, lifting you off your feet for less than a second to set you down on his bed. “Let me show you.”
Running a hand through his hair, he blushes furiously, positive you can feel the heat radiating off his face. He makes fast to the record player, dropping the needle in place to start the album he’d been listening to earlier, your favorite one.
Bending over your body, he bites down on his lips, softly pushing your shirt up your torso as the gentle hum of music reverberates around you.
Don’t wanna take it slow, I wanna take you home and watch the world explode from underneath your glow
Heeseung leaves your shirt just beneath your breasts, hovering over you to kiss along the top of your ribcage, following a path downward to your navel until his mouth meets the button of your shorts. The slow rise and fall of your chest calms his worry, unbuttoning you and easing your bottoms down to your ankles for you to kick away. He shifts down to his knees, prying your thighs open gently, allowing him a perfect view of your drenched through panties completely molded to your core.
“You’re sexy.” Perfect even, Heeseungs says to himself, planting kisses up the sensitive skin lining your inner thigh. “Cute, pretty, hot.” Kissing his way up, he takes extra time to suck on the tender skin where your thigh meets your center. “So so so sexy..”
A low whine sounds above him, your back arching upward the more he teases, tracing the dip between your center and shoving the material of your underwear into your entrance. “Hee!”
“Shhh…” he licks the dip, tongue stiffening to push your underwear between your slit, tracing up to your clit to suck on through the soaked ruined fabric. Heeseung can’t take it anymore, innate hunger winning against his willpower as he holds your thighs open, planting them to spread out on his bed and drag his nose between the seam taking in a deep inhale. Slurping up the mess of wetness that seeps through the material of your underwear, most of it hitting his chin, trickling down onto the bed.
The groan vibrating against your core has your hips lifting, seeking a way to close your legs out of embarrassment that he could be smelling everything. “Hee, thats—“
Greedily sucking the rest of the wetness that’s smeared along the insides of your thighs, he has to shove aside how hard and painful his cock throbs. That can come later, figuratively and literally.
Playing with the trim lining the waistband of your underwear, he rubs the fabric between his fingers before rolling it down past your knees with practiced finesse; quickly clutching your thighs in a firm grip before you can manage to shut them, he pushes them down as wide as they’ll spread, fully exposing your core.
Heeseung’s breath catches, nearly groaning at the up close visual of your swollen aroused cunt, dripping a lewd amount out all the way down to his bedding. “So pretty.” He blows, sending a tremor up your thighs. “Just as pretty down here as you are everywhere else.”
Leaning in before you can let out another shattered cry, he licks a thick stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Humming in the back of his throat as your arousal pours down to the back of his tongue. Velvety engorged folds spread out against the pressure of his wide tongue working back and forth to touch each crevice between your legs.
Heeseung can hear your breath quicken and grow louder, plunging into your pulsating wet hole with his nose rubbing against your clit. He groans, dizzy, drunk and brainless as he rubs his face back and forth. Lapping past the resistance of your muscle, he licks and sucks, collecting the wetness pouring from your dripping pussy to swallow down like water. The fingers reaching into his hair pull him to bury in deep, jaw stretching until he hears a crack. He grunts from the pulls on his scalp, slipping free from your cunt to lick up the sides, between your folds, outside and in until his tongue has tasted every inch.
“Oh my God Hee!” Your feet kick, just barely under his unrelenting hold to keep you spread open. Dragging his tongue up and down repeatedly until a mess of slick covers him from chin to forehead. “S’too—too much, ah—“
His lips press to your clit, sucking the fat nub between his lips with extra force that has you biting down on your hand to not scream. “You’re—no, I’ll—I’ll cum!” Whining, you grow more impatient, unable to stop your hips from twitching up even under his large palms pressing you down. Heeseung could care less,
lost in the scent and heat of your cunt, he sucks and licks your clit mercilessly, flicking the bud roughly with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh!” Your face squeezes tight, head pushing off from the bed, arching against his mouth giving you no rest. “I’m cumming—I’m cumming!” You chant, mouth hanging open without breathing as an intense orgasm rips through your body, choking on your breath and finally writhing free from Heeseung’s hold when he doesn’t stop; lapping at your freshly spilled entrance like a thirsty dog.
“E-enough.” You tremble, shutting your thighs and turning onto your side, shirt drifting up under your neck and armpits leaving you mostly bare.
Heeseung sits up on the bed, kissing up the side of your thigh to your hip. “Wouldn’t have stopped, you taste so good.”
Now it’s your turn to hide, tucking your face into one of his pillows with a whine. “Ahh, don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” The clink of his zipper lowering follows, turning back around to lay flat and remove your shirt just in time to see Heeseung kick away his pants and boxers, cock standing hard against his stomach; high enough for the head to hit his navel.
He’s big too.
Biting your lip, you sit up to kiss him, making a face at the amount of slick still coating his chin. Heeseung had no plan to clean any of it off.
He stares at you wide-eyed and breathless, leaning over you until you lay flat on your back again, brushing hair away from your face. Going in for the kiss first this time, he opens your mouth up with an aggressive push of his tongue; licking inside of your mouth similar to the way he ate you out, messy, greedily drinking the spit that escapes past your lips. More swollen and bitten raw once he settles against your chest and scoops the back of your thighs around his hips.
Leaving your knees bent to cage around him, Heeseung smooths a palm down between your breasts, down past your stomach to grab a hold around his length. He bites down, already covered in your arousal in less than a minute of your lower halves touching. “So wet.” Mumbling to himself, he delivers a few strokes to his length, spreading your slick down to the tip, not that you need the extra lubrication.
Heeseung’s hand trembles around the base of his cock, a reminder of how nervous he actually is as he drags the tip between your folds, dipping in and out of your entrance just enough to have your head spinning. Pawing at his chest to give you more as he teases and groans at how loud the sound of your wetness radiates; pushed in and out against the kisses meeting his cockhead.
“Hee, please, please fuck me.” You say, feeling delirious with each empty deceived clench from your body, chasing after the stretch only his cock can give you.
Finally pushing in past the tip, his chest lays flat against yours, stealing the gasped moan you let out with a fierce kiss. Burying in deeper until he meets obstruction and lets a broken cry inside of your warm wet mouth.
“F-fuck me baby,” you moan, sucking his bottom lip in with hard bite. “Show me, show me.”
Heeseung’s forehead wrinkles, biting down and grinding his teeth to not whimper between short staggered breaths. He won’t last if he fucks you the way he really wants to. The way he needs to.
Nodding rapidly, he tries to memorize every squeeze that your soft wet wall's pulse around him. Wet, so insanely wet, pouring down to his balls, forming a mess between even his thighs. Heeseung lifts back with heavy eyes to watch your face fall apart, tongue lolled out with nothing behind your eyes but unruly lust. “Fuck me.”
He lets go, rolling his hips forward as hard and deep as you can take him.
“Oh fuckkk!” Heeseung gasps as you arch against him, slapping his chest with balled up fists. It’s better than either of you could have imagined, chasing a fast release off instinct alone while still holding back to make each sensation last longer.
“You’re so tight,” Heeseung says with a linger of pain in his tone. Taking a hold of your wrists, he pins them to your chest, gently shushing your cries. Slowly dragging his cock out halfway and back in to ease the stretch. “You okay?”
A choked moan passes through your lips, nodding fast. “S-so big.”
Kissing your chin, Heeseung nods and loosens his hold on your wrist, easing your hands to lay flat by your head. “Relax for me,” taking a deep breath, he pushes in to the hilt, lower back aching the more he holds himself back from fucking you in earnest and pounding you through his bed. “Can you do that for me?”
A faint ‘yes’ shudders out, losing your breath as he starts to drag his dick out, hissing with each reflexive clench you give him. Heeseung tries, he really tries to hold back, pushing through your heated resistance slowly, but with each glide back in a mess of slick wetness drips out past the intrusion of his size. The smear of wetness leaking down to his thighs in fat wads now, coating the back of your ass and thighs, making each collision of your meeting skin more debauched.
Another squeeze around him has a broken cry ripping from his throat, moistening the backs of his eyes as he finally breaks and snaps forward to bury in balls deep, making you feel every inch. Heeseung rides through your clamped heat, thrusts turning erratic with his digits finding purchase in your wrist; painfully digging his nails into the soft skin hard enough to leave behind marks of crescent moons.
Rapid tightening pressure around his cock draws more effort on his part, planting his knees on the bed to fuck you with more strength behind his hips. Through the wet layer fogging his gaze he finds your eyes, blown wide with your mouth hung open pouring saliva from the corners. His heart jumps fiercely enough to make him fear it could erupt, ears gone numb to all other than the wanton sounds of your whimpers traced between the song playing.
No one else has a hold over me like you do
You open up the covers, you lure me in
Tackle me anxious, back into bed
Well, I hope to discover all of your ways
This place is death, I know you feel the same
He can’t stop the embarrassingly desperate noises that drip from his mouth as he fucks you with renewed urgency, pressing down until you are chest to chest to snake his hands under your ass and push your hips against his. The new angle gets him in even deeper somehow, nose scrunched up as a strong wave of heat runs rampant in his stomach, tightening up the heavy weight between his thighs. “C-close—I’m so so c-close.”
Struggling to keep up his thrusts the more you tighten up, Heeseung shifts, smoothing down the side of your thigh to wrap around the back of your knee and push your thigh up. The mind-numbing pleasured cry you let out has him fucking into you with abandon, desperate to get you off before he can finish.
“Come on,” he grits, fingers digging into your leg, calve jostling by your head under the force of his weight pummeling against you. “C’mon baby.” He hits deep, the head of his length kissing your cervix, grinding with a low growling moan.
“P-plea—“ breaking off, your neck bends back, eyes meeting the back of your skull letting a silent cry fly free. Heeseung tries to fuck you through it, beginning to sweat down his face as he grips onto your leg harder and rams forward.
“Fuckmefuckme,” you babble deliriously between whimpers, tears spilling down your cheeks. “W-want it, cum inside me, f-fuck—want it, want it!” You moan, half pained by over sensitivity the longer he goes, reaching to run your fingers through his hair in search of something to pull on.
Heeseung grunts, leaning in to lick the droplets of salty tears dangling from your chin, gone senseless beyond the addictive warmth sucked around his cock. “I-I’m—fuck!”
A handful of sloppy thrusts more has his balls clenching up, so heavy where they slap and land against the crevice of your ass. He curses, burying himself as deep as your body can take to spill inside. Cock thrumming madly with each shot of hot streaks of cum pouring out. “C-cumming” he gasps, mouth gone dry with spit covering his chin, slumping down onto you with a long sigh.
“Hee..” you cough, leg dropping from his weakened hold. “Can’t breathe.”
“Sorry sorry..” Heeseung bites his lip, pushing his upper half up on numbed arms, slowly drawing his hips back. “Ugh..” he has to look away as white creamy release chases after his length, cock throbbing from the sight of your needy hole gaping open and shut. “Sorry for that..”
“It’s okay.”
He reaches for your shirt before settling back next to you, eyes heavy with sleep and cheeks bunched up from a lazy smile.
“I should probably go to my room before my mom wakes up.” You say sadly, dragging a finger down his lips. “Don’t want to.”
“Don’t want you to.” Heeseung kisses, chasing after your finger with an open mouth. “We can just tell her the truth, that you slept in here.”
“The whole truth?”
“Well, no..” he says, capturing the tip of your finger to suck around, slowly sliding off with a wet pop. “She’d probably never let you out of the house again if she found out about..”
“Yeah..” you share a look, sighing sadly. “Try not to dream of me too much, lover boy.”
Stepping back into your underwear with a grimace, you throw your shorts into his hamper, winking at him and ordering that he wash them for you before you exit.
Heeseung can feel his cheeks itch with heat again, covering his eyes with a smile. How can he still feel shy after all of that..
“Goodnight.”
“Nighty.” You say, cheeks aching from smiling so much.
“Well well well.” Sunghoon stands across the hallway as you do your best to quietly tiptoe your way out of Heeseung’s bedroom, jumping up and covering your mouth to not scream at his shadowy figure looming nearby. “What do we have here?”
“Hoon?” You say after a night of listening to Heeseung use the nickname over and over again. “What the hell are you doing out here? It’s like 3am.”
“I should ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing sneaking out of my brother's bedroom in the middle of the night, huh?” Sunghoon steps into the small streak of light coming through the hallway window, jaw flexed tight. “I told you that I’d find out.”
“What? By standing out here with your ear pressed against the door like some creep? What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Don’t change the subject.” Sunghoon corners you, pushing your shoulders against the wall. “And keep your voice down, you’re lucky our parents room is on the other side of the house with those dying animal squeals you were screaming out.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Anyway,” he traces down the side of your face, flinching away from his touch only for his hand to cup around your jaw and keep your eyes on him. “No more of this, I’ll let it go just this one time because you’re pretty dumb.”
“I don’t need to listen to anything you say.”
“Oh, but you do, don’t you?” He speaks softly, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “And you will.”
“Why? Because you’ll run and tell my mommy that you made me suck your dick for some test answers?” You sneer, slapping your palm on his forearm.
“I’m giving you a warning.” Sunghoon pecks your upper lip and Cupid’s bow, leaving out any mention of why. Not because he likes you or anything, not Park Sunghoon. “Take it seriously or don’t. Either way you’ll learn to listen to me.”
Pressing a firm kiss to your lips, he lingers, pecking the top and bottom over and over again. “Hate to think you let him defile that pretty mouth, almost repulses me to kiss you right now.”
Sunghoon backs up, raising an eyebrow and grabbing onto your elbows. “Let’s get you washed up before you go to sleep at least, you smell like cum.”
“Hoon, stop!” You whisper, panicked as he leads you to his bedroom. “Where are you taking me!”
Sunghoon kicks his bedroom door open, maneuvering you to his personal bathroom. “You can’t be this stupid.”
“Let me go!”
“Shut up.” He snarls, pushing you toward the shower door. “Get in there, and make sure you clean yourself good.”
“What the fuck is your problem?!” You whine, forced inside as he barricades the open glass door and leers at you, nodding his chin at your shirt.
“Tick tock, I’m waiting.” Sunghoon eyes the shirt hanging on your frame, reaching for the collar to pull on. “Is this Heeseung’s?! You’re wearing his clothes now???”
“Let go! You’re stretching it!”
Ignoring you, he pulls more, not even fazed by the slaps you deliver as he reaches for the hem and pulls the material up over your face leaving you no choice but to let him take it off. He lets out a sound of disapproval, reaching for the sides of your underwear. “You didn’t seriously let that asshole bust a nut inside of you.”
“Stop!”
Sunghoon growls, pushing himself inside the shower until your back meets the chilled tile wall with a shiver. “You’re more disgusting than I thought, when did you start fucking him? Before or after our parents got married.”
He doesn’t give you time to answer, turning the shower on with the water beating down on your head. “Can’t believe he fucked you before me.” He mutters, shoving your now completely soaked underwear down. “You probably think he’s so fucking nice, don’t you?”
Tears well up in your eyes before you can blink them away fast enough, slapping the heel of your palms on his drenched shirt. “You are the only asshole here.”
“You fucking like it.” Sunghoon smirks, uncapping a bottle of body wash to squirt on your chest. “Clean it all out, it’s bad enough I have to fuck you after he did.”
“What?!” He throws a brand new washcloth at you, stepping back to the door dripping water all over the bathroom floor, head snapping with command.
“Hurry up, my dicks getting hard watching you act so helpless.” He winks, reaching for the shower head to aim between your thighs, focused on the remnants of thick white cum seeping out from between your clenched thighs. “You let him fuck your ass too?”
Sunghoon asks as you turn away from him to reach between your legs and push out the last bits of Heeseung’s cum, nose scrunched in disgust from his comment. Pinching your buttcheek, he laughs, moving back to discard his wet clothing into a dirty hamper. “I guess you weren’t lying about not being a virgin after all, shame.” Licking the backs of his teeth, he scoffs. “My dicks bigger than his anway.”
“I’m going to my room.” You say, turning off the shower after rinsing the soap off of your skin. “And you are going to leave me alone.”
Sunghoon lets out a slow fake laugh, dropping his pajama bottoms when you turn to look at him. The white bathroom background illuminating his porcelain complexion, defined muscles flexing as he reaches for the top of the shower door, showing off his bare naked body. “Am I now?”
“Why do you even want me?”
He hums, making slow movements to bring down his arms and circle the ring on his finger, leisurely sliding it off and setting the silver band down on the bathroom counter. “Why do you think?
“You can have anyone you want.”
“Exactly.” Sunghoon tips his chin in, fitting his gaze down your wet chest and stomach. “And I want you.” Stepping back into the shower, he moves forward, a smile growing on one side of his face with each step back you take until you hit the wall again, chest rising and falling more rapidly as he looks over your figure. “Hard to believe, right?”
Tapping your nose, his index finger drags down from there, tracing the outline of your lips to your chin and the center of your neck. “Heeseung and I have always shared a similar type though.”
The mention of his brother makes you flinch, stomach churning with guilt as his finger lowers and flicks your nipples, breathily laughing the more you twitch under his taunting touch. “Or maybe he just always wants what I have.”
“You don’t have me.” You seeth under your breath, turning away from his steely gaze.
“Don’t I?” Continuing to trace, he circles your navel, smoothing the pathway lower to the heat between your thighs. “You want me to stop?”
Lack of response and eye contact pulls another laugh out of him, crawling his digits down past your mound to your upper thighs. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Lack of air clears your lungs, finding it impossible to breathe, shutting your eyes to ignore the guilt clawing through your chest from inside out. Sunghoon hums, sliding a knee between your thighs for access to your center. “Look at me.”
With a gulp, you blink, slowly lifting your gaze to find his eyes. Black large pupils stare back at you, ridden with lust and desire, he leans closer, mouth hovering yours. “Good girl.”
The middle of your chest caves, shoulders slumping in as he cups around your core and groans, lips pulled over his teeth. “Can’t say no when you’re already this wet.”
Sighing, you accept your fate knowing in the back of your mind that you could have tried harder to stop him, you should have tried harder to stop him…
Sunghoon’s eyes stay locked on yours, tickling lower until the tips of his fingers find your entrance and scoop up the embarrassing amount of slick that’s already begun to pour out. It’s only because his brother just fucked you, that’s what you say to convince yourself.
His hand raises between your faces, mouth dropped open letting out a dramatic gasp. “Look at that, so fucking wet it’s dripping down to my wrist, you dirty little..” he breaks off into a grin, shoving the coated fingers to your lips and pushing inside for you to gag around. “Taste it, that’s all for me. That’s your body begging for me.”
It’s not your fault he’s right.. even as you choke and spit around his digits finding the way to the back of your throat, you can’t deny the spike of heat building from your lower belly.
Sunghoon swipes his fingers clean of your wet arousal and spit over your chin and cheeks, further adding to how degrading he treats you. The way your heart hammers through your chest makes it hard to convince yourself that you hate it..
He lets out a throaty chuckle, licking the mess off your chin and biting down on your bottom lip. “You really are something.” A smug smile pulls at his lips, reaching up to move your wet hair behind your ears. “You even look pretty out of the shower, you know that?”
“..really?”
Sunghoon’s tongue prods between his lips, licking at one side proudly, eyebrows furrowing as what he just said settles. “Yeah..” stifling his breath, he backs away with a fake cough, stepping out uncomfortably. “I’m not going to fuck you in the shower though.”
Silence hangs between the two of you for a minute, telling yourself you could still try to leave… you could..
He backs up to the door, grabbing onto the sides halfway out of the bathroom into his bedroom, full eyebrows raised at you before turning away.
He’s right, you are stupid.
Sunghoon’s standing with his back faced toward you, waiting for you to make the next move. Reaching for his shoulder, you gingerly lay your hand down, already short of breath. “Hoon..”
“You want it?” He asks, voice deep, carrying a hint of a smile in his tone.
“Yes..”
Turning to you fast he pushes you to the wall, breath knocked out as his palms circle your waist. “What do I get out of it? Your used up pussy?”
“You get to fuck me.” Your mouth goes dry, lip shaking half from nerves, half out of anger. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“I can fuck you regardless.” Amusement carries in his voice, sliding one hand to your throat. “Better than he can too, wanna find out?”
With burning cheeks you duck your face in, tongue heavy in your mouth keeping your lips shut tight. “You really like him, huh?” He huffs, cursing under his breath. “That’s fine. I can change that.”
Sunghoon squats down, arms curling under your thighs to lift your feet off the floor, a cocky smile stretching across his face as he catches your shocked gasp. Propping your back against the wall, his teeth grit, hoisting your weight into his hold with added renewed strength, more determined to fuck your brain into nothing but a puddle of liquid. “Because believe me, he’ll never fuck you like this.”
His arms slide behind your knees getting a firm grip on your hips, cock dragging between your folds. “God, you’re so wet.” He sucks in a sharp breath, knees bending to get the head of his cock lined up with your hole. “Get this wet just from me being mean to you or what?”
His teeth grind, still managing to breathe a chuckle through his exertion. “Just wanna get fucked? Doesn’t matter if I put it in your throat or pussy, probably even let me fuck your ass right now wouldn’t you?”
“N-no..”
The tip of his cock tugs at the muscle of your entrance, prodding no more than the slit in, arousal jolting through you with each teasing pass. It takes a second between your chest tightening and stomach flipping over to realize Sunghoon’s palms have lowered, landing a stinging slap to cup your ass; slowly dragging your back upwards on the wall to allow for his cock to fully enter inside in one fell swoop.
“What was that?!” He growls, cock throbbing.
“Yes!” You breathe in, eyes rolling back, chest heaving up and down. “Please—fuck me, a-ah, fuck me!”
and Sunghoon listens, thrusting forward with a firm grind, cock fully sheathed rearranging your insides. “That’s right. Want me to fuck your pussy real good? Want me to fuck that pussy the way it deserves to be fucked?” He spits, eyes ablaze with a crazed want, need to release. The stretch from his cock still manages to burn and sting, unable to lock your legs around him from the position he holds you in, full control over your body left to his arms flexed around you; pushing past the clenched up fight of muscle wrapped around him.
“God so fucking good.” His hips pull back, snapping forward at a maddening pace; rocking into your heat hard and rough, enough to make it hurt. “Such a good girl.”
Shivers rock up your spine, powerless to his strength over you as you weakly grip onto his shoulders for balance and security out of fear of falling. “Hoonie..”
He groans, head tipping back listening to your muffled broken moans, the call of his name shooting straight to his cock. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.” He stammers, sweat collecting on his brow bone the more he exerts, hips unrelenting with each skin-slapping piston he delivers. “Don’t even know how fucking good you are.”
The veins lining Sunghoon’s neck pulsate violently, picking up his pace even more, balls slapping loudly throughout his bedroom with every thrust. The sound of wetness gushing between your bodies drills fear in your chest, loud enough that anyone passing by outside would be able to pick up easily on. “H-hoon… I’m—cum, I’ll c-cum..” you try to say clearly, on the verge of bursting around the unforgiving slam of his length.
“Fucking cum then! cum around my cock.” He doesn’t slow down, gaze focused carefully on watching the juncture where his dick disappears past your pulsating dripping wet cunt. Sucking in another sharp breath, he slaps your ass again. “Cum.”
That sends you flying over the edge, groaning out loud, arms gone limp over his shoulders; whole body jerking back against the wall from the overstimulation. Sunghoon fucks into you roughly as your release drenches past his cock, clapping the wet mess from his thighs to your ass, and it hurts, shocking your neck ramrod straight with wide eyes. “No—h-hurts!”
“Did I fucking cum yet?” He says between clenched teeth, dropping your jelly-like limp legs from his arms, punctuating the question with a particularly rough thrust. Breathing out harshly, he looks animalistic, wild eyes glaring at you before ripping your shoulder from the wall to slam you against it on your front; chest hitting hard stealing a gasp of breath from your lungs.
“I say when we are done.” He says, splitting your ass open to push his length back in. “You asked to get fucked, so you’re going to get fucked.”
Sunghoon groans, fingertips finding your hips to bury into, thrusting too hard and fast for you to fully enjoy. Round after round between the two brothers finally taking it out of you, whimpering in over sensitivity as he hits deep inside of you and rips another orgasm out of you, much weaker than the last. “Oh that’s so good,” he grunts, fucking into you harder. “The way your pussy sucks around me just like that.”
He keeps at it, muttering about how good your cunt feels the tighter you get. “I’d never fuck my girlfriend like this.” Sunghoon breathes into your ear, eyelashes fluttering wildly at the way you grip around him, and then he’s cumming. Cock buried deep inside, pumping out drop after drop of his release between breathless groans. “Fuck.”
Sighing, he drops flat against you kissing your sweaty nape.
“Now you’re going to listen to me once and for all.” He thrusts again, pushing out his cum with each backstroke. “And end this shit with my brother, or else I swear..” biting the shell of your ear he pants heavily, licking down to your earlobe. “I’ll make sure you both regret it. Don’t want that, do you?”
Layering kisses down your cheek, he bites your jaw down to your chin, burying inside to the hilt again. “Be a good girl.”
“Fuck off.” You mumble, more than past sensitivity between your thighs. Emptied and exhausted you fall back, slapping his forearm around your waist weakly. “No more.”
“Be quiet.” He grunts, turning you both around and throwing you down on his bed on your stomach, mounting your hips to line his cock back up to your hole. “And take it.”
Sunghoon’s an idiot.
At least that’s what you can’t help to think as he stomps into the kitchen and lets out an overdramatic wheeze at the sight of you squished against his brother’s side at the kitchen island.
“Well.” Popping his lips, he tucks them in, dimples pinching deep holes into his cheek. “Aren’t the two of you up early.” He says, eyes laser focused on you. “Did you even sleep?”
Heeseung stiffens up, swiping away from one of the videos he recorded during the concert; locking his phone and moving to stand.
“Hee, where are you going?”
Sunghoon scoffs, opening the fridge up aggressively in search of a protein shake, mouthing ‘HEE?!’ where he faces away from you.
“Uhm,” Heeseung scratches his neck, quickly glancing at his brother and then back at you. “Back to my room.”
“You have fun in there.” Sunghoon interrupts, mixing his pre-workout. “You.” Snapping his fingers in your face, he melts you in place with a sleek angry glare. “Tutoring in an hour, your professor emailed again and you have a test this week.”
“Yeah no.” Getting up to follow behind Heeseung, you flip Sunghoon off on your way out. “Can’t meet with you today, sorry! Don’t worry though, I’ll find a way to get some studying done.”
Sunghoon crushes the now emptied protein shake carton in his grip, stopping himself from running after you to drag you to his room by your hair. “What a little..”
Brushing off your attitude, he swipes open his phone to open up a chat with your mother to inform her of your negligence; emphasizing how worried he is over you passing this class, adding in that at this rate you will without a doubt fail.
He response comes in shortly, thanking him more than once for putting up with you. ‘She won’t be wasting any more of your time, I’ll be sure to cut off her subscriptions if she tries to pull this. Please give her one more chance Hoonie, you sweet darling boy❤️’
Smirking, he pockets his phone, counting down his fingers for the sound of your scream after the telltale ring of your cell phone carries from upstairs.
“What?! Mom! No!”
Feisty. Sunghoon laughs to himself, pleased on his way back to his bedroom only to be stopped by your figure running toward him.
“What is your problem!” You hiss, lightly shoving his shoulder. “You seriously fucking called my mom to snitch on me?”
“No,” Sunghoon pouts innocently, breaking into a smile. “I texted.”
Practically foaming at the mouth, you grab him by the shirt, pulling him toward your bedroom. “Listen to me asshole!” You shriek, using all of your strength to push him inside of your room, kicking the door shut behind you. “How many times do I need to tell you to leave me alone?!”
Sunghoon smiles, shrugging as he begins to look around your room. “You’re kind of turning me on, try saying it again.”
“Sunghoon!” Charging at him, you throw your body forward at his chest, knocking him back enough for his ass to plant on your bed, surprise drawing his eyebrows up his forehead.
“What happened to.. what was it again?” Snapping his fingers, he taps his chin, eyes widening. “Oh right! Hoon! Hoonie!!!” He drags out, moaning in a high pitched tone.
“Last night was a one time thing.”
“Sure,” Sunghoon leans back on his palms, biting a smile away as he eyes you. “Sucks that you left me to wake up alone though..”
Coiled heat spirals through your gut, forcing yourself to look away. “I don’t need to get in trouble because of your ass on top of everything, luckily for me I managed to wake up after you fucked me until I passed out. Asshole.”
“You liked it,” he smirks, sitting up to rub up and down the sides of your thighs. “Just like you like this…this rough-housing between us, the hot banter and childish little arguments.”
“You’re delusional, I don’t like any of this.”
Sunghoon pouts, pulling you to stand between his parted thighs and hug around your hips with his chin perched on your stomach. “You don’t like me?”
Heeseung clears his throat from your bedroom door, too caught up with his younger brother to even think that he’d come looking for you after bursting out of his room to ‘kill Sunghoon’.
“Sorry,” he says, beginning to back up. “Didn’t know you were busy.”
“Hee! No!”
Sunghoon stands up fast, pulling you into a full body hug so that you can’t turn around and chase after his brother. “Yeah Hee, we’re busy, scram.”
The older nods, slowly pulling the door shut with a broken expression. “Heeseung please!” You scream as a last stitch of effort. “Please! Don’t leave!!”
Sunghoon sighs, rolling his eyes and shoving you away. “Fine, let’s settle this shit right now.”
Heeseung pauses, eyes wide and alert bouncing back and forth between the two of you, the panic in your gaze pulling him inside like an invisible string to come in. “Settle what?”
“This.” Sunghoon repeats brazenly, motioning between the three of you. “You’re fucking her, I’m fucking her, better too.”
Heeseung scoffs, shaking his head.
“And I don’t like that.” Sunghoon continues. “So, what are we going to do about this? Big brother.” He carps, managing to make the title come across as an insult.
“Sunghoon, stop this!” You intervene, getting between them. “What about your girlfriend?!”
“Yeah Hoonie.” Heeseung says from behind you, moving closer until his chest meets your back. “You think Miyeon would love to know about how you cheat on her every other weekend with random sluts you meet at parties?”
Sunghoon shakes his head with a smug sneer, eyes rolling between an anxious blink. “And you Heeseung? Should I tell dad about your weekend adventures? The real reason you’re flunking out of uni? The truth behind why you’re such a fucking failure?”
Heeseung stiffens behind you, clutching at your shirt by your lower back. “Hee?”
“It’s not what you think Hoon..”
“What? So I just made up all those times I’ve had to watch you embarrass yourself, stumbling out of parties high and drunk off your ass?” Sunghoon huffs a cruel laugh. “Real nice, how you’d clearly rather fuck up your head than evolve, better yourself and try to not be such a low life prick.”
“Enough!” You interrupt, sensing the tension radiating off Heeseung’s body. “God.”
Taking a deep breath, you have to pause, remembering that you have only heard one side of this story…
“I’m doing better..” Heeseung whispers behind you, the bottom half of his face buried in his chest to hide. “Haven’t been going out the way I used to, I know I need to stop Hoon. I’m trying..”
“Oh Hee..” you turn, slinking your arms around his waist.
“Ugh.” Sunghoon pretends to gag. “Bullshit! Trying my ass! You’ve never tried to fix anything!”
Heeseung frowns, slumping in your hold, eyes falling shut. “I don’t know what else you want from me, Hoonie.”
“I want you to get the fuck up off my gi—“ Sunghoon catches his breath, pausing and stepping back, lips twitching furiously. “Fuck.” He turns, hands set on hips visibly shaking from the rage coursing through his body.
“You can’t just..” you start, chewing on your bottom lip, weighing if you’re overstepping boundaries too much. “Talk?”
Heeseung trembles, clearly living in some fear of his brother. A similar cycle to the one you’ve found yourself racing through..
“No!” Sunghoon snaps, twisting back around to face the two of you, features tight and full of anger. “I have nothing to say to him.”
Heeseung nods, rubbing down your back reassuringly. “It’s okay, I have a lot to explain to make this fair.”
“It’s okay Hee, really..”
Sunghoon sneers, muttering under his breath about how repulsive this is, regretting his need for confrontation.
“No no,” Heeseung continues. “Hoonie’s right, I’m a fuck up.. fucked up our relationship, fucked up my education. I fucked up my life, I know.” He reiterates, nodding and agreeing with Sunghoon. “I should have been there for you back then Hoon..”
The younger flinches, tearing his gaze away, jaw twitching. “Don’t bother, you’re too late.”
“Come on Sunghoon..” you say shakily, reaching for his hand, only for him to snatch it away. Taking a few steps back to create distance between you.
“Yeah..” Heeseung swallows, throat dry as tears gather at his waterline. “I know, but you’ll always be my little brother, and if you ever need me.. I’m here for you.”
“No you’re not.” Sunghoon sucks between his teeth, licking his lips and rubbing his eyes frustrated, using the fast action to clear away moisture. “If you’re serious then leave her alone, let me have this for once.”
“Hee, no, do not listen to him!” You speak up, glaring at the younger. “I’m not some fucking conquest Sunghoon, I’m a person, not a trophy to hold over your brothers head just because you have bad blood.”
“I didn’t say that.” Sunghoon snaps at you, baring his teeth. “Why are you even getting involved?! You’re just making this worse!”
“Hoon, come on dude.” Heeseung moves in front of you, shielding you as if his brother would do something that would require that.
Sunghoon’s eyes bulge, bloodshot with his temper skyrocketing, pushing up to his brother nose to nose, a spark of pride roaring through his chest at the lack of difference in their height. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Heeseung’s gaze lowers, running his tongue along the backs of his teeth nervously. “Nothing man, nothing.” Holding his hands up defenseless, he turns toward you, face drained of energy. “Sorry about all of this.”
“It’s okay baby,“ you console, burying your face in his chest, arms seeking his waist to squeeze around tightly until he gasps for a breath and breaks into a smile. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I can’t believe this.” Sunghoon barks, gaining your attention again.
“Hoon, listen..” without releasing Heeseung, you turn to face him, lip tweaking down slightly. “It’s not personal, but I like your bro—“
“Enough!” He shouts, stomping toward the door. Refusing to hear that for the second time in his life, one unforgettable heartbreak was enough already.
Sighing, you return to rubbing your face in Heeseung’s warm embrace, releasing the built up stress and negative energy circulating around you. Big hands soothe down your spine, setting soft barely there kisses on your forehead, mumbling under his breath. “Thank you.“
Sunghoon backs out quietly, blinking away the itch behind his eyes. Typical of his brother to never let him have anything, even the last days with their mother when he selfishly pushed his younger brother away and told him to stay in his room. Fucking asshole could never be there for him the way a normal sibling should be. Heeseung never once chose him over a woman, not their mom, not you, and not her.
He nods to himself, clicking the door shut behind him with his jaw set tight. It’d be too easy to walk away now, accept defeat, allow for Heeseung to kick dirt in his face once again…
But Sunghoon has never liked taking the easy route.
“Did you honestly think that was it?” Sunghoon leans against your bedroom door, stepping in and kicking it shut behind him, startling you as he makes his way in with a venomous glare laser focused on you. “Think I give up that easily?”
“Get out of my room!” You hurriedly whisper, getting up to push him back to the door. “What the hell is your problem!? Why do you keep showing up?!”
“You. Him. You’re both my problem.” Sunghoon sneers, taking a hold of your wrists to pin them down by your sides and press your back flush against the door.
“There’s nothing to give up!” Continuing to hiss, you thrust your weight forward, barely shifting his figure back enough to take a deep breath and lighten him off your torso. “You. Have. A. Girlfriend.”
“Semantics.” Rolling his eyes, Sunghoon waves off your annoyance. “A girlfriend, what’s a girlfriend to you anyway? The girl you met, shook hands with, and then proceeded to fuck her boyfriend anyway?”
“You!” Huffing, you beat his chest, using your strength to shove. “You know why!”
“Oh, because we made a fair trade? Your grades improve and I get in a nut once in a while.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Big fucking deal.”
“It is a big fucking deal you prick.”
“It wasn’t, until you did exactly what I told you not to do and fucked my brother.” He glares at you, forehead wrinkling at the mention of Heeseung. “The one thing I fucking asked of you, and now here you are, in love or some shit.” He says, hands raised to make quotations with a disgusted leer tugging his face down.
“You never told me to not..” sighing, you slump against the door, head aching as you wonder how this could possibly be your life. “Why do you even care?! I don’t get it.”
“You wouldn’t.” Stepping back, he saunters to your pinboard of clippings from magazines, quotes and poems about different parts of Europe you’ve dreamed of every summer. “But maybe you will, eventually.”
Sunghoon traces one of the phones of a couple skiing through the Swiss Alps, scoffing under his breath at the idea of you and his brother venturing off together on some romantic getaway. Chuckling under his breath he rips off the photo of the Venice Canals, turning back to face you.
“I’ll be sure to have my father’s assistant only book the best accommodations for us.” Sunghoon grins cockily, placing his hand along the side of your neck. “Five stars only, my princess deserves the best.”
“What?” You sneer, slapping his arm away. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Our dream summer vacation.” He says dumbfounded, mouth hung open offended that you dare to forget. “The one you’ve been working your ass off to better your grades for.”
“Hoon, what—“
“Because you don’t really believe you can just run off to Europe easypeasy after fucking not only one, but both of your step-brothers?!” Sunghoon gasps, grabbing at his chest dramatically. “What would your mother say?! Man, with how strict she is, she’d probably ship your ass off to live on your grandmother's farm in the middle of nowhere. At least that’s what she said over dinner that one time with Miyeon..”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t?” He smiles, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Can you be so sure?”
“But why?” You ask desperately, head beginning to throb from this back and forth.
Sunghoon shrugs sarcastically, eyes bulging out to mock you with an expression that flat out says ‘are you stupid?’.
“Summer in Europe.” He opens up your door, peering over his shoulder with a dazzling sharp grin. “Can’t wait.
cw: smut backshots, truth or dare a party some alcohol overstim fucking in a hallway playing hard to get reader
wc: 4K
-
The air inside Sunghoon’s apartment was thick with warmth, laughter, and the low thrum of bass-heavy music bleeding from the speaker in the corner. The living room, dimly lit by cheap string lights and the occasional glow of someone’s phone screen, was comfortably chaotic—half-empty beer bottles on the coffee table, abandoned playing cards scattered across the floor, and the faint smell of smoke drifting in from the open balcony door.
It was a typical night, the kind that started with everyone pretending to be responsible and ended with terrible decisions made over drinks that tasted like battery acid. At least, that’s how it always went with this group. Someone would drink too much. Someone would say something they shouldn’t. Someone would push a boundary just to see how far they could take it before it snapped.
Tonight, that someone was Jungwon.
His eyes had been on you all night. Watching. Waiting. Calculating. It wasn’t the kind of attention you could ignore, not when it felt like a slow, deliberate pull against your skin, a weight settling in the space between your shoulders. He was leaning back in the chair across from you, his posture lazy, one arm draped over the backrest like he had all the time in the world. The amber liquid in his glass swirled idly under his fingers, but his gaze—dark, unreadable, patient—never left you.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. At least, not yet.
Jungwon had always played this game too well. He never pushed outright, never gave too much away. Instead, he let his presence sink into the background, subtle but undeniable, like a whisper against the nape of your neck that you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. He was a walking contradiction—soft-spoken but sharp, polite but dangerous, calm but never still. Always watching, always waiting, like he was just biding his time until you let your guard slip.
And you hated it.
Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
If anyone else in this room looked at you the way he did, if anyone else had the audacity to sit back with that quiet little smirk and wait for you to break first, you would’ve shut it down in an instant. You would have rolled your eyes, called them a creep, and gone right back to pretending they didn’t exist.
But this was Jungwon.
Jungwon, who had spent the past few months testing you. Jungwon, who had a habit of getting under your skin in ways that felt almost calculated, like he was learning you. Figuring out what made you tick, what made you squirm, what made you second-guess yourself even when you swore you wouldn’t.
Jungwon, who knew you liked it.
The worst part was that he never actually called you out on it. Never forced the subject, never acknowledged the weight of his own attention, never once said anything that could be used as proof that any of this—whatever this was—was real. He didn’t have to. He just looked at you like he already knew the answer.
And the problem was, he wasn’t wrong.
The sound of Jake’s voice cut through the air, sharp and mischievous as always. “Alright, everyone shut up. We need a game.”
There was a collective groan from the group, though no one actually made an effort to leave. If anything, some of them perked up, already sensing that whatever Jake had in mind was going to be just chaotic enough to be entertaining.
“Please don’t say beer pong,” Sunghoon muttered, taking a slow sip from his drink. “I don’t have the patience to watch you throw a tantrum when you lose again.”
Jake scoffed, offended. “First of all, I have never thrown a tantrum in my life. Second of all, that was one time, and I should have won because—”
“No one cares,” Heeseung deadpanned, tipping his bottle in Jake’s direction. “Get to the point.”
Jake, unbothered as always, simply grinned. “Truth or Dare.”
This time, the reaction was immediate. Sunghoon groaned again, louder this time. Jay muttered something under his breath about how he should’ve left an hour ago. Someone else laughed, already grabbing another drink like they were preparing for whatever was about to happen.
You, however, felt something shift.
The second those words left Jake’s mouth, you felt it—a quiet but distinct shift in the air, an almost imperceptible pull that dragged your focus back to Jungwon.
Because when you finally did look at him, when your gaze flickered up and met his across the dimly lit room, you realized something that sent a slow, creeping heat curling through your stomach.
He was already looking at you.
He was smirking.
It was subtle, barely there, just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but you saw it. You felt it. That silent confirmation that he knew. That he had been waiting for this exact moment. That he had already won.
Jungwon’s voice was smooth when he finally spoke, quiet enough that you almost had to strain to hear him.
“I’m in.”
He said it like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t expecting anything from it, like he wasn’t sitting across from you with all the patience in the world as he waited to see what you would do.
It wasn’t fair.
The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. No one noticed the way Jungwon was watching you like he was waiting for something, like he had already decided exactly how this was going to play out and was just waiting for you to realize it too.
You weren’t about to back down.
Lifting your drink to your lips, you took a slow sip, ignoring the way your stomach tightened under the weight of his attention. When you set your glass down again, you leaned back into the couch, tilting your head slightly, and let your lips curl into something just shy of a smirk.
“Fine,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Let’s play.”
Jungwon didn’t react right away. He let the words hang between you for a second, stretching the tension just long enough to feel intentional, before the smirk on his lips deepened just slightly.
The game had started off simple enough. Truth or Dare. A childhood staple turned into an excuse to push limits under the guise of drunken amusement. Someone had already been dared to take three consecutive shots of the worst vodka in the apartment, another had been forced to send an embarrassingly explicit text to their ex, and at some point, Sunghoon had been dared to kiss Jay, which had resulted in an explosion of laughter and a very flustered Jay swearing he would get revenge.
But none of that mattered. Not to you. Not when Jungwon was sitting across from you, watching, waiting, looking as though he already knew exactly how this was going to end. He was relaxed, too relaxed, one arm slung casually over the back of the chair, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his thigh, his glass cradled in the other hand as he took slow, measured sips. But his eyes—dark, unreadable, knowing—were fixed on you, making the space between you feel smaller than it actually was.
He had been watching you all night.
It was subtle, the way his gaze never strayed for long, the way he seemed unaffected by the noise and movement around him. He was patient, unnervingly so, biding his time, waiting for the inevitable. There was something about him that always felt like a challenge, something that made it impossible to ignore him, even when you tried. And God, had you tried.
The worst part was that he knew.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
And when Jake spun the bottle and it landed directly on you, you knew it too.
The chatter in the room shifted slightly, just enough to signal that people were paying attention. Anticipation crackled in the air, feeding into the slight tension already woven between your shoulders. Jake grinned, the kind of grin that meant nothing good, and leaned forward.
“Alright, princess. Truth or dare?”
Your breath was steady, controlled. You could feel Jungwon’s eyes on you, heavy, expectant. If you picked truth, Jake would find a way to expose you. If you picked dare, you would be putting yourself at his mercy, at whatever fucked-up, boundary-pushing challenge he had been waiting to throw at you.
And yet, you still found yourself saying, “Dare.”
Jake’s grin widened, slow and satisfied, his gaze flickering between you and Jungwon.
“I dare you to sit on Jungwon’s lap.”
The shift in the room was immediate.
The laughter dulled, the conversations thinned out, and suddenly, it felt like every single person in the apartment was waiting for you to react. Even the music seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of your own breathing, too sharp, too aware. You weren’t looking at Jungwon, but you didn’t have to. You could feel him, could practically sense the amusement rolling off him in waves, the anticipation humming beneath his carefully crafted exterior.
There was no way out of this.
Not without losing.
And you refused to lose.
With a slow inhale, you pushed yourself up, moving toward him with measured steps, refusing to let the moment feel as monumental as it did. The second you reached him, he tilted his chin, his smirk deepening, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He just spread his legs a fraction wider, resting one arm lazily over the back of the chair, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, smooth, amused. “Scared you’ll like it?”
Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you rolled your eyes, acting unaffected, and sank down into his lap, gripping his shoulders for balance. It was meant to be simple. A dare. A game.
But the second you settled against him, you realized your mistake.
Because he was hard. Already.
A slow pulse of heat spread through your stomach, coiling tight, thickening your breath. You tried to shift, tried to find a neutral position, but the movement only made it worse, the friction sending an electric shock through your core. And Jungwon? He felt it. You knew he did. His fingers flexed against your waist, his grip firmer now, securing you in place before you could pull away.
His breath was warm when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper.
“…You’re wet.”
Your stomach plummeted.
Heat flooded your entire body, rushing up your neck, into your face, between your thighs. Every inch of you locked up, your hands tightening against his shoulders, your breath catching before you could stop it. And he felt that too.
The worst part was that he sounded satisfied.
He shifted beneath you, slow and deliberate, just enough to let you feel him, to feel everything. You sucked in a sharp breath, body going rigid, but his grip didn’t waver. If anything, he only held you tighter, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, barely grazing bare skin.
“Guess that answers my question.”
Your thighs clenched involuntarily, the pressure between your legs unbearable. Jungwon hummed, his grip tightening just enough to remind you who was in control.
“Careful,” he murmured, his fingers dragging over your skin. “Unless you want everyone to see how bad you want it.”
A shudder worked its way through you, a slow, involuntary reaction that only made him chuckle. His breath was steady, controlled, unaffected, while yours was dangerously close to ruined.
And then, before you could stop yourself—before you could think better of it—you moved.
Pressed down harder.
Jungwon inhaled sharply through his teeth, his fingers digging in. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, he slipped.
“You’re fucking with me.”
A slow, satisfied smirk curled at your lips, your nails dragging down his arms.
“Is it working?”
His hands snapped back to your waist, grip firm, unrelenting. His voice was lower now, wrecked.
“You better hope these people leave soon,” he muttered, his breath heavy, hot. “Because the second I get you alone?” His fingers slid lower.
“You’re done.”
-
The party was still going, but you weren’t there anymore. Not really. The room was a blur of half-drunk conversations and muffled music, voices blending into a meaningless hum as Jungwon’s words sank deep beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire. You’re done.
That should have been a warning. A threat. But all it did was send a pulse of heat straight to your core, an ache that made your thighs clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t have pressed down on him like that. You shouldn’t have let him feel how wet you were, how much you wanted this.
But it was too late. He knew. And now, he was going to make you pay for it.
Jungwon’s grip on your waist was still firm, fingertips pressing possessively into your sides as he leaned back slightly, his mouth brushing against your ear. His voice was low, calm, controlled—but beneath it was something darker. Something lethal.
“Get up.”
Your breath caught. He didn’t say it loudly, didn’t need to. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, made your stomach tighten with anticipation. You hesitated for only a second before obeying, pushing yourself off his lap, legs unsteady beneath you. He followed immediately, his movements smooth, purposeful, like he already knew exactly where this was going.
You barely had time to process what was happening before his fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip deceptively light as he led you through the crowd, weaving through the bodies without so much as a second glance. No one even noticed. No one saw the way his other hand lingered against the small of your back, or the way your pulse was hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.
He didn’t stop until you were in the hallway.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, you barely had time to take a breath before he was on you.
Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his body pressing flush against yours, heat radiating through the thin fabric separating you. His hands found your hips instantly, his grip strong, unrelenting, possessive. His eyes were darker now, heavy-lidded, filled with something filthy.
“You think you can fuck with me like that?” His voice was different now, rougher, his breath warm as it ghosted over your jaw. “Grinding on my lap in front of everyone, acting like you don’t want me to ruin you?”
Your breath stuttered. Fuck.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His hands were already moving, sliding lower, gripping your ass hard before yanking you against him, forcing you to feel how hard he was. The friction sent a shockwave through you, made your fingers clench at his shoulders as a quiet whimper slipped past your lips.
Jungwon chuckled.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
His lips found your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin as his fingers worked their way under the hem of your shorts. His touch was teasing, barely-there, cruel in the way he traced the outline of where you needed him most but never quite touched.
“You’re soaked, sweetheart,” he murmured, nipping at your jaw as his hand finally dipped lower, sliding between your thighs. “Did grinding on my cock do this to you? Or have you been dripping for me all night?”
Your head fell back against the wall, breathless, desperate, but he wasn’t satisfied yet.
His fingers barely brushed against you before he withdrew, bringing them up between you, glossed in your arousal. His eyes locked onto yours, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips. And then—he pressed them against your mouth.
“Open.”
A quiet, strangled noise slipped past your lips. His voice was a command, sharp and absolute, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. Your lips parted, your tongue flicking out instinctively as he pushed his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself.
“Fuck,” he muttered, watching the way your mouth wrapped around his fingers, the way your tongue licked over them, cleaning up every drop. “You really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”
You shouldn’t have moaned at that. But you did.
His eyes darkened even more, his breath coming heavier now. His free hand slipped behind your head, tangling into your hair before he pulled you into a kiss so filthy it left you dizzy. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking into your mouth like he wanted to consume you, tasting the wetness he had just fed you, owning it.
His hips rolled forward, grinding against you just right, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the party still happening down the hall, not the fact that you should be ashamed of how easily you were coming undone for him. All that mattered was the way he was fucking devouring you.
His hand slid back down, slipping inside your shorts this time, pushing past your underwear until he was touching you properly. You choked out a gasp against his lips, your nails digging into his arms as he dragged his fingers through your wetness, slow and deliberate.
“Goddamn,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”
You whimpered, grinding down against his fingers, shameless. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed him.
He must have sensed it, because his fingers curled suddenly, sliding inside with no resistance. Your body arched, your head tipping back against the wall, and he fucking grinned.
“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting deeper, watching your face with pure hunger. “Take it. Let me hear you.”
The heat between you was unbearable. You weren’t sure when you had lost control, when pride had melted into something desperate, something raw, something so shamelessly filthy that you didn’t even care anymore. Maybe it was when his fingers first pushed inside you, stretching you open, fucking you slow like he had all the time in the world. Maybe it was when he licked his own fingers clean, tasting you, groaning about how sweet you were like he was going to fucking devour you.
Or maybe it was right now, when your head tipped back against the wall, legs spread wide, his fingers thrusting so deep into you that you couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips.
And fuck—the sounds.
Lewd, wrecked, absolutely obscene. Squelching, wet noises filled the empty hallway, a disgusting testament to how completely ruined you already were for him. And you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You wanted more. You needed more.
Your thighs trembled around his wrist, your fingers digging into his shoulders, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. Not when you were this close to breaking. Not when your breath was coming out in shaky, broken whimpers, your body begging him without words.
But words were what he wanted. He wanted to hear you say it.
Jungwon slowed his fingers, barely moving inside you, just enough to keep the pressure, just enough to tease. His smirk was deadly, dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched you fall apart.
“You gonna beg for it?” His voice was smooth, dripping with arrogance. “Or are you still trying to pretend you don’t want me to fuck you senseless?”
A sharp whine ripped through your throat. Your head lolled forward, forehead resting against his shoulder, every ounce of shame burned away by the throbbing ache between your thighs. His fingers curled inside you, pressing against the spot that made your whole body jolt, and you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Please,” you gasped, nails clawing into his arms. “Fuck me, Jungwon. Please. I need it. I need you.”
The words left your lips before you could stop them.
And Jungwon stilled.
For a moment, it was silent. His breath hitched, his fingers pausing inside you like he hadn’t expected that, like he had assumed he’d have to drag the desperation out of you. But here you were, falling apart in his hands, pleading for him without hesitation.
His lips parted slightly, his gaze dropping down to where his fingers were buried inside you, then back up to your face, taking in your flushed skin, your half-lidded eyes, your slick dripping down his wrist.
“Fuck,” he muttered, almost in awe. “You’re really begging me, huh?”
His cock twitched against your thigh, hard as fucking steel, straining against his pants. His control was slipping. He was slipping.
And you wanted to break him completely.
You moaned, shifting against his fingers, your breath coming out in a messy, broken plea.
“Yes—please, please, please, I need you to fill me up—I need your cock inside me, I need you to ruin me, Jungwon, please, I’ll do anything.”
A low groan tore from his throat, deep and wrecked, his head tipping back for half a second before he lost it.
His fingers yanked out of you only to grip the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one swift motion. You barely had time to process before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the wall, his palm splayed across your lower back as he forced you into a deep arch. Your fingers curled against the wall, your whole body trembling in anticipation.
“You want it that bad?” His voice was deeper now, breathless, wrecked.
You whimpered, nodding frantically. “Yes—yes, please—”
He clicked his tongue, his hand smacking against your ass hard enough to make you cry out.
“Say it properly.” His cock pressed against your bare skin now, hot and leaking through his boxers, teasing where you needed him most. “Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”
Your breath shuddered. Your brain was gone. Completely useless.
“I—I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand, until I can’t even think—I want you to fill me up, make me your fucking mess, make me scream—”
Jungwon swore under his breath. And then—
He shoved his cock inside you in one brutal thrust.
A ragged, filthy moan punched out of your chest, your body stretching around him, the delicious burn of it sending a shockwave through your spine. Your fingers scrambled for purchase against the wall as he bottomed out, stuffing you so deep you could feel it in your stomach.
Jungwon groaned, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his breath ragged.
“Holy fuck,” he gritted out. “You’re so fucking tight—”
Your walls clenched around him, making his hips jerk involuntarily, dragging another obscene squelch from between your legs. The sound alone had him groaning, biting down on your shoulder.
And then? He snapped.
He pulled back only to slam back in, setting a brutal, relentless rhythm, fucking you into the wall so hard that the framed picture beside your head shook. Your moans turned into screams, high-pitched and desperate, bouncing off the empty hallway walls, but you didn’t care. You wanted everyone to hear.
Jungwon was panting now, wrecked, completely fucking gone.
“Listen to yourself,” he growled, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you back onto his cock as he slammed forward again. “Fucking screaming for me. You really wanted this, huh? Wanted me to fuck you stupid?”
Your answer was nothing but a broken sob.
His hand reached around, slipping between your legs, rubbing tight, filthy circles on your clit. The pleasure was unbearable, your whole body shaking, throbbing, and you could feel it—
The inevitable. The uncontrollable.
“Come for me, baby,” he groaned against your ear. “Come all over my cock—let me feel you fucking fall apart.”
And then—
You shattered. Completely.
A loud, broken wail tore from your throat, your body locking up, spasming around him as your climax ripped through you. Your walls clamped down so tight that Jungwon lost it immediately after, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a deep, wrecked groan.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The only sound was your ragged breathing, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. He stayed buried inside you, filling you up completely, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go yet.
-
The world outside the hallway didn’t exist anymore. Time had blurred into nothing but the aftershocks of pleasure, the slow hum of satisfaction thrumming through your veins as Jungwon’s body stayed pressed against yours, still buried deep inside you. The both of you were wrecked, breathing hard, coated in sweat and sin, the scent of sex thick in the air, clinging to your skin, to his.
You should have moved. You should have pulled away, found your clothes, pretended this never happened. But you didn’t.
Neither did he.
Instead, he tightened his arms around your waist, keeping you in place, his cock twitching slightly inside you, still hard, still refusing to let you go. A low hum rumbled against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your damp skin, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was raspy, sleep-heavy already, like he had decided that the night was far from over.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, your body still overstimulated, burning. You tried to shift, but the movement only made him groan, his cock pressing deeper, making you whimper.
“Jungwon—”
“Shh.” His fingers slid up your stomach, dragging against your overheated skin before slipping beneath your jaw, tilting your face back to him. His lips ghosted over yours, not quite kissing, just tasting. “You can take it, baby. Just stay like this for me. Let me feel you.”
A sharp exhale left your lips, your pulse throbbing at the thought. The idea of staying like this all night, full of him, stretched around him, completely owned by him. You swallowed hard, your nails digging into his arm, your whole body fighting between exhaustion and the craving for more.
But the heat in his eyes told you exactly what he wanted.
And you wanted it too.
You nodded, barely breathing, and his smirk deepened. His fingers slipped lower, brushing against your still-sensitive clit, making you jolt.
“Good girl.”
He adjusted his grip, guiding you both towards the bedroom, his cock still buried inside you, refusing to slip out,refusing to give you even a second to feel empty. The sensation was overwhelming, filthy, unbearably intimate.
By the time he reached the bed, he pulled you down with him, settling you into his lap, his back against the headboard, his arms locking you in place. His hands traced slow, lazy circles over your bare thighs, completely unbothered by the way your body trembled from exhaustion.
You wanted to speak. Wanted to ask him why he was doing this. Why he wasn’t letting go.
But you already knew the answer.
Because this wasn’t the last time.
This wasn’t going to be a one-night thing, a mistake you could brush off in the morning.
Jungwon wasn’t going to let you forget this.
He shifted slightly, his cock twitching inside you, making a filthy, wet sound escape from between your legs, making your head tip back, your breath catching. His grip tightened.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not letting you leave until I’ve fucked you in every way I want.”
A sharp whimper escaped your lips, your fingers digging into his chest as he tilted his head, studying you like he was memorizing the way you were already breaking for him.
“You know that, right?”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your entire body was buzzing, aching, ruined.
Jungwon smiled, smug, knowing, victorious.
His hand slid up your back, gripping the nape of your neck as he pulled you forward, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. The kind that sealed the truth neither of you had spoken out loud yet.
This wasn’t the last time.
Not even close.
Because you were his now. And he had no intention of ever letting you go. Not until you knew exactly what it meant to belong to him.
summary: you know what they say, never answer a call from your boss when you’re drunk off your mind—oh, and never tell him that he desperately needs to get laid.
word count: 6.4k
warnings (18+): smut. swearing. pet names (sweetheart, baby). alcohol. kissing. heavy petting. spanking. semi-public sex. rough sex. office sex. unprotected sex. light teasing. minor brat taming (?). slight dacryphilia.
MINORS DNI!!
A/N: been dying to do an office siren fic for the longest time, lol. and being a huge fan of ‘the devil wears prada’ this just had to be done.
People-watching was a secret pleasure.
When writer’s block struck or your motivation dipped, your gaze naturally wandered across the sea of Vogue employees—the editorial department, buzzing with energy, some typing furiously, others fighting off yawns as they cradled half-empty lattes.
It was a vibrant chaos, punctuated by the occasional sound of heels clacking or phones ringing.
For the past week, your unofficial subject of interest has been Audrey Klein, one of the junior beauty editors.
Every day at precisely 1:00 PM, Audrey would reapply her signature lipstick—Dior Addict 922, a sultry red that had headlined Vogue’s “Power Lips for Winter” feature last month.
She’d peer into her compact mirror with laser precision, tousle her bangs into submission, and sashay toward the pantry with the confidence of a supermodel strutting the red carpet.
Her heels echoed through the bullpen, catching a few glances like she anticipated. The cacophony of staff chatter and the steady hum of keyboards seemed to fade when she passed.
“She’s at it again,” Anton, your cubicle neighbor and the office gossip, murmured as he perched on the edge of your desk.
He nodded toward the pantry where Audrey now leaned against the counter, laughing at something your features editor, Park Sunghoon, had just said.
“Do you think he even notices her?”
Park Sunghoon was practically a Vogue institution. At a young age, he gracefully ascended to Features Editor after a meteoric rise from editorial assistant.
With his impeccable tailoring, razor-sharp instincts, and a résumé that included stints at L’Officiel and Harper’s Bazaar, Sunghoon embodied everything Vogue stood for: brilliance, beauty, and an aura of untouchable mystery.
But the real excitement around the office? Sunghoon was devastatingly handsome. Unfairly so, as Anton liked to say.
He was like a dreamboat from Ancient Greek mythology, beautiful eyebrows, perfectly aligned moles, hypnotic brown eyes that seemed to see right through you—and a smile that drove the young seasonal interns crazy, though that was a very rare occasion.
And yet, he was maddeningly aloof, entirely unbothered by the countless women who lingered a little too long at his desk.
“Dedication or desperation?” you mused, glancing at Audrey. “I’ll never understand why everyone worships him. He’s…exhausting.”
Anton snickered, twirling a pen effortlessly between his fingers. “He’s also fine.”
He stops, tapping the pen against his chin in pensive thought, “I guess his beauty is an apology for his scary personality.”
Anton was only partially right.
Sometimes, you hated the way your stomach would twist whenever he glanced at you during a meeting, willing away your unfathomable fantasies—because, at the end of the day, his looks couldn’t overcompensate for his personality.
Park Sunghoon terrified you.
Not in the obvious sense though. He wasn’t loud or explosive. Sunghoon didn’t need to raise his voice to make his point. He could slice through your confidence with a single look or a flat, unimpressed tone.
And yet, despite the intimidation, you couldn’t help yourself.
You were stubborn. Always had been. And that stubbornness meant that every time he ripped apart one of your articles—usually with a sigh and a biting comment—you couldn’t just sit there and take it.
You’d defend yourself, argue your points, even as your palms got clammy and your voice wavered just slightly under the weight of his simmering gaze.
“You’re insufferable,” Sunghoon said once, after a particularly heated debate over a piece you’d written about emerging fashion tech trends.
You’d stayed late in his office, going back and forth until he finally waved a hand and let you keep half your original draft.
“And you’re impossible,” you’d shot back, clutching your notes to your chest like a shield.
But you’d do it anyway. You’d rewrite your drafts, re-interview sources, and pull all-nighters just to meet his exacting standards. No matter how stubborn you were, the truth was you always gave in.
You did everything Park Sunghoon requested—eventually.
And maybe that was what frustrated you most. Because no matter how hard you fought, he always won in the end.
It wasn’t just you, either. Sunghoon had a way of getting under everyone’s skin. You’d seen seasoned journalists break under his criticism, storming out of meetings or retreating to the bathroom to cry.
He was unrelenting, unapologetic, and always right—or at least, he acted like he was.
Still, despite everything, you weren’t like the others. You didn’t quit. You didn’t crumble.
And that, in itself, was something of a miracle.
Sunghoon had once acknowledged it in his own infuriating way—after tearing apart one of your drafts and sending you back to rewrite for the third time, he’d leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re stubborn. But you’re good. That’s why you’re still here.”
It wasn’t a compliment—not really. But coming from him, it almost felt like one.
So yes, Park Sunghoon intimidated you. He frustrated you. Sometimes, you even despised him.
You grumbled, returning to the half-written article on your screen. “101 Tips to Get the Guy” wasn’t your finest pitch, but it had been approved begrudgingly.
Now you were stuck trying to make a glorified listicle feel worthy of Vogue.
“Oh- three o’clock,” Anton whispered knowingly before retreating to his own desk.
The sound of Sunghoon’s voice startled you.
“(Y/N),” Sunghoon greeted, appearing beside you. His tone was just as sharp, cutting through the din of the office.
He held a coffee cup—likely a black coffee, cold foam, his usual drink of choice—and a clipboard tucked under his arm.
“How’s the article coming?”
You turned, only to be met with the sharp lift of his brow. He adjusted his glasses, the motion precise and maddeningly deliberate.
“Don’t bother lying.” His voice was cold, laced with quiet disdain. “I’ve seen you staring at Audrey all day.”
“I wasn’t…” you trailed off, voice growing small as his brown eyes narrowed slightly, looking away as your face flushed.
“Sure,” he said dryly. “Bring me what you have. My office. Ten minutes.” Sunghoon didn’t wait for a response, striding back to his glass-walled corner office.
You winced, shrinking into a puddle while Anton flashed you a sympathetic smile. “Great,” you groaned under your breath, scrambling to pull your draft together.
Sunghoon’s office was as intimidating as the man himself: a sleek mix of polished mahogany and chrome, with towering shelves of art books, Claude Monet impressions and archival issues of Vogue.
He leaned against his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking like a dreamy editorial spread come to life.
But this somehow felt more reminiscent of a REM Nightmare.
“Let’s see it,” he said, motioning for you to hand him the printout of your article.
You stood awkwardly, clammy hands clasped behind your back as he scanned the first few paragraphs.
The silence was deafening.
Crashing a friend’s psychology class one time in college, could only tell you so much about body language.
Furrowed brows, then raised. Short, irritated huffs between each paragraph—the bottom line? It wasn’t looking good.
After a moment, he sighed—long and dramatic—before dragging a hand through his hair and shoving his glasses up into it.
Why did he have to look so hot when he was disappointed?
“This… reads like something out of Seventeen magazine.” Sunghoon dropped the pages onto his desk with a thud.
“Excuse me?” you said, trying to keep your voice even.
“This isn’t Vogue, sweetheart,” he continued, ignoring your indignation. “This is…fluff. A cute checklist for teenagers who are still figuring out contouring. We don’t do fluff here. We do substance. Style and sophistication. This? It’s juvenile.”
Your fists clenched at your sides. “With all due respect, Sunghoon, the concept was approved. I’m simply delivering exactly what was asked for.”
Sunghoon straightened, his sharp gaze pinning you to the spot. “And I’m asking you to elevate it. Vogue readers don’t need ‘101 Tips to Get the Guy.’ They need insight. Depth. Why not reframe it? Something like, ‘The Science of Seduction: Beauty Hacks Proven to Work.’”
“That’s…” You paused, begrudgingly acknowledging it was a better angle.
“It’s Vogue,” Sunghoon said simply, leaning back. “Rewrite it. And please, try not to bore me this time.” He waved you off like a rejected textile, dismissing your presence as he made a call.
The walk back to your desk felt much like a walk of shame, slamming your notebook down with a frustrated sigh.
“Rough?” Anton asked, biting into his sandwich.
“Rough is an understatement. Sunghoon called my article juvenile,” you hissed, collapsing into your chair.
Anton shrugged. “He’s probably just stressed y’know? Winter issues are always chaotic.”
“Yeah, but chaotic doesn’t give him the right to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Honestly, he just needs a good lay.”
Anton almost choked on his food, “with his face?” He smirked, “He probably gets more action than anyone here.”
“With his personality?” you countered, turning to his office.
Over the frosted partition, you could spot him pacing, grateful you weren’t the one being yelled at over the phone.
“Highly doubtful.” You continued.
Anton raised an eyebrow. “I…wouldn’t be so sure. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you wouldn’t mind finding out yourself.”
Your glare could’ve melted steel. “Not even in my worst nightmares.”
But even as you said it, your mind wandered—briefly—to how Sunghoon had looked leaning against his desk, adjusting his tie with his sleeves rolled up, tearing your work to shreds.
Infuriating. And annoyingly hot.
But he was still an insufferable prick. So, you pushed the thought aside and focused on your screen, hammering out an article that might—just might—finally earn a fragment of his approval without the usual snide remarks.
The city sparkled under the glow of Manhattan’s nightlights, alive with the usual buzz of life roaring in the busy streets.
The day of work was finally over, and you, Anton, and Yunjin, fresh from the trenches of Vogue, stood on the corner of Fifth Avenue impatiently flagging down a cab in the gelid air.
Yunjin had her coat draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape, exuding effortless elegance as always, while Anton clutched a bag of takeout fries he’d snagged from a food truck on the way out.
“Where are we going again?” you asked, voice slightly muffled by the scarf you were wrapping around your neck.
“Lustra,” Yunjin beamed, checking her phone with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Chic but not pretentious—and they make a mean Moscow mule that’ll change your life.”
Anton let out a low whistle, his breath slipping through the sharp hisses of cold air. “It better for the prices they charge. You sure they’ll let me in? I’m just a humble journalist. Not exactly a hot commodity like you two.”
“Oh please, Anton,” Yunjin scoffed, stepping gracefully into the cab that had finally pulled up. “You’re literally gorgeous, they’ll let you in.”
Lustra was everything Yunjin promised: dim lighting, plush velvet seating, and a DJ spinning music at just the right volume to feel alive without completely drowning conversation.
The three of you nestled into a corner booth, Moscow mules in hand, and dissolved into the kind of freewheeling, tipsy conversation that made you forget the stress the day had given you.
Yunjin, as usual, was glowing—slightly moving to the music’s beat. “Did I mention Scarlett and I hit six months last weekend?” she said, her tone humble yet smug.
“Congrats!” you said sincerely, raising your glass as the man beside you gave the beaming girl a congratulatory hug.
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Anton groaned sarcastically. “Meanwhile, I went on a date with a girl who ditched me the second I started talking about my favorite filmmakers. Can you believe that? How do you date someone who doesn’t know who Coppola is?”
You paused, a bit confused, “wait, Francis or Sofia?”
“Sofia.” Anton simply states and Yunjin snorts into her drink, “Okay, very tasteful but you really need to leave the fanboying for like, fifth dates, Anton.”
“What about you, (Y/N)?” Anton asked, eyeing you amusingly, nudging your shoulder. “Any love life updates?”
You swirled the remnants of your drink. “Not much to report. Between deadlines and Sunghoon riding my ass, I barely have time for one-night stands,” you paused, downing your drink, “let alone a relationship.”
Anton chuckled. “Oh, here we go again. Another Sunghoon rant incoming.”
“No, seriously!” you insisted, waving your glass.
“That man is the bane of my existence. He’s so uptight, and his looks—fine, I’ll admit he’s hot—do not make up for his sour mood. And you know what he needs? A good one-night stand. Someone to take the edge off so he’ll stop ruining my life.”
Yunjin raised an eyebrow, her lipstick-stained glass hovering mid-air. “And who, pray tell, is this mysterious someone?” She shot a brief conspiring glance towards Anton who smirked.
“Yeah…do we know her?”
“Oh, shut up,” you shot back with a roll of your eyes, laughing. “It’s not me. I wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole.”
“Hmm,” Anton said, smirking. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
You were just about to retort when your phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen making your stomach drop.
“Oh, no,” you groaned.
“What?” Yunjin asked, leaning in.
“It’s Sunghoon,” you said, swiping to answer. “I’ll be right back.” You sifted through the crowd, briefly apologizing for the noise as you stepped out.
Outside, the winter breeze bit at your skin as you stepped away from the club’s noise. Sunghoon’s voice finally came through the line, crisp and formal. “(Y/N), I need you to come into the office. Fifteen minutes.”
Your eyes widened as you slowly processed his words, holding back an incredulous laugh—at this hour?
“Are you serious?” you asked, irritation creeping into your tone.
“Very,” Sunghoon replied. “Unless, of course, you’re too busy… gallivanting at clubs.”
Oh you could taste his sarcasm on your tongue, and you would’ve let it slide if it wasn’t filled with such derision.
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Gallivanting? People with hobbies call it living, Sunghoon. You should try it sometime.”
His radio silence on the other end—or maybe the alcohol—suddenly gave you the courage to keep going.
“Screw it, you know what your problem is?” you said, words spilling out faster than your brain could process them.
“You’ve got a lot of pent-up anger, and you know what the cure is? Getting laid. Seriously, you’d be doing everyone a favor. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a miserable ass all the time.”
“Excuse me?” he said, his voice colder than the air around you.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re gorgeous, fine. But your personality? Yikes. That’s probably why women run the other way. Just…” you groaned, “let your inhibitions go for one day, Sunghoon.”
“Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing in the fucking cold because of you!”
With that, you hung up, your heart pounding.
You brushed the setting panic away as you stepped back inside.
You didn’t remember much after that. Brief flashes of hitting the dance floor, and sipping a couple more drinks flickered in your memory, until Anton took you home.
The next morning, you stumbled out of the elevator nursing a hangover that could bring a lesser mortal to their knees.
Sporting oversized sunglasses and clutching a venti black coffee, you mustered up weak smiles to your coworkers in greeting, before you slumped into your chair.
“I must say, those glasses go with your blazer quite well.” Anton greeted you with a knowing grin.
He handed you a Tylenol, and you pouted at him with a grateful smile.
“Rough night?”
“You could say that,” you muttered, sipping your coffee.
“Remind me to never drink like we’re in college again.” You groaned and your best friend chuckled, “but it was fun, our first night off since like, ever.”
“At least I could sleep in after that.” You whined, recalling your haphazard morning routine when you missed your alarm.
Anton leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ooh, looks like someone else had a rough night, too.”
You followed his gaze to Sunghoon, who was pacing the office, angrily critiquing an intern's layout with the precision of a surgeon.
You watched the intern subtly dab a tissue at her eyes when he walked away, immediately restarting her layout.
“Uh-oh,” Anton whispered. “What’s his deal?”
Wait…
Your jaw dropped in horror, as the memories of your call flooded back, ducking under your cubicle.
Anton noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”
You turned to him, eyes wide. “I think I know why he’s in such a bad mood…”
In a hushed, frantic whisper, you told him everything, recounting your drunken tirade from the night before.
Anton stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and glee—grin growing by every word and detail you dropped.
He placed his croissant down slowly, like he needed his hands free to fully process the chaos.
“You what?” he whispered, leaning in so close it felt like he was about to crawl into your lap.
“I told him to get laid!” you hissed, slumping further into your chair. “I basically said his entire personality is why women run screaming! And I said it while I was drunk in the middle of the street!”
Anton’s face twisted as he tried—and failed—to suppress his laughter. “Oh my God, (Y/N). You didn’t just burn the bridge. You nuked it.”
“Not helping, Ant!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Anton paused, his grin so wide it looked painful.
“Let- let me get this straight. You—our beloved, mild-mannered coworker—called Park Sunghoon, the Ice King of Vogue, an uptight, sexually frustrated killjoy who needs to let loose. Do I have that right?”
“Essentially,” you muttered through your palms.
Anton sat back, folding his arms with a hum as if to fully savor the moment. “You realize you’re my hero now, right?”
“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, peeking over your sunglasses to make sure Sunghoon wasn’t within earshot. “He’s already in a bad mood. What if he fires me?”
Anton waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Sunghoon doesn’t fire people. He just makes their lives a living hell until they quit.”
“Great,” you deadpanned. “Super comforting.”
“Honestly, though,” Anton said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “he probably needed to hear it. You’re not wrong. He is an uptight control freak, and let’s be real, he could use a night of… recreational activities.” He let out a chuckle, stopping himself when he noticed your glare.
“You’re supposed to help me, not encourage my demise.”
Anton smirked. “Fine. Damage control time. First, don’t mention it unless he does. Second, be professional, act like nothing happened. And third…” He trailed off, eyes lighting up mischievously.
“What?” you asked warily.
He grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing out, “if he does bring it up, double down. Tell him you’re just looking out for his uh well-being.” He covered his mouth to avoid another giggle from slipping through.
You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “I’m doomed.”
At that moment, Sunghoon walked by your desk, his perfectly tailored suit somehow making him look even more intimidating.
He glanced in your direction—just a flicker of his sharp dismissing glare—before continuing down the hall.
Anton leaned closer. “That look was…scary.”
“His looks are always scary,” you muttered, though your stomach churned with nerves.
“No, this was different,” Anton stated. “This was like…‘I’m planning your funeral and choosing tasteful florals for the casket’ scary.”
Before you could respond, Yunjin appeared, holding a stack of mood boards and looking utterly unbothered. “Why do you two look like someone just died?”
“Oh, no one’s dead,” Anton said cheerfully. “But (Y/N)’s career might be.”
“Thanks, Anton,” you said dryly.
Yunjin raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”
Anton wasted no time filling her in, embellishing just enough to make your drunken tirade sound like a full-on Shakespearean monologue.
Yunjin listened, her expression shifting from confusion to horror to amused admiration.
“Well,” Yunjin said finally, “at least you were honest.”
“That’s not helping!” you snapped.
She giggled with a hopeless shrug. “Look, if he hasn’t confronted you about it yet, maybe he’s letting it slide. Or maybe he secretly agrees with you.”
Anton snorted. “Yeah, because Sunghoon is definitely the kind of guy to take constructive criticism well.”
Yunjin looked thoughtful. “Or,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “he’s planning to make you pay for it in the most passive-aggressive way possible.”
You groaned again, face sinking further into your hands. “I need a time machine.”
“Or a therapist,” Anton said.
“Or both,” Yunjin added.
The three of you fell silent as Sunghoon reappeared, this time striding toward his office with a stack of proofs in hand.
He didn’t look at you, but the tension in his jaw was impossible to miss.
“Yep,” Anton concluded. “He’s plotting your doom.”
You shot him a withering glare. “I hate you so much.”
“Don’t worry, (Y/N)” Anton said with a grin. “If he does fire you, I’ll buy you a consolation martini.”
“Because that’ll fix everything,” you muttered sarcastically as you mentally prepared for whatever wrath Sunghoon was surely about to unleash.
The office printer room was its own little world—tucked into the far corner of the writers floor, dimly lit, and constantly humming with the soft whir of machines churning out drafts, proofs, and pitches.
It was the perfect place to avoid people, particularly a certain brooding features editor who had taken up far too much real estate in your thoughts since last night.
You spent the morning successfully avoiding him, hiding back in your workspace and typing whatever nonsense to look busy, pretending to speak to coworkers when he passed by and making your coffee in the fashion department.
But, of course, you couldn’t evade him forever.
Every passing moment was spent trying to find the right words to say something when your worlds inevitably collided.
You tapped your foot impatiently as the printer sputtered and beeped, taking its sweet time with the twenty-page document you needed for your pitch meeting tomorrow.
You glanced at the door nervously, praying that fate wouldn’t bite you in the ass.
What would you even say? You’re sorry you told the truth? You’re sorry you got “unreasonably” upset that he called you off work?
“Six more pages,” you muttered under your breath, watching the slow machine spit out the pages like it was mocking you. “Just six more…”
The door creaked open, and for a brief, foolish moment, you thought about pretending you hadn’t heard it. But then you caught a whiff of cologne, that telltale wood scent with notes of vanilla and bergamot.
Only he would wear Tom Ford.
“(Y/N).” His voice was low, clipped, and far too close for comfort.
You forced yourself to look up. Sunghoon stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a folder.
Even without the blazer, he looked effortlessly immaculate, his white shirt sculpted to perfection, his expression a familiar mask of indifference—except for the way his jaw ticked slightly when your eyes met.
“Mr. Park,” you greeted, your voice straining for neutrality.
You turned back to the printer, focusing on the flashing green light like your life depended on it.
Sunghoon took a few steps closer, the sound of his leather shoes on the tile making your pulse quicken.
“Avoiding me?” he asked casually, but there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach drop.
“No,” you quickly lied.
The printer suddenly shut off, and you cursed under your breath—grabbing whatever stack of papers remained.
You didn’t even bother aligning them, too focused on your escape. “Just busy. You know how it is.”
You turned to leave, but Sunghoon sidestepped, blocking your path. “Busy club hopping?” he asked, arching a brow.
Your face burned.
Of course he remembered.
“I had a night off, it was a personal evening” you said, clutching the papers to your chest like they could shield you from his piercing stare.
"Hmm. Personal," the tall male repeated, the word dripping with irony. "Interesting. Because I recall a very personal call from you last night.”
You cringed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
“Something about my... personality? Stressed. Uptight. And my supposed need for, what was it again? Oh, right-getting laid." Sunghoon’s voice was calm, but the restrained anger in his tone was palpable.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your brain scrambling for something, anything, to say. “I—well, I was…drunk.”
“Clearly.” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Drunk enough to think that telling your boss at midnight to psychoanalyze his personal life was a good idea.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.
“Drunk enough to suggest that I—how did you put it?—‘let my inhibitions go.’”
The way he said it made your face flush even hotter, and your thoughts briefly betrayed you, wondering what it would look like if he ever did.
“Look, I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “It was unprofessional, and it- it won’t happen again.”
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
“You’re right,” he said after a moment.
“It was unprofessional. And reckless. And frankly…” He leaned in, just enough to make you feel the heat of his presence. “…you’re lucky I don’t have HR on speed dial.”
Your heart was pounding now, and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear, embarrassment, or the undeniable air crackling between you.
“I said I’m sorry,” you said, your voice coming out softer, more desperate than you intended. “I shouldn’t have said—any of that.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. He simply stepped closer, gaze locked on yours, unreadable and unrelenting.
“Sorry doesn’t fix it, sweetheart.” he said, his voice low and almost dangerous.
“You don’t just…” he trailed off, his eyes dragging over you slowly. “Get to say whatever you want and walk away.”
You stepped back again, only to feel the cool, unyielding surface of the printer against your back.
He was close now—too close. The scent of his cologne made your head spin, and you couldn’t tell if it was the lingering hangover or his intense presence.
“I wasn’t trying to—” you stammered, your throat dry. “I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what?” Sunghoon interrupted feigning confusion, his hands braced on the machine on either side of you, trapping you in.
“Didn’t mean to call me uptight? Didn’t mean to tell me I needed to get laid?” His tone was sharp, but his gaze softened ever so slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.
Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and you hated how your breath hitched as his face inched closer.
The atmosphere between you was suffocating, the air charged and stifling all at once.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
“I—I was drunk,” you reasoned again, your voice barely audible.
“And yet,” Sunghoon murmured, leaning down slightly, his dark eyes boring into yours, “you said it. You think I don’t know what you meant?”
You could feel the faintest brush of his breath on your skin as he bridged the thinning gap. Your knees felt weak, and your grip on the papers loosened slightly.
You turned your head, trying to look anywhere but at him, but he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face back toward him.
“Look at me,” Sunghoon said, his voice quieter now, almost a command, but it wasn’t harsh—it was soft, almost…intimate.
You obeyed, your eyes flickering to his, and that was your mistake.
His gaze flicked down briefly to your lips, and your breath caught as his face drew closer, his lips just inches from yours.
The tension was unbearable at his point. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Every logical part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to say something, to step away. But you couldn’t.
And then, before you could think it through—before you could stop yourself—you surged forward, crashing your lips against his.
The stack of papers in your hand fell to the floor in a forgotten mess as your hands reached up instinctively, clutching the fabric of his well pressed shirt.
He groaned against your lips, his voice rough and full of something you couldn't quite name.
For a second—a fraction of a second—you thought Sunghoon might pull away, but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.
It was everything you didn’t know you needed—hot, consuming, and utterly intoxicating. The taste of espresso and something uniquely him lingered on your tongue as his fingers tightened around your waist, anchoring you to the moment.
You only briefly pulled back, gasping for air, before Sunghoon’s lips chased yours again, kissing you with a force that almost made your knees buckle.
It was frantic, needy and messy in a way that came from too much tension snapping at once.
Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your hands rushed for his buttons, each one revealing a much more intimate vision of him only the naive interns could dream of.
Your hands landed on his chest as he lips grazed along your jaw, planting kisses on your neck that made you fall back in breathy sighs.
They traveled up his neck and into his soft dark strands, moaning softly as he skillfully unbuttoned your blouse, palming your breasts over your lace bra hungrily.
Without any warning you were quickly spun around, and bent over the printer, a soft gasp escaping your tingling lips at the cool contrast of the machine on your hot skin.
“Is this what you meant?” He asked, hating the way your heart skipped at the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you.
His hand crept up your skirt, sending shivers up your spine as he hooked his fingers around the band of your panties, tugging them down without care.
You felt your cheeks flush at the cool air hitting your glistening cunt, practically aching for him.
“Hmm?” He mused, awaiting an answer before landing a sharp, yet pleasurable smack on your ass.
The sound of your gasp echoed off the walls, gripping the machine as you anchored yourself, swallowing a choked moan.
You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your sensitive clit. You let out a breathy moan, trying to rock yourself backwards to feel him inside you.
Sunghoon’s hand pressed firmly on your back, holding you in place with tut. You felt another smack on your reddening skin, holding back a whimper.
“I need you to answer me, sweetheart,” he instructed, “is this what you wanted?”
You nodded, begging he would take the hint.
Of course he didn't, continuing to tease the both of you as his hand caressed your backside, his lips planting kisses across your exposed skin.
When you didn't say anything else Sunghoon spanked you once again, a louder whimper escaping your mouth this time.
"I can’t hear you," he instructed, a smirk tugging his lips, "is this what you wanted?"
"Yes! Fuck." You rushed, with desperate cries.
Without a moment of hesitation his cock slid inside of you, both of you lowly moaning in pleasure.
You had never felt so good in your life.
His hand found its place on your waist, gripping tight as he started a rhythm, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you willed yourself not to moan.
The last thing you needed was for the whole office leaning their ear against the printing room door in scandalous curiosity.
“Don’t make a sound, ‘hear me?” He instructed, with every slow thrust, inching deeper as you whimpered in response, nodding hastily.
"That's it, sweetheart," he praised, his cock meticulously stretching you out with every passing second, "So fucking tight.."
You shudder under his tight grasp, swallowing a few moans as he slowly bottoms out into you with every drag, arching into him as he bites his lip at the pornographic sight.
“You take me so well, don’t you?” He groaned, practically sensing the cocky smirk on his lips as he reveled in your sweet whimpers.
He was such a prick.
“You’re— you’re a— fuck.” you cry, biting your lip to stifle your moans.
Sunghoon leaned over, his groans tickling the shell of your ear like he wanted you to break, “I’m a what, baby?”
Your brain was too foggy to form a coherent sentence, irritation a mere afterthought as he hit every spot, his cock filling you perfectly. You couldn't even remember the last time someone fucked you so full.
So much for declaring that you wouldn’t even touch Sunghoon with a ten foot pole.
You let your guard down for a few seconds before his hips experimentally snapped into you, lewd moans tumbling past your lips before his hand instantly clamped your mouth.
“You never listen, do you (Y/N)?” Sunghoon grunts, grabbing your hips and slamming himself into you, his cock reaching even more profound places as you cry out, desperate moans muffled by his palm.
His brows furrow, low groans escaping his lips, “so fucking stubborn.”
Your hands search for any surface to grip onto, surging forward from the sheer force of his hips snapping into you, gasps drowned into his palm.
“Walking around challenging my authority?”
You couldn’t respond, pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head, eyes fluttering shut as he pounded into you, making sure to hit the most pleasurable spots inside you.
“Mr Park? Are you in here?” a voice called through the door, loud enough to cut through the haze of everything.
You froze, rising up in alarm before he pushed you down. Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, indifferent to the reality of the situation that teetered on the lines of danger.
“Yes,” he called back, his voice calm and steady, yet still rutting into you.
His grip finally left from your side, instead slipping a hand between your thighs and circling over your sensitive clit, jolting as your muffled cries of pure ecstasy were heard by him and no one else.
The voice on the other side hesitated, then added, “I have the updated layouts you asked for.”
Your nails dug into the skin of your palms, fighting the urge to scream as he hitled himself deeply, making a mess of you as he fucked into you over, and over again.
You were damn near the cusp of falling apart from everything, yet the fact that he had the audacity to be so calm and collected while stretching you out, sent you over the edge.
“Leave them on my desk,” Sunghoon replied coolly, not even glancing toward the door.
The footsteps retreated, and you closed your eyes in sheer relief. You were a teary mess now, crying at the dizzying sensation of fingers on you, velvety walls tightly hugging him as his thrusts picked up.
“You crying for me, princess?” He moans, and the soft delivery of his words makes your cunt flutter around him.
He finally moves his hand away from your mouth, as if challenging you to make a sound.
“Sunghoon, fuck.” You cry, in a broken whisper, clenching around him uncontrollably as he tries to hold you still.
“I know baby, I know.” He cooed, savoring the way your legs shaked, pupils blown wide with lust as his pistoned in and out of you so easily.
With his fingers, he continued his assault, working your clit in tight circles as your hips bucked wildly. He groaned, feeling your walls squeezing him, threatening to bring him over the edge.
But he wouldn't cum before you.
Sunghoon’s lips ghosted over your ear, his soft guttural moans shooting straight to your core, “such a pretty mess for me, aren’t you?” his lips curled into a grin as you finally tipped over the edge.
A soft, yet long moan slipped was quickly muffled by his hand as he fucked you through it, your toes curling and thighs quivering.
White hot pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in sheer bliss. But just when it was starting to subside, he was slamming his cock into you.
The sound of his skin meeting yours was like music, and his fingers returned to your clit, sending you spiraling back into ecstasy.
Your weak cries of pleasure only seemed to encourage him more.
Sunghoon moaned, a beautiful sound leaving him as his cock twitched. With a few hard erratic thrusts, he came, filling you up completely, not wasting a single drop.
He groaned softly, riding out your highs before you whimpered at the feeling of him slipping out of you, both panting.
The silence between the two of you was mutual as you caught your breaths. Sunghoon leaned down, sliding your panties back up and pressing a soft kiss on your asscheek.
It was infuriating to admit that, just as good as he was with everything else, he was really good at fucking.
arranged husband!Jungwon x trophy wife!reader - confronting cold arranged husband on your first anniversary.
ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI, Angst, fluff, a second chance, the smut is crazy im ngl to u but the angst is worse, he actually goes insane like insane he loses it.
-
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed five times, its deep resonance echoing through the marble corridors of your estate. Without opening your eyes, you knew Jungwon was already awake. The mattress dipped slightly as he carefully extracted himself from beneath the Egyptian cotton covers, his movements deliberately gentle to avoid disturbing you. You kept your breathing steady, maintaining the pretense of sleep as you had so many mornings before.
Through barely-parted lids, you watched his silhouette move through the predawn darkness. Jungwon's routine never varied—not on weekends, holidays, or even the morning after your anniversary celebration when he'd had perhaps one glass of Château Margaux too many. Five a.m. meant feet on the floor, regardless of circumstance.
He disappeared into the expansive en-suite bathroom, closing the door with practiced quietness before the shower began to run. You rolled over to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, abandoning the charade of sleep. Outside, the manicured gardens remained dark and still, mirroring the atmosphere that permeated your mansion despite its immaculate decoration and luxurious furnishings.
One year of marriage. Three hundred and sixty-five mornings of this same choreographed dance.
By the time Jungwon emerged from the bathroom, you had straightened your side of the bed and donned your silk robe. He nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Good morning," he said, voice pleasant but neutral. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."
"No, I was already awake," you lied, the response automatic after months of repetition. "Will you be joining me for breakfast on the terrace today?"
He checked his watch—the elegant Patek Philippe you'd given him on your six-month anniversary. "I have an early meeting. I'll grab something at the office."
You nodded, expecting this answer. Despite your chef preparing an elaborate breakfast spread every morning, Jungwon rarely sat down to eat it. You'd long since stopped taking it personally, instead viewing it as simply another aspect of your peculiar marriage.
"Madame," came a soft voice from the doorway. Your personal maid stood waiting respectfully. "The blue gown has been pressed for tonight's charity auction, and Mrs. Yang called to confirm your appointment at the salon at two."
"Thank you. Please tell the chef I'll be down shortly."
Jungwon's expression softened momentarily with what might have been gratitude. "The blue gown is a good choice. It matches the sapphires."
The brief warmth in his eyes vanished so quickly you questioned whether you'd imagined it. He dressed efficiently, selecting the navy suit you'd suggested earlier in the week. You busied yourself reviewing the day's schedule on your tablet, giving him space while maintaining the illusion of comfortable domesticity.
"I'll send the car for you at six," he said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. Perfect Windsor knot, as always. "The auction starts at seven, but your mother-in-law suggested we arrive early to greet the host committee."
"I'll be ready," you assured him. "The blue complements the sapphires your family gifted me last Christmas—perfect for the society photographers."
He nodded approvingly. "Perfect. The Yangs must maintain appearances."
The phrase hung in the air between you, a reminder of what truly bound you together. Not love or passion or even friendship, but appearances. The Yang family name and reputation, upheld through generations and now entrusted to Jungwon—and by extension, to you.
Before leaving, he stopped at the bedroom door. "The new arrangement in the grand foyer—the one with the peonies and orchids. My mother asked for the name of your florist."
"I'd be happy to share their contact information," you replied, surprised that he'd noticed the flowers at all.
He hesitated, as if considering saying something more, then simply nodded and left. Moments later, you heard the soft purr of his car starting in the circular driveway below.
The suite fell silent, save for the continuing measured tick of the antique clock.
By eleven, you had completed your morning inspection of the household: reviewing the dinner menu with the chef, approving the landscaping plans for the east garden, and confirming that the linens for Friday's dinner party had been properly pressed. The mansion operated with clockwork precision under your supervision, a showcase of domestic perfection that visitors frequently praised.
Your phone chimed with a text message from Mrs. Yang—your mother-in-law.
The charity auction tonight is a perfect opportunity to connect with the Singhs. Their daughter returned from Oxford and has taken over their foundation. Jungwon could use their support for the new community project.
You typed a gracious reply, assuring her you would make the introduction. This was part of your unspoken role: social facilitator, network cultivator, the charming counterbalance to Jungwon's more reserved demeanor in public. Mrs. Yang had explicitly voiced her approval of your social graces during the marriage negotiations, though she'd phrased it more delicately at the time.
In the solarium, you sipped tea and reviewed correspondence on your tablet. The household staff moved efficiently around the estate, their presence indicated only by the occasional distant voice or the soft closing of a door. This cocoon of luxury and service had become your domain—a gilded cage, perhaps, but one you managed with impeccable skill.
The charity auction venue sparkled with crystal chandeliers and the gleam of expensive jewelry. You stood beside Jungwon, your hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm as he conversed with an important international investor. Your blue gown complemented the subtle blue in Jungwon's tie, a coordinated detail that Mrs. Yang had encouraged early in your marriage.
"And what do you think of the market's new direction?" the investor asked, unexpectedly turning to include you in the conversation.
Without missing a beat, you offered a thoughtful response based on fragments you'd gathered from Jungwon's rare comments about business. Your husband's arm tensed slightly beneath your hand—in surprise or approval, you couldn't tell.
"You've got yourself a perceptive wife, Yang," the man laughed, clearly impressed. "Better be careful or I'll recruit her for my advisory board."
Jungwon smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his handsome face. "I'm very fortunate," he agreed, turning to look at you with apparent pride.
For a moment—just a moment—the warmth in his eyes seemed real. Then a passing waiter offered champagne, and the connection broke as he reached for two glasses.
The evening continued in this manner: introductions, small talk, strategic conversations with selected guests, and the careful maintenance of the image you projected as a couple. Jungwon's hand occasionally rested at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with gentle pressure. To anyone watching, the gesture appeared intimate and caring.
"Your work with the children's literacy foundation has been inspirational," commented Ms. Singh as you were introduced. "My father is quite impressed."
You played your part flawlessly. Laughed at the right moments. Showed appropriate interest in business discussions. Made mental notes of important names and connections to record later in your planner. You orchestrated the introduction to the Singh family that appeared completely spontaneous, fulfilling your mother-in-law's request with such subtlety that even Jungwon seemed unaware of the manipulation.
During a lull in the event, you excused yourself to visit the ladies' room. Standing before the mirror, you studied your reflection: perfectly applied makeup, not a hair out of place, the picture of a successful young wife. Other women came and went, exchanging pleasantries, complimenting your gown or asking about upcoming social events.
"You and Jungwon always look so happy together," sighed a fellow socialite as she applied fresh lipstick. "My husband can barely remember which events are on our calendar, let alone coordinate his tie with my outfit."
You smiled politely. "Jungwon is very attentive to details."
When you returned to the main hall, you spotted your husband across the room, engaged in conversation with the Singh patriarch as you had arranged. His posture was relaxed, confident, his expression animated as he discussed something that clearly interested him. You rarely saw that expression at home.
As if sensing your gaze, he looked up and met your eyes across the crowded room. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. He excused himself from the conversation and made his way to your side.
"Is everything alright?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," you assured him. "Mr. Singh seems interested in your project."
He nodded. "Yes, thank you for the introduction. He mentioned you'd spoken highly of the initiative."
"That's what wives do, isn't it?" you replied, the words emerging more wistfully than you'd intended.
Jungwon studied your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you tired? We can leave if you'd like."
"No," you said quickly. "Your mother would be disappointed if we left before the final auction lot."
The mention of his mother was enough to settle the matter. Jungwon nodded and offered his arm again, leading you back into the social whirl. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of smiles and small talk, your practiced responses on autopilot while your mind drifted elsewhere.
The mansion was quiet when you returned just after midnight, though a few lights remained on for your arrival. The night butler opened the door as the car pulled up.
"Welcome home, Madame, Sir," he greeted with a respectful bow. "May I bring anything before you retire?"
"No thank you," Jungwon replied, loosening his tie. "That will be all for tonight."
As the butler disappeared, Jungwon turned to you in the grand foyer, its marble floors gleaming under the soft chandelier light. "Successful evening," he commented, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "The Singhs have invited us to their summer compound next month."
"That's wonderful," you replied, slipping off your heels with a small sigh of relief. "Your mother will be pleased."
He set down his keys and looked at you directly, something he rarely did at home. "You don't need to keep mentioning my mother. I'm capable of recognizing business opportunities on my own."
The unexpected sharpness in his tone surprised you. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."
He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, disheveling it slightly. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."
The apology hung awkwardly between you. Jungwon rarely expressed irritation, maintaining the same polite distance whether discussing dinner plans or household accounts.
"It's late," you said finally. "We're both tired."
He nodded, the momentary crack in his composure already repaired. "I have some work to finish. Don't wait up."
You watched him retreat to his home office, the door closing firmly behind him. In the kitchen, you found the chef had left a covered plate of small desserts and a pot of tea keeping warm. The thoughtful gesture—understanding your tendency to skip dinner at formal events—brought an unexpected lump to your throat.
The mansion was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, with every luxury and convenience. The marriage looked perfect from the outside: handsome, successful husband; accomplished, supportive wife; respected families united through a beneficial alliance. You wanted for nothing material.
And yet.
Upstairs, your nightwear had already been laid out and the bed turned down. In the adjoining bathroom, you methodically removed your jewelry and makeup, the familiar routine requiring no thought. Your reflection stared back, younger without the carefully applied cosmetics but somehow sadder too.
When you finally slipped between the cool sheets, Jungwon's side of the bed remained empty. You knew from experience that he might not come upstairs for hours. Sometimes you woke briefly in the night to feel the mattress dip as he joined you, maintaining a careful distance even in sleep.
As exhaustion pulled you toward unconsciousness, you wondered—not for the first time—what thoughts occupied your husband's mind during his late-night work sessions. Whether he ever questioned the arrangement that had brought you together. Whether he ever wished for something more than this immaculate, empty performance you both maintained.
Outside, a gentle rain began to fall against the panoramic windows, drops catching the moonlight like silver tears against the darkness.
-
The first anniversary dinner had been your mother-in-law's idea.
"A small celebration," she'd said during your weekly tea. "Nothing extravagant, of course. Just family to commemorate the successful first year."
You'd nodded and smiled, playing your part. "I'll coordinate with the chef for a special menu."
A successful first year. The phrase echoed in your mind as you supervised the staff arranging peonies and orchids in the dining room—Jungwon's mother's favorites. The crystal gleamed under the chandelier light, the silver polished to mirror brightness, the napkins folded into perfect swans. Success measured in appearances, in business connections forged, in social obligations fulfilled.
Not in moments of genuine connection, in shared laughter, in the casual intimacy of a hand brushing hair from your face. Those metrics of success remained conspicuously absent from your marriage ledger.
"The wine selection has been brought up from the cellar, Madame," said the butler. "And the chef has prepared the appetizers exactly as you specified."
"Thank you," you replied, adjusting a place setting minutely. "Mr. Yang will be home by seven, and his parents will arrive at seven-thirty."
The butler nodded and withdrew, leaving you alone in the perfect dining room of your perfect mansion in your perfect marriage that was, somehow, entirely empty.
Jungwon arrived precisely at seven, as predictable as the sunrise. You heard the familiar sound of his car, followed by his measured footsteps in the foyer. When he appeared in the doorway of the dining room, he was already dressed in the suit you'd laid out—the charcoal gray Tom Ford that his mother once commented made him look distinguished.
"Everything looks lovely," he said, surveying the room with appreciative eyes. "You've outdone yourself."
"Thank you," you replied, accepting the compliment with practiced grace. "Your mother mentioned Mr. Kim might join them. I've set an extra place just in case."
Something flickered across Jungwon's face—annoyance, perhaps. "He wasn't mentioned to me."
"He's the family attorney. Perhaps there's business to discuss."
"On our anniversary dinner?" The edge in Jungwon's voice surprised you. "Some things should remain separate from business."
You studied your husband's face, wondering at this unusual display of emotion. "Would you prefer I call your mother and inquire?"
"No," he said, composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "It doesn't matter."
But it did matter, and the tension in his shoulders told you so. This was new—this momentary crack in the facade. You wanted to press further, to understand what had triggered this response, but years of social conditioning held you back.
Instead, you said, "There's time for a drink before they arrive. Would you like something?"
He nodded, following you to the sitting room where the bar cart awaited. You poured him two fingers of the Macallan 25-year he preferred, your movements precise and practiced. When you handed him the crystal tumbler, your fingers brushed his—an accidental touch that shouldn't have felt significant but somehow did.
"One year," he said quietly, staring into the amber liquid.
"Yes," you agreed, pouring yourself a small measure of the same. "It's gone quickly."
The silence between you stretched, filled with all the words neither of you knew how to say. Jungwon seemed on the verge of speaking when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his parents.
The moment, whatever it might have been, evaporated.
Dinner progressed with the same choreographed precision as every family gathering. Mrs. Yang complimented the decor, inquired about your recent charity work, and dominated the conversation with updates on various family connections. Mr. Yang, stern and reserved like his son, contributed occasional comments about business or politics. And Mr. Kim, who had indeed accompanied them, observed it all with the calculated interest of someone evaluating an investment.
"The first year is always the most challenging," Mrs. Yang declared over the entrée, smiling at you and Jungwon with evident satisfaction. "And you two have managed it beautifully."
"Indeed," agreed Mr. Kim, raising his wine glass in a small toast. "The Yang family's standing has only strengthened. Your partnership has proven most advantageous."
Partnership. Not marriage. The distinction wasn't lost on you.
"And the foundation gala last month," Mrs. Yang continued. "Several board members commented on how impressive you both were. The Choi family was particularly taken with you, dear." She directed this last comment at you. "Mrs. Choi mentioned how fortunate Jungwon is to have found such an accomplished wife."
"I am fortunate," Jungwon agreed smoothly, the response automatic. He didn't look at you as he said it.
"Now, about the expansion into renewable energy," Mr. Yang began, turning to his son. "The board is meeting next week to discuss the proposal."
Business at the anniversary dinner, just as you'd predicted. You caught Jungwon's eye across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. For once, it felt like you were truly on the same side, united in your recognition of the situation's irony.
As the men discussed business, Mrs. Yang leaned closer to you. "You know, dear, I've been meaning to ask... it's been a year now. Any news you'd like to share? Any... expectations?"
The delicate emphasis made her meaning clear. You felt heat rise to your face, embarrassment mingling with a deeper discomfort.
"Not yet," you replied quietly, maintaining your composure despite the intrusive question.
"Well, there's still time," she said, patting your hand. "Though of course, an heir is important for the Yang legacy. My husband's grandmother used to say, 'A tree without new leaves withers.'"
You nodded politely, taking a sip of wine to avoid having to respond further. Across the table, you noticed Jungwon's shoulders tense, though he gave no other indication of having overheard.
The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein—discussions of business, thinly veiled inquiries about family planning, and reminiscences about the wedding that focused primarily on its beneficial outcomes for the Yang family interests.
Not once did anyone ask if you were happy.
After seeing his parents and Mr. Kim to the door, Jungwon returned to the sitting room where you were nursing a final glass of wine. The house felt unnaturally quiet after the departure of the guests, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.
"My mother was pleased," he said, loosening his tie and pouring himself another whiskey. "She said the dinner was perfect."
"Of course she did," you replied, a hint of bitterness seeping into your voice despite your best efforts. "Everything about us is perfect on the surface."
Jungwon looked at you sharply. "What does that mean?"
The wine, the emotional strain of the evening, the accumulation of a year's worth of silences—something inside you finally cracked.
"It means this," you gestured between the two of you, "isn't a marriage. It's a business arrangement with living quarters."
His expression hardened. "That's unfair. I've given you everything you could want."
"Everything except yourself," you countered, your voice rising slightly. "We live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, but you might as well be a thousand miles away."
"I don't know what you expect," he said stiffly. "We both understood the nature of this marriage from the beginning."
"Did we? Because I didn't agree to a lifetime of politeness and distance. I didn't agree to be nothing more than the perfect hostess and social coordinator for your business connections."
Jungwon set down his glass with careful precision. "You've never complained before."
"When would I have complained, Jungwon? During the three minutes of conversation we have each morning? Or perhaps during our public performances where we pretend to be a loving couple?"
He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling its perfect arrangement. "I thought you were satisfied with our arrangement. You manage the household, attend the events, fulfill your responsibilities—"
"Responsibilities?" The word struck like a match against your accumulated frustration. "Is that all I am to you? A set of responsibilities to be fulfilled?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? Please, enlighten me about my role in this arrangement, since clearly I've misunderstood."
His jaw tightened. "You're my wife."
"Your wife," you repeated, the word suddenly sounding hollow. "And what does that mean to you? Because from where I stand, I might as well be your assistant or your housekeeper for all the genuine connection between us."
"You're being dramatic," he said dismissively. "Perhaps you've had too much wine."
The condescension in his tone was the final straw. A year of suppressed emotions—loneliness, frustration, yearning—erupted like a volcano too long dormant.
"Don't you dare dismiss me," you snapped, rising to your feet. "I have spent a year of my life walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect, trying to please you and your family, and for what? A thank you when I select the right tie? A nod of approval when I make the right business connection?"
Jungwon stared at you, clearly taken aback by your outburst. "I don't understand where this is coming from."
"Of course you don't! You've never bothered to see me as anything more than a convenient addition to your perfectly ordered life. Wake up at five, ignore wife, go to work, come home, work more, sleep. Repeat until death."
"That's not fair," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it? When was the last time you asked me about my day? Or shared something personal about yours? When was the last time you looked at me—really looked at me—not as the 'Madame' of this house or as an accessory at a business function, but as a woman? As your wife?"
The color drained from Jungwon's face, but you were beyond stopping now. The floodgates had opened, and a year's worth of unspoken thoughts poured forth in a torrent.
"We haven't even consummated our marriage, Jungwon! One year, and you've never once reached for me in the night. Never once kissed me with anything resembling passion. Do you have any idea how that feels? To lie beside someone night after night, wanting to be touched, to be desired, and meeting nothing but polite distance?"
His eyes widened in shock at your bluntness. "I—I thought you preferred our current arrangement. You never indicated—"
"Indicated?" You laughed, the sound brittle. "Would it have mattered if I had? You barely look at me when we're alone together. You keep yourself locked in your office until I'm asleep. Tell me, Jungwon, are you repulsed by me? Is that it?"
"No!" The vehemence of his response surprised you both. "That's not it at all."
"Then what? What keeps you at arm's length? Because I can't live like this anymore—this half-life of appearances and politeness with nothing real beneath it."
You moved closer, anger giving you courage you'd never had before. "How do you satisfy your desires, Jungwon? Do you have someone else? Some mistress in an apartment downtown who gets to see the real you? Who gets to feel your touch, your passion?"
He looked genuinely shocked. "There's no one else. I would never—"
"Then what?" Your voice broke slightly. "Are you simply that cold? That disconnected from your own body, your own needs? Because I refuse to believe a healthy man in his prime feels nothing, wants nothing."
Jungwon's jaw tightened. "This conversation is inappropriate."
"Inappropriate?" You were nearly shouting now. "We're married! This is exactly the conversation we should have had months ago! Do you have any idea what it's like to wonder if there's something wrong with you? To lie awake wondering why your husband never reaches for you? To start believing that maybe you're fundamentally undesirable?"
"That's not—" he began, but you cut him off.
"I've started inventing stories in my head, Jungwon. Elaborate scenarios to explain why my husband treats me like a porcelain doll. Maybe you're secretly in love with someone from your past. Maybe you prefer men. Maybe you have some medical condition you're too embarrassed to discuss. I've considered everything because the alternative—that you simply feel nothing for me—is too painful to bear."
His face had gone pale. "It's none of those things."
"Then help me understand," you pleaded, anger giving way to raw vulnerability. "Because the silence is killing me. The wondering is killing me. Are you like this with everyone? This... removed? This contained? Or is it just me you can't bring yourself to touch?"
Jungwon paced away from you, his composure cracking visibly. For a moment, he looked like he might retreat to his office—his usual escape—but instead, he stopped at the window, staring out at the darkness.
"I live in my head," he said so quietly you almost missed it. "Always have. Physical... intimacy... doesn't come naturally to me."
"Have you ever let yourself feel something?" you asked, your tone softer now. "With anyone?"
He was silent for so long you thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was strained. "There was someone in college. It ended badly. I lost control, became... emotional. My father said it was embarrassing. Unbecoming of a Yang."
The confession surprised you. This tiny glimpse into his past felt like more intimacy than you'd experienced in a year of marriage.
"And since then?"
"Since then I've learned to be careful. Controlled." He turned to face you. "I thought I was respecting your space. Your independence."
"Respecting my space?" You stared at him incredulously. "There's a difference between respect and indifference, Jungwon."
"I'm not indifferent to you," he said quietly.
"Then what are you? Because from my perspective, I might as well be living alone for all the emotional connection between us."
He turned away again, his shoulders rigid with tension. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely. "Marriage. Intimacy. I wasn't raised for it."
"Neither was I," you countered. "But I'm trying. I've been trying for a year while you've been hiding behind work and politeness and duty."
You moved to stand beside him at the window, close but not touching. "Do you ever look at me and feel anything, Jungwon? Anything at all? Because sometimes I catch you watching me when you think I won't notice, and there's something in your eyes that disappears the moment I turn toward you."
He swallowed visibly. "I notice everything about you," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him. "The way you arrange flowers according to your mood. How you always leave the last bite of dessert. The small sigh you make when you're reading something that touches you."
The revelation stunned you. "Then why—"
"Because wanting leads to needing," he interrupted, his voice suddenly raw. "And needing makes you vulnerable. My father taught me that. The moment you need someone, you've given them the power to destroy you."
The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of truths finally spoken aloud. When Jungwon finally turned back to face you, his expression was uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, and for once, the question seemed genuine.
The simplicity of the question momentarily deflated your anger. What did you want? It was a question you'd asked yourself countless times during sleepless nights.
"I want a husband, not a housemate," you said finally. "I want to know the man behind the perfect facade. I want to feel wanted, desired, known. I want the possibility of love, even if it's not there yet."
Your voice cracked on the last words, and you felt tears threatening. "Sometimes I think if I sleep with you once and let you get me pregnant, at least I won't be so damn lonely. At least I'd have someone who needs me, truly needs me, not just for appearances or social connections."
"A child deserves better than to be born from desperation," Jungwon said softly, surprising you with his insight.
"And a wife deserves better than emotional abandonment," you countered. "I look at other couples sometimes—even the arranged marriages in our circle—and I see moments of genuine tenderness. A hand on a shoulder. A private smile. Small intimacies that say 'I see you, I choose you.' We have none of that, Jungwon."
He flinched as if struck. "Is that what you think? That I only see you as a means to an heir?"
"How would I know what you think?" you demanded. "You barely speak to me about anything that matters. For all I know, you've mapped out our entire future in that methodical mind of yours—the optimal time for children, their education, their role in continuing the Yang legacy—all without once considering what I might want, what I might need as a woman, as a person."
"That's not true," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.
"When have you ever shared your fears with me, Jungwon? Your hopes? Your dreams beyond the next business deal or family obligation? When have you ever asked about mine?"
He had no answer, and his silence was damning.
"I can't do this anymore," you said, suddenly exhausted. "I can't keep pretending that this empty performance is enough. I need more than politeness and perfect appearances. I need connection. I need intimacy. I need to at least feel that there's the possibility of love someday."
"And if I can't give you that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
The question hung in the air between you, a challenge and a plea at once. You met his gaze directly.
"Then this marriage is already over, regardless of what we show the world."
The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of consequence expanding outward. Jungwon's face paled, and something like genuine fear flickered in his eyes.
"You would leave?" he asked, the question revealing more vulnerability than he'd shown in a year of marriage.
"Not in body, perhaps," you replied. "The scandal would devastate both our families. But in spirit? I'm already halfway gone, Jungwon. Every day of polite distance pushes me further away."
He sank onto the sofa, looking suddenly lost. This wasn't the composed, controlled man you'd lived alongside for a year. This was someone else—someone real and raw and unsure.
"I don't know how to be what you need," he admitted finally.
"I'm not asking for perfection," you said, your anger giving way to a profound sadness. "I'm asking for effort. For honesty. For the chance to build something real together, even if it's difficult. Even if we don't know exactly how."
Jungwon stared at his hands, his wedding ring catching the light. For a long moment, he said nothing. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a complexity of emotion you'd never seen before.
"I need time," he said. "To think. To... process all of this."
The request was reasonable, but it still stung. Even now, faced with the potential collapse of your marriage, he couldn't give you an immediate response.
"Fine," you said, suddenly bone-weary. "Take your time. You know where to find me."
You turned to leave, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion, when his voice stopped you.
"Where are you going?"
"To the blue guest room," you replied without turning. "I think we both need space tonight."
He made no move to stop you as you left the sitting room, your anniversary dress rustling softly with each step. The grand staircase seemed longer than usual, each step an effort. Behind you, you heard the clink of glass—Jungwon pouring another drink, perhaps, or simply moving restlessly in the silent house.
The blue guest room was immaculate, as was every room in the mansion, but it felt cold and impersonal. You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your evening dress, too tired even to cry. The confrontation had drained you completely, leaving nothing but a hollow ache where hope had once resided.
From the nightstand, your phone chimed with a message. Mechanically, you reached for it, expecting perhaps your mother-in-law with some post-dinner comment.
Instead, it was Jungwon.
I do want you. I always have. That's what frightens me.
You stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly as you read them over and over. A text message—that was what it had taken to finally glimpse the man behind the mask. Not a conversation, not a touch, but characters on a screen.
Another message appeared below the first.
I'm sorry. I should have said this to your face.
I'll be in the study when you're ready to talk. No matter how late.
The formality, even now. The careful distance maintained even in apology. You placed the phone back on the nightstand without responding, a weariness settling over you that went beyond physical exhaustion.
For a moment, you sat motionless on the edge of the guest bed, the weight of the past year pressing down on your shoulders. The perfect house with its perfect furnishings suddenly felt suffocating—every object a reminder of the performance your life had become.
You rose and moved to the window, pressing your palm against the cool glass. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the night remained dark and close. The mansion grounds, usually so meticulously maintained, seemed oppressive in their perfection. Even the garden paths were laid out with mathematical precision, every plant and stone exactly where it should be.
Like you. Exactly where you should be. The proper wife in her proper place.
The realization came suddenly, with absolute clarity: you couldn't stay here tonight. Not in this guest room, not in this house, not with Jungwon waiting in his study for a conversation that would likely end with more careful words and measured promises.
You needed air. Space. A place where you could remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.
With deliberate movements, you changed out of your evening dress and into simple clothes. Packed a small overnight bag with essentials. Found your personal credit card—the one not connected to the Yang family accounts.
You hesitated only when it came time to write a note. What could you possibly say that wouldn't be misinterpreted or dismissed? In the end, you kept it simple:
I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.
You left it on the bed, where it would surely be found when someone came looking for you. Then, silently, you made your way down the service stairs and through the side entrance—avoiding the main foyer where you might encounter Jungwon.
The night air hit your face as you stepped outside, cool and clean and startlingly fresh. You took a deep breath, perhaps the first real one in months, and felt something inside you loosen just slightly.
You didn't call for the driver. Instead, you walked down the long driveway and past the gates, your heartbeat quickening with each step that took you farther from the mansion. Only when you reached the main road did you order a rideshare, giving the address of an old friend—one who predated your marriage, who had no connection to the Yang family circle.
As the car pulled away, you glanced back at the house—a magnificent silhouette against the night sky, lights burning in the study window where Jungwon waited for a conversation that wouldn't happen tonight.
Tomorrow would bring complications, explanations, perhaps reconciliation. But tonight, for the first time in a year, you were choosing yourself.
Your phone buzzed with a message from Jungwon.
Are you coming down?
You turned off the notifications and watched the mansion recede in the distance, growing smaller until it disappeared from view entirely.
-
The city lights blurred through your tears as the car wound its way through the quiet streets. The driver, sensing your distress, maintained a respectful silence, occasionally glancing at you in the rearview mirror with concern. You kept your face turned toward the window, watching as elite neighborhoods gave way to more modest surroundings.
When the car finally pulled up outside Leah's apartment building, you sat motionless for a moment, suddenly uncertain. It was past midnight. What if she wasn't home? What if she had company? What if—
"We're here, ma'am," the driver said gently, interrupting your spiraling thoughts.
"Thank you," you managed, gathering your small bag and stepping out into the night.
Leah's building was nothing like the Yang mansion—a six-story pre-war structure with a faded charm that stood in stark contrast to the sleek modernity you'd grown accustomed to. You hesitated at the entrance, then pressed her apartment number on the intercom.
After a long moment, a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"
"Leah," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "It's me. I'm sorry it's so late, but—"
"Oh my god!" The sleepiness vanished instantly. "Are you okay? I'm buzzing you up right now."
The door clicked open, and you made your way to the third floor, each step feeling heavier than the last. Before you could even knock, Leah's door swung open, revealing your oldest friend in mismatched pajamas, her curly hair wild around her face.
"What happened?" she demanded, then stopped as she took in your appearance—the elegant makeup now streaked with tears, the designer clothes hastily exchanged for whatever you'd grabbed, the overnight bag clutched in your trembling hand.
"Oh, honey," she said, simply opening her arms.
Something inside you broke. You stumbled forward into her embrace and the tears you'd been holding back for months—perhaps for the entire year of your marriage—finally erupted. Great, heaving sobs that shook your entire body, that made it impossible to speak or breathe or think.
Leah didn't ask questions. She simply guided you inside, closing the door behind you, and held you while you fell apart. Her apartment was cluttered and lived-in, books stacked on every surface, half-finished art projects leaning against walls—the complete opposite of your sterile perfection at the mansion.
"I can't—" you tried to speak, but the words dissolved into more tears.
"Shh," she soothed, leading you to her worn but comfortable couch. "Just breathe. That's all you need to do right now."
You don't know how long you cried—long enough for your eyes to swell, for your throat to grow raw, for Leah's shoulder to become damp with your tears. Eventually, the storm subsided enough for you to become aware of your surroundings again. Leah had wrapped a soft blanket around your shoulders and was pressing a mug of hot tea into your hands.
"Small sips," she instructed, settling beside you. "It has honey for your throat."
You obeyed, the warmth spreading through your chest, momentarily calming the chaos inside you.
"I left him," you said finally, your voice hoarse from crying.
Leah's eyebrows shot up. "Jungwon? You left Jungwon?"
"Just for tonight. Maybe a few days. I don't know." You shook your head, struggling to articulate the tangle of emotions. "I couldn't breathe there anymore, Leah. In that perfect house with its perfect things and its perfect emptiness."
"I always wondered," she said cautiously, "if you were really happy. You stopped talking about the real stuff after the wedding. It was all charity events and dinner parties, but never... you know. The actual marriage part."
"There was no marriage part," you confessed, fresh tears threatening. "That's the problem. We live side by side like strangers. Polite, distant strangers who happen to share the same address."
Leah reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "Did something specific happen tonight?"
You nodded, the evening's confrontation flashing through your mind in painful fragments. "We had our anniversary dinner with his parents. And after they left, I just... broke. All the things I've been holding back for a year came pouring out."
"Good for you," Leah said firmly.
"Is it?" You looked at her, uncertain. "I said terrible things, Leah. I accused him of seeing me as nothing but a showpiece, a means to an heir. I asked if he was repulsed by me. If he was sleeping with someone else."
"And what did he say?"
"He was shocked, mostly. I don't think anyone's ever spoken to him like that before." You took another sip of tea, gathering your thoughts. "But then he said something about... about wanting me but being afraid of needing someone. Of being vulnerable."
Leah nodded thoughtfully. "That actually makes a strange kind of sense. Your husband always struck me as someone who keeps himself under tight control."
"You've met him twice," you pointed out with a watery smile.
"Twice was enough." She grinned briefly, then grew serious again. "So what happens now?"
You shook your head, feeling utterly lost. "I don't know. I just knew I had to get out of there tonight. To remember what it feels like to be... me. Not Mrs. Yang, not the society hostess, just me."
"Well, you came to the right place," Leah said, gesturing around her chaotic apartment. "Nothing perfect or polished here. Just real life in all its messy glory."
For the first time that night, you felt a small laugh bubble up. "I've missed this. I've missed you."
"I've been right here," she reminded you gently. "You're the one who got swept up into the Yang universe."
The observation stung because it contained truth. After the wedding, you had gradually withdrawn from your old friendships, immersing yourself in the role expected of Jungwon's wife. It hadn't been a conscious choice, but rather a slow submersion into a new identity that had eventually consumed the person you used to be.
"I don't know who I am anymore," you confessed, the realization dawning as you spoke it. "I've spent so long being what everyone else needed me to be that I've forgotten what I actually want."
"Then maybe that's what this time away is for," Leah suggested. "To remember."
You nodded, exhaustion suddenly washing over you. The emotional release had drained what little energy you had left after the confrontation with Jungwon.
"The guest room is a disaster area right now—art supplies everywhere," Leah said apologetically.
"The couch is perfect," you assured her, overwhelmed.
"Shut up, you'll sleep next to me,"
-
Jungwon sat in his study, crystal tumbler of whiskey untouched beside him, as he stared at his phone screen. The message showed as delivered, but not yet read. He refreshed the screen again, a gesture he'd repeated dozens of times in the last hour.
Are you coming down?
The timestamp mocked him. It had been nearly two hours since he'd sent it, and still no response. Unease had gradually transformed into concern, then alarm when he'd finally ventured upstairs to find the blue guest room empty, save for a handwritten note on the perfectly made bed.
I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.
The words had hit him with physical force. He stood there staring at the note, reading it over and over as if the sparse sentences might reveal some hidden meaning. Space to breathe. Had he really been suffocating you all this time without realizing it?
Now, back in his study, Jungwon fought against his instinct to act—to call security, to track your phone, to send drivers searching the city. You had asked for space. Following you would only prove that he couldn't respect your wishes, your independence. The very thing he'd convinced himself he'd been protecting all this time.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
Jungwon picked up his phone again, debating whether to try calling. His thumb hovered over your contact information before he set the device down with a sigh of frustration. What would he even say if you answered? The right words had eluded him for an entire year of marriage; they weren't likely to materialize now, in the middle of the night, after the worst fight of your relationship.
A relationship. Was that even the right word for what you had? You had called it a "business arrangement with living quarters," and the brutal accuracy of the description had left him speechless.
Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it completely. The careful composure he maintained at all times had crumbled the moment he'd found your note. Now, alone in his study, there was no one to witness his distress, his uncertainty, his fear.
Fear. That was the emotion he'd denied for so long, burying it beneath layers of control and duty. Fear of needing someone. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of repeating his father's cold, loveless existence.
And in trying to avoid his father's mistakes, he had made his own. Different in method, perhaps, but identical in result: a wife who felt unseen, unwanted.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two in the morning. Jungwon hadn't slept, had barely moved from his position at the desk. The silence of the mansion pressed in around him, no longer the peaceful quiet he'd always preferred, but an emptiness that echoed your absence.
On impulse, he rose and left the study, walking through the darkened house toward the master suite. Inside the bedroom, everything remained exactly as you'd both left it hours earlier—your perfume bottle on the vanity, your book on the nightstand, your robe draped over a chair. He moved to your side of the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and picked up the book you'd been reading.
A collection of poetry. Jungwon hadn't even known you liked poetry.
What else didn't he know about the woman he'd married? What interests, dreams, fears had you kept hidden—or worse, had tried to share only to be met with his characteristic reserve?
He opened the book to where a silk bookmark held your place. The poem was circled lightly in pencil:
Between what is said and not meant, And what is meant and not said, Most of love is lost.
The simple lines struck him with unexpected force. Jungwon stared at the words, wondering how many times you had tried to tell him what you needed, how many signals he had missed or misinterpreted.
From his pocket, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His heart leapt as he fumbled to answer, but the caller ID showed his father's name, not yours.
"Father," he answered, struggling to keep his voice even. "It's very late."
"Where is your wife?" Mr. Yang's voice was sharp, cutting through the pretense of pleasantries.
Jungwon tensed. "How did you—"
"Mrs. Park saw her getting into a taxi. Alone. After midnight. She naturally called your mother with concerns."
Of course. The gossip network never slept. "She's visiting a friend," he said carefully.
"In the middle of the night? Without you?" His father's skepticism was palpable. "Do you take me for a fool, Jungwon? What's going on?"
A familiar pattern attempted to reassert itself—the urge to placate his father, to maintain appearances, to ensure the Yang family reputation remained unsullied. For a moment, he almost slipped into the expected response.
But the circled poem caught his eye again. Most of love is lost. He couldn't lose any more.
"We had a disagreement," Jungwon said finally, the admission feeling like ripping off a bandage. "She needed some space."
"A disagreement?" His father's tone grew icier. "Serious enough for her to leave the house? To risk being seen by others, creating speculation? What were you thinking, allowing this?"
The word "allowing" ignited something in him—a flicker of the same defiance he'd felt when his father had demanded he end his college relationship.
"I wasn't 'allowing' anything, Father. She's my wife, not my subordinate. She made a choice, and I'm respecting it."
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Never in his adult life had Jungwon spoken to his father with such open opposition.
"This is unacceptable," Mr. Yang said finally. "You will resolve whatever childish spat has occurred and bring her home immediately. The gala next week—"
"Is not as important as my marriage," Jungwon interrupted, surprising himself with the firmness in his voice.
"Your marriage? Suddenly you care about your marriage?" His father's laugh was without humor. "For a year you've treated it exactly as I advised—as a beneficial arrangement. Now you're telling me you've developed feelings? Become sentimental?"
The contempt in the older man's voice was unmistakable, but instead of cowering as he might have in the past, Jungwon felt a strange calm settle over him.
"Yes," he said simply. "I have feelings for my wife. I always have. And I've been wrong to hide them."
"This is disappointing, Jungwon. I expected better from you."
"I'm beginning to think your expectations are precisely the problem, Father." Jungwon took a deep breath. "I need to go now. It's late, and I have some thinking to do."
"Don't you dare hang up on—"
Jungwon ended the call, staring at the phone in mild disbelief at his own actions. Then, with deliberate movements, he silenced the device and set it aside.
Returning to the poetry book, he carefully noted the page number of the circled poem, then moved through the house to your closet. There, among the designer clothes and accessories, he searched for some clue to the woman behind the perfect facade—the woman he'd married but never truly allowed himself to know.
In the back of a drawer, he found a small wooden box, simple and clearly personal. For a moment, his ingrained respect for privacy warred with his desperate need to understand you. Privacy won—he couldn't begin rebuilding trust by violating it—but the box's existence gave him hope. There were parts of yourself you'd kept separate from your arranged life, a core identity preserved despite the pressures of being Mrs. Yang.
Jungwon returned to the study, his earlier paralysis replaced by a growing resolve. He wouldn't chase you—you'd asked for space, and he would respect that. But he could prepare for your return, could begin the work of becoming someone worthy of a second chance.
The task seemed monumentally difficult, decades of conditioning standing in opposition to what he now knew he needed to do. He had no model for the kind of husband he wanted to become, no example of vulnerability balanced with strength.
But for the first time since you'd walked out, Jungwon felt something like hope. If you gave him the chance, he would find a way to be better. To be real. To tear down the walls he'd built over a lifetime of emotional suppression.
Dawn was breaking outside the study windows when he finally drafted a message, simple and without expectation:
I understand you need space, and I respect that. I'll be here when you're ready to talk—whether that's tomorrow or next week. I'm sorry for a year of silence. I'm listening now.
He sent it before he could second-guess himself, then set the phone down and moved to the window. Outside, the gardens were beginning to emerge from darkness, the first light revealing dew on the perfectly manicured lawns.
For once, Jungwon didn't see the perfection. Instead, he noticed how the morning light caught in a spider's web between two branches, transforming the fragile structure into something beautiful and strong. Perhaps there was a lesson there, in vulnerability's unexpected resilience.
As the mansion gradually woke around him—staff arriving, coffee brewing, the day's preparations beginning—Jungwon remained at the window, watching the light change and wondering if you, wherever you were, might be watching the same sunrise.
-
The mansion felt impossibly silent as Jungwon moved through the darkened hallways, your poetry book clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Sleep had become not just elusive but impossible, the vast emptiness of your shared bed a physical manifestation of what had been missing between you for a year. The sheets still carried your scent—a subtle perfume that he'd never properly acknowledged until now, when its absence made the fabric seem cold and lifeless.
He couldn't bear to remain in that room, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand nights spent in careful distance. Instead, he found himself back in his study, the room that had been his refuge from intimacy for so long. Now it felt like a prison of his own making, walls lined with business achievements that suddenly seemed hollow.
With trembling hands, he placed your book on his desk and opened it once more to the marked page, the one with the circled verse that had first pierced his carefully constructed armor:
Between what is said and not meant,
And what is meant and not said,
Most of love is lost.
His fingers traced your handwriting in the margin—small, delicate notes that revealed more about your inner thoughts than a year of careful conversation had. Next to this poem, you'd written simply: Us? with the question mark trailing off like a fading hope.
One word, followed by a question mark. So much longing contained in those three small letters. Had you written this recently, or months ago? Had you been silently questioning the emptiness between you while he maintained his facade of contentment?
Jungwon turned the page, discovering more of your markings. Some poems had stars beside them, others had entire stanzas underlined. Some had exclamation points, others question marks. It was like finding a secret language, a code he should have deciphered long ago.
A poem about two rivers running parallel without ever meeting carried your annotation: This is what marriage feels like. So close yet never touching.
His breath caught. When had you written that? While lying beside him in bed, bodies carefully not touching? While sitting across from him at breakfast, exchanging polite comments about the day ahead?
He continued reading, unable to stop himself now. Each page revealed more of your hidden inner life. A poem about seasonal changes had reminds me of childhood summers before expectations written in the margin. Another about distant mountains carried the note wish we could travel together somewhere without his family or business associates.
Each annotation was a window into desires you'd never expressed, dreams you'd kept hidden. Why had he never asked what you wanted? Where you longed to go? What made you happy?
The night deepened around him, but Jungwon barely noticed. He was falling into your world, glimpsing for the first time the woman behind the perfect wife he'd taken for granted.
Then he found a page with the corner folded down, a poem about physical love:
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Your handwriting beside it was more hurried, almost feverish: too much to hope for? would he ever lose control enough?
Jungwon's throat tightened painfully. All those nights lying beside you, maintaining a careful distance, while you marked poems about passion and wrote desperate questions no one would see. How many nights had you lain awake, wanting him to reach for you? How many times had you considered reaching for him, only to retreat in fear of rejection?
He turned more pages, finding increasingly intimate selections. Next to Pablo Neruda's words:
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes
You'd written: I dream of his mouth on my skin. Would he be disgusted by such thoughts?
The pain that shot through him was physical. Disgusted? How could you think that? But then, what else could you think when he'd maintained such careful distance, when he'd retreated to his study each night rather than face the vulnerability of desire?
Another poem, this one about hands tracing the geography of a lover's body, carried your note: I've memorized the shape of his hands during dinner parties, imagined them on me instead of on his wine glass.
Jungwon looked down at his own hands, remembering all the times they'd almost touched you—passing dishes at dinner, handing you into the car, the brief contact when giving you a gift—and how he'd always pulled back just slightly too soon. What would have happened if he'd let his fingers linger? If he'd given in to the urge to trace the line of your jaw, to feel the softness of your skin?
Hours passed as he lost himself in your secret thoughts. Some poems had tear stains, barely perceptible wrinkles in the paper where droplets had fallen and dried. Those broke him most of all—the tangible evidence of your solitary tears, shed perhaps just feet away from where he sat working, oblivious to your pain.
One poem about loneliness had simply: I am disappearing inside this house, inside this marriage, becoming nothing but "Mrs. Yang" scrawled across the bottom in handwriting that shook with emotion.
Dawn found him still at his desk, eyes burning from reading and from tears he hadn't realized he was shedding. The morning staff moved quietly through the house, shocked to see him disheveled and unshaven, the immaculate Yang heir looking like a man undone.
He ignored their concerned glances, your poetry book still open before him. But it wasn't enough. One book couldn't contain all of you. He needed more.
"Sir," the housekeeper approached hesitantly as Jungwon emerged from his study, still in yesterday's clothes, "would you like your breakfast now?"
"No," he replied, his voice hoarse from a night without sleep. "I need to see all of Madame's books. Every book in this house that she's ever touched."
The housekeeper exchanged a worried glance with the butler. "All of them, sir?"
"Every single one. Novels, poetry, anything with her handwriting in it. Bring them to the library."
He moved with feverish purpose to the library, pulling books from shelves himself—any that showed signs of your touch. Dog-eared pages, bookmarks, the slight cracking of spines that indicated frequent opening to favorite passages.
Throughout the day, the staff delivered more and more books—novels from your nightstand, reference books from the sunroom shelves, journals from your writing desk. Jungwon created careful piles around him, transforming the library floor into a map of your mind.
He found a travel book about Greece with dozens of Post-it notes marking specific locations. The private cove where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked read one note that made his heart race. Another, beside a picture of a small village: No social obligations, no family expectations—heaven.
You'd been dreaming of escape. From the mansion, from the Yang name, from him? The thought was unbearable.
In your copy of Jane Eyre, he found your underlining of Rochester's passionate declaration: "I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you." Beside it, your handwriting: To be truly SEEN by someone. What would that feel like?
"Oh god," he whispered, the words escaping involuntarily. "You've never felt seen."
How could he have failed so completely? He, who prided himself on his attention to detail in business, had missed everything that mattered about the woman who shared his home, his name, his bed.
As afternoon turned to evening, Jungwon discovered a small leather journal tucked between larger books on a bottom shelf. He hesitated, knowing this was crossing a line from reading your notes to reading your private thoughts. But his need to know you, to understand what he'd missed, overrode his sense of propriety.
The journal wasn't a diary but a collection of poems you'd written yourself, clumsy in places but raw with emotion:
I practice conversations with you in my head
Witty things I might say that would make you look at me
Really look at me
But when you enter the room
My words evaporate like morning dew
And we speak of dinner parties and business associates
Never of stars or dreams or why your eyes
Sometimes follow me when you think I don't notice
Jungwon felt his careful composure—the mask he'd worn his entire adult life—shatter completely. You had seen him watching you. Had known there was something beneath his polite facade. But he'd never given you enough to be sure, had never been brave enough to let you see his wanting.
Another poem, dated just two months ago:
Your fingers brushed mine as you handed me a glass
Accidental touch that burned through my skin
I wonder if you felt it too
That current between us, electric and dangerous
Or if I imagined it, desperate for connection
For any sign that beneath your perfect suit
Beats a heart that could want me
As much as I want you
He had felt it. Every accidental touch, every brush of your hand, every moment when you stood close enough that he could smell your perfume. He had felt everything and denied it all, retreating into work and duty and the expectations drilled into him since childhood.
The worst entry was the most recent, written just days before your anniversary:
One year of marriage
Three hundred sixty-five nights of lying beside him
Listening to his breathing
Wondering if he's awake
Wondering if he ever thinks of touching me
Of breaking through the invisible wall between us
One year of perfect Mrs. Yang While the woman inside me slowly suffocates
Sometimes I think if I just reached for him once
If I was brave enough to cross that divide
But what if his rejection destroyed the last piece of me
That still believes I'm worthy of being
Wanted.
Jungwon closed the journal, his vision blurred with tears. You had been silently begging for him to reach across the divide while he had been congratulating himself on respecting your independence. The magnitude of his failure crushed him.
He didn't eat that day. Didn't change clothes. Didn't acknowledge the increasingly concerned staff who hovered at the library's periphery. Instead, he immersed himself in your hidden world, learning you through the books you'd loved, the passages you'd marked, the words you'd written when you thought no one would see.
Dawn arrived, but Jungwon had lost all sense of time. The library floor was covered with open books, each one containing fragments of your soul. He had read himself into a state of emotional exhaustion, discovering more and more evidence of your loneliness, your desire, your gradual loss of hope.
A desperate energy seized him. Reading wasn't enough. He needed to act, to change, to create physical evidence of his awakening before you returned—if you returned.
He summoned the head gardener, ignoring the man's shocked expression at his disheveled appearance.
"I need every peony on the estate moved to the front garden," he announced, his voice rough from disuse. "Every single one. From all the gardens, the greenhouse, everywhere."
"Sir, that would be hundreds of plants," the gardener protested. "And the formal design—"
"I don't care about the design," Jungwon interrupted, thinking of a note he'd found beside a picture of a wild garden: Why must everything be so ordered? So perfect? I long for beautiful chaos. "I want them arranged naturally. The way they would grow if they chose their own placement."
"But sir, your mother's landscape plan—"
"Is no longer relevant." Jungwon's eyes flashed with an intensity that made the gardener step back. "The peonies were always her choice, not my wife's. I want a garden that reflects what she loves."
"This will take all day, possibly longer," the gardener warned.
"Then start immediately. And I need something else. The bookshelves from the east parlor—bring them to the east garden. All of them."
The staff exchanged alarmed glances, but Jungwon was beyond caring about their concerns. He continued issuing instructions, driven by the need to transform the mansion—to break the perfect mold that had trapped you both.
"Sir," the butler ventured cautiously when the others had gone to carry out these strange orders, "perhaps you should rest. You haven't slept or eaten—"
"How can I rest?" Jungwon's voice broke with emotion. "Do you know what I've discovered? She's been living here for a year, lonely and unfulfilled, while I congratulated myself on being a proper husband. I've failed her completely."
The butler, who had served the Yang family for decades, had never seen the young master in such a state. "Sir, if I may... it's never too late to change course."
Jungwon looked at him sharply. "Have you seen her? Has she contacted anyone?"
"No, sir. But knowing Madame, she's not one to leave matters unresolved."
With renewed determination, Jungwon returned to the library. He selected dozens of books containing your most revealing notes and had them brought to the east garden. As the shelves were positioned on the grass, he began arranging the books, creating a physical testament to what he'd learned.
The gardeners worked throughout the day, transplanting hundreds of peonies to the front garden in a naturalistic arrangement that would horrify his mother but, he hoped, would speak to you. The once-formal approach to the house transformed into an explosion of your favorite flowers, arranged with the organic randomness of nature rather than the rigid precision of Yang tradition.
By late afternoon, Jungwon had created an outdoor library in the east garden—the private corner of the grounds where you often walked alone. He placed books on the shelves and opened others on the grass around him, creating a circle of revelations.
He had sent the staff away, needing to be alone with the evidence of his awakening. His phone buzzed repeatedly—his father, his mother, business associates all demanding attention. He ignored them all.
Instead, he picked up your poetry journal again, reading and rereading your most vulnerable confessions. The precise handwriting becoming more jagged with emotion. The careful Mrs. Yang breaking through to the woman beneath.
As sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, Jungwon sat amidst the books, surrounded by the fragments of you he'd collected, feeling more alive and more terrified than he had ever been. What if it was too late? What if you had already decided that the year of emotional solitude was too high a price for the Yang name and fortune?
He wouldn't blame you. How could he? He had offered you everything except himself.
Night fell, and still he remained in the garden, under stars you had once described in a margin note as witnesses to all our silent longings. He read your words by the light of lanterns the staff had silently provided, losing himself in the labyrinth of your unspoken desires.
In the faint light, he reread the poem that had started his journey—the one about love lost between what is said and not meant, what is meant and not said. He traced your question mark with his finger, feeling the slight indentation in the paper where you had pressed the pen, perhaps harder than you intended, the physical evidence of your frustration.
"I see you now," he whispered to the empty garden, to the books that held pieces of your soul. "I see you, and I'm terrified it's too late."
The night deepened around him, but Jungwon remained among the books, keeping vigil, waiting, hoping you would come home—and fearing you would not.
-
Five days since you'd left. Five days of freedom from the perfect imprisonment that had become your life. Five days to remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.
On the morning of the sixth day, as you sat on Leah's small balcony with a chipped mug of coffee, your phone lit up with a text from Jungwon's personal assistant.
Mr. Yang has canceled all appointments for the foreseeable future. The household staff reports concerning behavior. If you could contact them, they would be grateful.
You stared at the message, rereading it several times. Jungwon never canceled appointments. Even when he'd had the flu last winter, he'd conducted meetings by video rather than reschedule. His schedule was sacred, immovable.
"What's wrong?" Leah asked, noticing your expression.
You handed her the phone. She read the message and raised her eyebrows.
"Sounds like someone's having a breakdown."
"Jungwon doesn't have breakdowns," you said automatically, then paused. The man you'd confronted before leaving—the one who'd admitted his fear of vulnerability, who'd texted you his feelings rather than say them aloud—perhaps that man did have breakdowns after all.
"Are you going to go check on him?" Leah asked.
You sighed, setting down your coffee. "I have to, don't I? At the very least, I need to get more of my things." You'd left with only a small overnight bag, having no plan beyond escape.
"Want me to come with you?"
"No," you said, more decisively than you felt. "This is something I need to do alone."
As you showered and dressed, you tried to prepare yourself for what awaited. Would Jungwon be coldly angry, his moment of vulnerability already locked away? Would he have summoned his parents, ready for a united front to convince you of your duties? Or would he simply be absent, buried in work as a shield against emotion?
In the rideshare on the way to the mansion, you rehearsed what to say. You would be calm but firm. This wasn't about blame anymore but about whether a real marriage was possible between you. You needed honesty, vulnerability, true partnership—not just the performance of marriage you'd endured for a year.
But as the car approached the gates of the estate, your carefully prepared speech evaporated. The formal gardens that had always greeted visitors with mathematical precision had been transformed. Instead of the orderly rows of seasonal blooms, there was a riot of peonies—your favorite flower—planted in natural, wild groupings that looked almost as if they had grown there spontaneously.
"Wait here," you told the driver. "I may not be staying."
As you walked up the long driveway, your heart hammered against your ribs. The front door opened before you reached it, the butler appearing with an expression of profound relief.
"Madame," he said, bowing slightly. "Thank goodness you've returned."
"I'm not staying necessarily," you clarified, stepping into the foyer. "I just came to—" You stopped, noticing more changes. The formal floral arrangements that always occupied the entryway tables had been replaced with wild, exuberant bouquets of peonies and wildflowers. "What's happening here?"
"Mr. Yang has been... making adjustments to the household," the butler replied diplomatically. "He's in the east garden. He's been there nearly two days now."
Two days? "Is he... is he all right?"
The butler hesitated. "I believe he's waiting for you, Madame."
You made your way through the house, noting more changes as you went. Books that had always been perfectly arranged on shelves now sat in haphazard stacks on tables, many open to specific pages. Your books, you realized, from your private collection.
When you reached the doors leading to the east garden—your favorite part of the grounds, where you often walked alone—you paused, gathering your courage.
Nothing could have prepared you for what you found.
The garden had been transformed into an outdoor library. Bookshelves stood on the grass in a semicircle, filled with books—your books—many open to display specific pages. And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by open volumes, was Jungwon.
You'd never seen him like this. His usually immaculate appearance was completely undone—hair disheveled, several days' stubble on his jaw, clothes rumpled as if he'd slept in them. He was reading intently from what you recognized as your private poetry journal, his expression a mixture of pain and wonder.
He looked up as your shadow fell across the page, and the naked hope and fear in his eyes made your breath catch.
"You came back," he said, his voice rough as if from disuse.
"What is all this?" you asked, gesturing to the surreal scene around you.
Jungwon carefully closed your journal and set it aside. He rose slowly to his feet, a man moving carefully so as not to shatter something fragile.
"I've been trying to find you," he said. "The real you. The one I should have been looking for all along."
You stepped closer, picking up one of the books from the grass. It was your copy of Neruda's love sonnets, open to a page where you'd scribbled Would he ever touch me like this? in the margin.
Heat rose to your face. "You've been reading my private notes?"
"Yes." Jungwon didn't try to justify or excuse it. "I needed to understand what I'd missed, what I'd ignored. I needed to see you—really see you."
You should have been angry at the invasion of privacy, but something in his broken expression stopped your protest. This wasn't the controlled, perfect Jungwon Yang you'd married. This was someone else entirely—raw, desperate, real.
"Do you have any idea," he continued, taking a step toward you, "how much you've wanted? How much you've needed? All these books, all these words you've underlined, notes you've written—they're full of longing I never acknowledged."
You remained silent, unsure what to say as he moved closer, stopping just short of touching you.
"I found your poem about lying beside me at night, wondering if I was awake, wondering if I ever thought about touching you." His voice broke slightly. "I did. Every night. I lay there wanting you, terrified of reaching for you, convinced that maintaining distance was the same as showing respect."
Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he must hear it. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I almost lost you." The simple truth hung in the air between you. "Because I realized that the thing I feared most—vulnerability, need, the possibility of rejection—was nothing compared to the emptiness of letting you walk away without ever knowing how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you."
To your shock, Jungwon suddenly dropped to his knees before you, looking up with eyes that held none of his usual composure.
"I don't deserve another chance," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I've been a coward, hiding behind duty and family expectations. But if you're willing—if there's any part of you that believes we could start again—I swear I will spend every day trying to be worthy of you."
You stood frozen, overwhelmed by his declaration, by the sight of Jungwon Yang—heir to an empire, always in perfect control—on his knees before you, walls finally shattered.
"I want to build a life with you," he continued, the words spilling out as if he couldn't contain them any longer. "A real life, not this performance we've been trapped in. I want mornings where we don't pretend to sleep through each other's routines. I want to hear about your day and tell you about mine. I want to take you to that cove in Greece where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked."
Your cheeks flamed at the reference to your private note in the travel book.
"I've read every word you've written in the margins," he confessed, his voice dropping lower. "I've memorized your poetry. The ones you circled, the ones you starred. Neruda's words—'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees'—I understand them now. I feel them in my veins."
His eyes locked with yours, their intensity almost unbearable.
"I dream of you. Of being inside you. Of knowing nothing but the depth of your eyes when you look at me. Of drowning in your skin until my mind forgets every lesson in restraint I've ever learned." His voice shook slightly. "All those nights I lay beside you, rigid with control, while you wrote of desire in book margins—it was never indifference. It was fear. Fear of how completely I would surrender to you if I allowed myself a single touch."
You couldn't breathe, couldn't speak as he continued, years of suppressed desire breaking through the dam of his composure.
"I found where you wrote 'would he ever lose control enough?' The answer is yes. God, yes. Every moment of every day I've wanted to lose myself in you. To press you against walls, to taste every inch of your skin, to hear my name in your voice when I'm buried so deep inside you that we can't tell where I end and you begin."
He trembled visibly now, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for you.
"I want children who know their father can feel, can love," he went on, his voice breaking. "I want to be the man you deserve—not the perfect Yang heir, but a husband who sees you, hears you, wants you exactly as you are."
Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. This was what you'd wanted—wasn't it? The real man beneath the perfect facade. But now that he was here, raw and vulnerable, you found yourself terrified of your own power to hurt him, to be hurt again.
"I don't know if I can trust this," you admitted softly. "What happens when your father calls? When your mother visits? When business demands return? Will you retreat back behind those walls you've built over a lifetime?"
Jungwon nodded, acknowledging the fairness of your question. "I already told my father I won't be controlled by his expectations anymore. I hung up on him—" He gave a small, disbelieving laugh. "I actually hung up on him when he tried to order me to bring you back for appearances' sake."
Your eyes widened. In the Yang family hierarchy, defying the patriarch was unthinkable.
"I can't promise I'll never struggle," Jungwon continued. "A lifetime of conditioning doesn't disappear in a week. But I can promise to try. To talk instead of withdraw. To let you see me—all of me, even the parts I was taught to hide." He swallowed hard. "And I can promise that no business meeting, no family obligation, nothing will ever be more important to me than you are."
The morning sunlight filtered through the garden trees, casting dappled light across his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes, the vulnerability in his expression. In that moment, all the trappings of wealth and status fell away, leaving just a man asking a woman for another chance.
"I love you," he said quietly, the words clearly strange on his tongue. "I think I have from the beginning, but I didn't know how to show it, how to say it, how to let myself feel it without fear."
Your carefully constructed walls began to crumble. The honesty in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—this wasn't another performance. This was real in a way nothing between you had been before.
You took a deep breath, making a decision that would change everything.
"Stand up," you said softly.
Jungwon rose slowly, uncertainty in every line of his body. He stood before you, not touching, waiting.
"I need time," you said finally. "Not away from you—I think we've had enough distance. But time here, together, building something real. Day by day. No quick fixes, no grand gestures, just... honest effort."
Relief washed over his face. "Anything. Whatever you need."
You reached out slowly, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it against his cheek. The stubble was rough under your palm—a tangible sign of his unraveling, his transformation.
"We start again," you said. "As equals. As partners. As two people choosing each other every day, not just fulfilling an arrangement."
Jungwon covered your hand with his own, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes," he agreed simply. "That's all I want. The chance to choose you, and to be chosen by you, every day."
You stood there in the garden surrounded by the evidence of his awakening—the books, the wildflowers, the breaking of perfect order that had defined your lives together. Nothing was resolved yet, not really. The real work of building a marriage would take time, patience, courage from both of you.
But as Jungwon's fingers tentatively interlaced with yours, you felt something you hadn't experienced in a very long time: hope.
Not the desperate hope that had led you to mark passages in poetry books, dreaming of connection. But a quieter, stronger hope built on the foundation of truth finally spoken, of walls finally breached.
A beginning, at last, after a year of beautiful emptiness.
-
The transformation didn't happen overnight. Real change never does. But it began with small, deliberate steps—each one a silent promise, a brick in the foundation of what you both hoped would become something genuine and lasting.
The first week was tentative, both of you navigating an unfamiliar landscape of honesty. You moved back into the master bedroom, but Jungwon slept on the chaise lounge across the room, respecting your need for physical space while closing the emotional distance. Each night, you talked—sometimes for hours—about everything and nothing. Your childhoods. Your dreams. The books that had shaped you. The places you longed to visit.
"I never knew you wanted to see Greece so badly," Jungwon said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the chaise, looking younger and more relaxed than you'd ever seen him. "We could go. Whenever you want."
"It's not just about going," you explained, hugging your knees to your chest as you sat against the headboard. "It's about going somewhere simply because we want to, not because it's expected or beneficial to the family business."
He nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "A trip just for us. No schedules, no business meetings disguised as vacations..."
"Exactly."
Two days later, you found a travel guide to the Greek islands on your pillow, with a note in Jungwon's precise handwriting: Pick the places that call to you. No expectations. No time limit. Just us.
-
The second week brought the first real test. Mrs. Yang arrived unannounced, sweeping into the foyer with the authority of someone who had never been denied entry.
"I've heard disturbing reports," she announced, eyeing the wildflower arrangements with thinly veiled distaste. "The garden completely rearranged. Appointments canceled. Your father says you're not taking his calls. And now this..." She gestured to the informality of the house, the books scattered on surfaces, the general disruption of the perfect order she'd helped establish.
In the past, Jungwon would have immediately adjusted his behavior to appease her. You braced yourself for his retreat back into the perfect son role.
Instead, he surprised you.
"Mother," he said calmly, "we're in the middle of some changes here. I should have called to tell you it's not a good time for a visit."
Her eyes widened. "Not a good time? Since when do I need an appointment to visit my own son's home?"
"Since now," Jungwon replied, his voice gentle but firm. "We're working on our marriage, and we need space to do that properly."
Mrs. Yang turned to you, expecting you to be the reasonable one, to smooth over this unprecedented friction. "Surely you understand that family obligations—"
"Are important," you finished for her, "but not more important than our relationship. Jungwon and I are learning to put each other first."
Her mouth opened and closed, momentarily speechless. "This is your influence," she finally said to you, her voice sharp. "My son has never been so disrespectful."
You felt Jungwon tense beside you, but before he could speak, you placed your hand on his arm. A silent communication—I've got this.
"It's not disrespect to establish healthy boundaries," you said, maintaining a respectful tone despite the accusation. "We both value you and Mr. Yang, but we're building something here that needs protection and care."
Mrs. Yang looked between the two of you, noting the united front, the way Jungwon stood slightly closer to you than necessary, the casual intimacy of your hand on his arm. Something in her calculation shifted.
"I see," she said finally. "Well. Call when you're ready to rejoin society. The foundation gala is in three weeks, and people will talk if you're absent."
"Let them talk," Jungwon said simply.
After she left, you turned to Jungwon, studying his face for signs of regret or anger. Instead, you found him looking almost relieved.
"That was the first time I've ever said no to her," he confessed with a shaky laugh. "It feels... terrifying. And right."
You squeezed his hand. "You were perfect."
"Not perfect," he corrected. "Real. There's a difference."
-
By the third week, physical barriers began to dissolve. Jungwon moved from the chaise to the bed, though always maintaining a careful distance. But one night, half-asleep and cold from the air conditioning, you instinctively shifted closer to his warmth. Without fully waking, he draped an arm over you, pulling you against him with a contented sigh.
You froze, suddenly wide awake, your heart racing at the casual intimacy. His breathing remained deep and even, clearly still asleep. Slowly, you relaxed into the embrace, allowing yourself to feel the solidity of him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the warmth that radiated through his thin t-shirt.
It was the first time you'd slept in each other's arms. In the morning, when you both woke to find yourselves entangled, there was a moment of awkward uncertainty before Jungwon smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face.
"Good morning," he said softly, making no move to pull away.
"Good morning," you replied, marveling at how natural it felt to be here, in this moment, with him.
That day, the staff noticed the shift between you—the lingering glances, the casual touches as you passed each other, the private smiles. The mansion seemed to exhale, as if the building itself had been holding its breath, waiting for life to finally fill its rooms.
-
A month after your return, Jungwon came to you with a proposal.
"I've been thinking about the house," he said over breakfast, which you now took together every morning before he left for work. His schedule had been completely reorganized, with strict boundaries between work and home time. "It's beautiful, but it's never felt like ours. It's been my family's vision of what our home should be."
You nodded, understanding immediately. "It's always felt like living in a museum."
"Exactly." He pushed a folder across the table. "What would you think about this?"
Inside were architectural plans for a new house—smaller, more intimate, designed around shared spaces and natural light.
"You want to move?" you asked, surprised.
"I want us to build something that belongs to us," he clarified. "Something that reflects who we are together, not who everyone expects us to be."
You studied the plans more carefully, noting the library with two desks facing each other, the open kitchen designed for cooking together, the master bedroom with windows that would catch the sunrise.
"There's room for a nursery," you observed quietly, looking up to gauge his reaction.
His eyes softened. "I thought... someday... if we decided..." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I want children with you. Not for the Yang legacy, but because I can't imagine anything more beautiful than creating a family with you. But only when we're ready. Only when our foundation is solid."
You reached across the table, taking his hand. "I'd like that. Someday."
He squeezed your fingers, a simple gesture that had become precious in its newfound ease. "So, the house?"
"Yes," you decided. "Let's build something that's truly ours."
-
Two months into your new beginning, you attended your first social event as a changed couple. The charity auction—ironically, the same type of event where you'd played your roles so convincingly before—now became the stage for your authentic selves.
When you entered on Jungwon's arm, the subtle changes were immediately apparent to the careful observers of high society. The way his hand rested at the small of your back—not for show, but because he liked the connection to you. How he kept you within his sight even during separate conversations. The private smiles you exchanged across the room, small moments of complicity in the public setting.
Mrs. Singh approached you during a lull in the evening. "There's something different about you two," she observed shrewdly. "You seem... happier."
You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room. He was engaged in conversation but looked up at that exact moment, as if sensing your gaze, and smiled back with undisguised affection.
"We are," you replied simply.
Later, when the dancing began, Jungwon led you to the floor. Unlike the choreographed movements you'd performed at countless events before, this time he held you closer, his cheek occasionally brushing against your temple, his hand warm and secure against yours.
"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, feeling the weight of curious eyes.
"Let them," he replied, his lips close to your ear. "Maybe they'll learn something."
The evening continued, but unlike before, you weren't simply playing a part. The genuine connection between you was unmistakable, and as the night progressed, you felt something shift in the atmosphere around you. The calculated social maneuvering gave way to something more genuine, as if your authenticity had granted others permission to drop their own facades, if only slightly.
When you returned home that night, the tension that had always accompanied these performances was absent. Instead, there was a shared sense of accomplishment, of having navigated the social waters together without losing yourselves in the process.
"That wasn't so bad," Jungwon admitted as you both prepared for bed. "Being real in public."
"It was actually nice," you agreed, sitting at your vanity to remove your jewelry. "Though I think your mother nearly fainted when you declined the board seat Mr. Lee offered."
Jungwon laughed, the sound still new enough to delight you. "The old me would have accepted immediately, even though we both know it would have meant even less time at home." He moved behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "I have different priorities now."
He reached for the clasp of your necklace, his fingers brushing against your skin as he helped you remove it. The simple intimacy of the gesture—one that might have seemed ordinary in most marriages but was revolutionary in yours—made your breath catch.
When he finished, his hands remained on your shoulders, thumbs gently caressing the exposed skin above your dress. Your eyes met in the mirror, and the desire you saw there—no longer hidden or denied—sent heat cascading through you.
"May I kiss you?" he asked softly.
It wasn't your first kiss since the reconciliation—there had been gentle pecks, cautious explorations—but something about this moment felt different. More significant.
You turned to face him, rising from the vanity bench. "Yes."
He cupped your face with reverent hands, studying you as if committing every detail to memory, before leaning in slowly. The kiss began gentle but deepened as months of carefully banked desire kindled between you. His arms encircled your waist, drawing you closer until you could feel the rapid beating of his heart against yours.
When you finally separated, both breathless, Jungwon rested his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispered, the words no longer strange or difficult but natural, necessary.
"I love you too," you replied, the truth of it filling every part of you.
That night, for the first time, you truly became husband and wife—not through social obligation or family expectation, but through choice. Through desire. Through love that had fought its way past barriers of conditioning and fear to find expression at last.
-
Six months after your confrontation, the new house was completed. It stood on a hillside overlooking the city, modern in design but warm in execution, with natural materials and spaces designed for living rather than showcasing wealth.
The move was symbolic in more ways than one—leaving behind the mansion with its rigid expectations and cold perfection, stepping into a home created specifically for the life you were building together.
On your first night there, after the movers had gone and the essentials were unpacked, Jungwon opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses as you both stood in the expansive living room, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city lights spread below.
"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.
"To us," you added, clinking your glass against his.
After you both drank, he set his glass aside and reached for your hand, his expression turning serious.
"I want to ask you something," he said, leading you to the sofa. When you were both seated, he took both your hands in his. "This past year—these six months especially—have been the most transformative of my life. I feel like I'm finally becoming the person I was meant to be, not the perfect heir my father designed."
You squeezed his hands encouragingly. "I'm proud of you. The changes you've made, the boundaries you've set—none of it has been easy."
"It's been worth it," he said simply. "And I want to keep growing, keep becoming better. With you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. "Which is why I want to ask you to marry me. Again. For real this time."
He opened the box to reveal a ring nothing like the elaborate diamond he'd given you during your engagement. This one was simpler, more personal—a band of intertwined gold and platinum with a small sapphire that matched the color of your favorite flowers.
"Our first marriage was arranged for us," he continued. "I want this one to be chosen by us. No families planning, no strategic alliances, just two people who love each other deciding to build a life together."
Tears filled your eyes, but unlike the lonely tears you'd shed in that first year, these were born of joy, of wonder at how far you'd both come.
"Yes," you whispered, watching as he slipped the ring onto your finger, alongside the formal engagement diamond you still wore. The contrast between them—one chosen for appearance, one chosen for meaning—perfectly symbolized your journey.
"I thought we could have a small ceremony," Jungwon said, pulling you close. "Just us and a few people who truly care about our happiness. On that Greek island you've been reading about."
You laughed through your tears. "Your mother would never forgive us."
"She'll survive," he said with a smile. "This isn't about the Yang family or social connections or business advantages. It's about you and me, choosing each other. Every day. For the rest of our lives."
As you kissed to seal this new promise, you marveled at the journey that had brought you here—from empty performance to authentic partnership, from silent longing to expressed love, from arranged marriage to chosen commitment.
The road hadn't been smooth. There had been setbacks, moments when old patterns threatened to reassert themselves. There would be more challenges ahead, more work to maintain the vulnerability and honesty you'd fought so hard to establish.
But looking into Jungwon's eyes—eyes that now held nothing back from you—you knew with absolute certainty that the difficult path was worth it. That true connection, once found, was worth fighting for. That love, real love, could grow even from the most barren beginnings, if only given the chance to breathe.
-
The most shocking transformation in your renewed marriage wasn’t the tenderness.
It was the hunger.
Jungwon, who used to sleep with a polite space between your bodies, now touched you like he couldn’t bear even a millimeter of distance.
The man who once bowed his head before kissing your hand now dropped to his knees and begged to taste you.
It was as if years of restraint had finally snapped—like some tight, internal knot had come undone—and he was feral from the release.
The first night you truly became intimate, you realized just how much he’d been suppressing.
His hands, once always tucked in his lap, now gripped your thighs like a lifeline, dragged you down onto the sheets with a growl. He shook when he touched you, but not from nerves—from sheer fucking relief.
His mouth, which had always only spoken in formal tones and quiet dinner conversation, now whispered against your skin—
“I’ve dreamed of spreading your legs and living between them.”
You gasped. He kissed lower. His breath hot between your thighs.
“Every night beside you, pretending I didn’t hear how you breathed heavier when I got too close. I wanted to fuck you so bad I used to take cold showers just to stop myself from humping the fucking mattress.”
You were already soaked, trembling.
You cupped his face, forced him to look up. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.”
His pupils were blown wide. He licked his lips, nodding.
“I don’t think I could if I tried.”
He broke.
He devoured your pussy like it owed him rent. Like it was his first and last meal.
No teasing. No patience. Just his tongue, buried deep, moaning into you like your taste was the only thing that ever made him lose his composure.
You came once on his mouth—fast and loud—and he didn’t even let up.
“Again,” he groaned, “fuck, again, I want to feel you fall apart.”
And when he finally hovered over you, flushed and trembling and naked between your legs?
“Tell me,” he whispered, cock dragging through your soaked folds, “tell me what you want. What you’ve been aching for. Let me ruin you the way I’ve dreamed about.”
So you did.
You told him all of it. The fantasies. The positions. The filthy little things you’d only ever written down in notebook margins when he was still cold and distant.
And Jungwon?
Did. Not. Flinch.
He nodded, breath shaking, and said—
“You want to be face down? Crying? Begging? I’ll give it to you. Just know when I start, I won’t stop until you’re fucked stupid.”
And he meant it.
He took you face down on the mattress, hips locked in place by his grip, his cock slamming into you so deep you saw stars. He growled things you’d never imagined him saying—
“This pussy’s mine. All fucking mine. You think I don’t know how wet you get when I talk like this?”
“Look at you—slutty little wife, dripping down your thighs like you’ve been waiting to be treated like a whore.”
“How many times you make yourself cum thinking about me breaking like this, huh?”
You choked on your moans. You were sobbing by the time he made you cum again, legs shaking, jaw slack, vision blurry.
He kissed your spine afterward. Slowly. Tenderly. Like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides.
Pulled you into his arms and whispered, “I used to leave the room when I got too hard just looking at you. I thought wanting you like this made me weak. My father always said a Yang man should control his urges.”
He paused. Smiled against your neck.
“I’ve never been so happy to disappoint him.”
-
In the weeks that followed your first night together, the shift between you became impossible to ignore. And impossible to contain.
Jungwon couldn’t stop touching you.
He didn’t even try. His hand found yours under the breakfast table.
His palm slid across your lower back when you walked past him in the hallway—lingering there, possessive.
He stole kisses while you were brushing your teeth, while you answered the door, while you loaded the washing machine.
It was as if his body was always reaching, always chasing, making up for a year of self-denial all at once.
You gave in to him every time.
One afternoon, he came home early from the office to find you kneeling in the garden, soil smudged on your knees, digging holes for the last peony bush you’d saved from the mansion.
You didn’t hear him approach.
But you felt it—the change in the air. The heat behind you. The sound of breath catching.
Hands on your waist. A sharp inhale. And a low, devastating voice.
“That’s what I come home to?”
You turned your head, startled—and then flushed under the weight of his gaze.
He was already unbuttoning his sleeves.
Already breathing too hard.
“Jungwon—”
He hauled you to your feet. Didn’t flinch at the dirt. Didn’t care about the sunlight.
Just gripped your waist, pulled you close, and kissed you like you’d been killing him in his dreams. You gasped against his mouth, hands braced on his chest, heart pounding.
“What was that for?”
His eyes were black with need. He didn’t let you go.
“Because I can,” he said. “Because I spent a year not touching you. Not letting myself want you. Not letting myself want to bend you over every surface in our house.”
You trembled.
He pulled you closer.
“I refuse to waste another fucking day.”
The peonies were forgotten.
He dragged you inside, dirt on your hands, sweat beading on your spine—and kissed you again against the door.
His jacket hit the floor first. Then yours.
Then his belt, as he backed you into the living room like a man possessed.
When your knees hit the rug, he dropped with you.
Didn’t even bother removing your clothes properly—just shoved your dress up and pulled your underwear down like it offended him.
“Here,” he growled, palming your ass as he pressed you forward onto all fours. “Here on the floor, where I can see every inch of you. Where I can fuck you raw and you can scream for me.”
You moaned, breath hitched.
“God, I wanted to do this the first night I married you. I wanted to wreck you. I wanted to see what sounds you’d make with my cock in you.”
You were dripping by the time he pushed inside.
No teasing. No patience. Just one smooth thrust that made you cry out, already clenching.
“So fucking tight,” he hissed. “So wet and hot and mine.”
He fucked you hard, fast, hips slapping against your ass as your moans echoed through the empty house.
You didn’t care. You let him take everything.
He gripped your hips, pulled you back onto him harder, chasing your high like he’d been dying for it. You came shaking on him, and he groaned, low and broken, before following with a curse buried into your shoulder.
You collapsed to the rug in a tangled heap, both of you breathless, glowing in the afternoon sun. Later, still half-naked, your cheek resting on the rug, he lay beside you—head on your stomach, smiling like a teenager.
“My father would be appalled,” he murmured. “The Yang heir behaving like this. Desperate. Loud. Fucking his wife on the floor.”
You laughed, running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.
“And what do you think?”
He tilted his head. Kissed your bare hip, then lower.
Then smiled.
“I think we should do it again in the kitchen.”
A pause.
“Then the stairs. Then the study. Then maybe the floor again.”
You didn’t even get a chance to answer. Because his hand was already sliding between your legs again.
-
What amazed you most was his attentiveness. Jungwon, who had once seemed completely disconnected from physical needs, now anticipated yours with an almost uncanny perception. He noticed when tension gathered in your shoulders and appeared with warm hands to massage it away. He registered which touches made your breath catch and revisited them with deliberate intent. He cataloged every sensitive spot, every preference, every response with the same meticulous attention he'd once reserved for business reports.
"How did you know?" you asked one evening when he drew you a bath exactly when you needed it, complete with the lavender oil you preferred when tired.
"Your left eyebrow tenses slightly when you're exhausted," he explained, kneeling beside the tub to wash your back with gentle hands. "And you roll your shoulders every few minutes. Plus, you've been on your feet all day with the interior decorator."
The fact that he noticed such small details—that he paid such close attention to your physical comfort—moved you deeply. This wasn't just passion; it was care, consideration, genuine desire for your wellbeing.
One night, as you lay tangled together in the afterglow of particularly intense lovemaking, Jungwon traced patterns on your back with his fingertips, his expression thoughtful.
"I used to think that needing someone physically was a weakness," he confessed. "That it gave them power over you. My father warned me about it—how desire could cloud judgment, make a man vulnerable."
"And now?" you prompted, propping yourself up to look at him.
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features in a way that still took your breath away. "Now I think vulnerability is its own kind of strength. The courage to need someone, to show them exactly how much you want them..." He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I've never felt stronger than when I'm completely undone in your arms."
-
The physical transformation in your marriage rippled outward, affecting every aspect of your lives together. Jungwon, once rigid in his schedules and plans, now embraced spontaneity. He would cancel meetings to spend the day in bed with you, laughing as you expressed shock at his newfound willingness to prioritize pleasure over work.
"The company won't collapse if I take a day off," he said, pulling you back under the covers when you suggested he shouldn't neglect his responsibilities. "And this—" he kissed you deeply "—is a responsibility too. To us. To what we're building."
Even in public, the change was evident to anyone with eyes to see. Though still mindful of appropriate boundaries, Jungwon couldn't seem to stop himself from small touches—his hand at the small of your back, his fingers laced with yours, the way he would occasionally lean down to whisper something in your ear that made heat rise to your cheeks.
At a corporate gala, Mrs. Yang cornered you by the refreshment table, her eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Your husband's behavior has become rather... demonstrative lately," she observed acidly. "It's unseemly for a man of his position to be so openly affectionate."
You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room as he spoke with investors. Even engaged in business conversation, his eyes sought you out regularly, as if making sure you were still there, still his.
"I disagree," you replied calmly. "I think it shows remarkable strength for a man to be secure enough in himself to express his feelings openly."
Your mother-in-law's lips thinned, but before she could respond, Jungwon appeared at your side, his hand automatically finding yours.
"Mother," he greeted her with polite warmth. "I see you've found my wife. I hope you'll excuse us—this is our song."
There was no song playing that held any special meaning, but Mrs. Yang couldn't know that. With a small bow, Jungwon led you to the dance floor, pulling you closer than was strictly proper for such a formal event.
"Rescued you," he murmured against your ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine.
"My hero," you teased, relaxing into his embrace. "Though your mother might never recover from the shock of seeing the Yang heir so besotted with his own wife."
"Let her adjust," he replied, his hand splayed possessively against your lower back. "This is who I am now. Who we are together."
Later that night, he touched you like he’d been holding it in all day—like the hours of careful, public restraint had coiled inside him, pressing tight under his skin, begging for release.
Now, with you spread beneath him in your shared bed, every breath he took seemed heavy with need.
His thrusts were deep, deliberate, dragging moans from your throat with each slow roll of his hips.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t look away. He studied you.
His dark eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of expression, every twitch, every gasp, like he wanted to memorize the exact second you shattered.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice low, tight, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.
You blinked up at him, dazed, overwhelmed. “That I hardly recognize you sometimes.”
His rhythm stuttered—hips faltering, jaw tensing.
His brows drew together. “Is that… disappointing?”
You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and pulled him closer, arching up to meet him.
“No. Quite the opposite.”
Your fingers slid into his hair, your voice thick with wonder and arousal.
“I’m amazed that all of this—”
Your hands trailed down his chest, to where your bodies met, to the heat and slick and stretch between your legs,
“—was hidden inside that perfect, restrained man.”
Relief washed over his face, followed by a crooked, mischievous smile—so at odds with the version of him you’d once known that it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.
“I have years of self-control to make up for,” he said, lowering his mouth to your throat, his voice a warm rasp against your skin. “You don’t think I’ve imagined this? Every night. Every day. Watching you walk around like you didn’t know how badly I wanted to fuck you into the mattress?”
You whimpered, breath catching.
“You think I didn’t notice how soft your thighs looked in those dresses? Or how your voice changed when you said my name?”
His tongue flicked over a sensitive spot just below your ear, and your back arched without thinking.
“I used to jerk off in the shower,” he whispered, filthy now, “biting my lip so you wouldn’t hear. Palming my cock like a coward while I imagined you moaning for me just like this.”
You gasped as he pinned your wrists above your head, not rough, just firm—controlling, possessive. His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with devastating precision.
“You’re mine now,” he said against your collarbone. “I don’t have to hide it anymore. Don’t have to pretend I don’t want you crying and shaking under me every night.”
The need in his voice made your toes curl.
“I don’t think anyone could be prepared for this version of you,” you managed to gasp, hips bucking as his thumb pressed harder.
He chuckled darkly. “Good. I like catching you off guard.”
Then his lips ghosted over your pulse, and he murmured:
“I like knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Just me. The mess. The begging. The way you moan when I hit you right there.”
His hips snapped, and your whole body trembled.
“I like owning this version of you. The version that melts under me. That asks for more even when I’m already inside.”
The sheer possessiveness in his voice—raw and reverent—nearly undid you.
Your whole body clenched, eyes wide, breath gone. “Only you,” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Always you.”
He kissed you then. Deep. Unrelenting.
And when you came again, shaking apart in his arms, you knew:
You’d never seen the real Jungwon before this.
Afterward, as you drifted toward sleep in his arms, you reflected on the journey that had brought you here. From polite strangers sharing a bed without touching, to lovers who couldn't bear even the smallest distance between them. From a marriage of appearance to a union of body, heart, and soul.
Jungwon's arm tightened around you, even in his sleep unwilling to let you go. The man who had once feared needing someone now embraced that need without reservation, transforming what he'd been taught was weakness into his greatest strength.
As you snuggled closer to his warmth, you silently thanked whatever courage had prompted you to finally break the silence between you, to demand more than the empty performance your marriage had been. The risk had been terrifying, but the reward—this man who loved you without restraint, who showed that love in every look and touch and whispered word—was beyond anything you could have imagined.
Epilogue: Aegean Dreams
The light breeze carried the scent of salt and wild herbs through the open French doors of your villa, perched on the cliffs of Santorini. Dawn had just begun to paint the horizon in shades of gold and rose, the Aegean Sea below reflecting the spectacle like a mirror. You stood on the private terrace, wrapped in a silk robe, drinking in the view that had once been nothing more than a wistful note in a travel book margin.
Warm arms encircled you from behind, and Jungwon's lips found the curve where your neck met your shoulder.
"I woke up and you were gone," he murmured against your skin. "For a second, I panicked."
You turned in his embrace, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. No product kept it in place here—just like no tailored suits or carefully crafted personas had made the journey to this small Greek paradise.
"Just wanted to see the sunrise," you explained, smiling at the vulnerability he no longer tried to hide. "Old habits. Though I'm not used to you noticing when I slip out of bed."
"I notice everything about you now," he said, tightening his hold. "Especially when your warmth disappears from beside me."
Two years had passed since that fateful anniversary night when everything had broken open between you. Two years of learning each other, rebuilding trust, discovering what it meant to truly choose one another every day. The small, intimate wedding you'd held on this very island six months ago had merely formalized what your hearts had already decided.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Jungwon asked, noticing your contemplative expression.
"I was just thinking about that travel book," you said, leaning into him. "The one where I marked all those Greek islands, never believing I'd actually see them."
"And now you've seen five of them in three weeks," he replied with a smile. "With three more to go before we have to think about heading back."
The itinerary for this trip had been deliberately open-ended—a luxury neither of you had ever permitted yourselves before. No business calls, no social obligations, not even a fixed return date. Just the two of you moving at your own pace through the islands you'd dreamed of.
"Remember that cove I mentioned in my notes?" you asked, a mischievous glint in your eye. "The one where 'no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked'?"
"How could I forget?" Jungwon's voice dropped lower, his hands sliding down to your waist. "It's circled on the map in our bedroom. I've been wondering when you'd bring it up."
"The boat captain said he could take us there this afternoon. Completely private, accessible only by sea."
His eyes darkened with desire—a look that still thrilled you, even after months of uninhibited passion. "I'll tell him we'll double his fee if he drops us off and doesn't return until sunset."
You laughed, stretching up to kiss him. "Always the efficient businessman."
"Only when efficiency serves pleasure," he countered, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless.
When you finally pulled apart, the sun had fully crested the horizon, bathing the white-washed villa in golden light. Jungwon led you to the small table on the terrace where he'd already set up breakfast—fresh fruit, local yogurt, honey, and coffee prepared exactly the way you liked it.
"I have something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his linen pants as you both sat down.
He placed a small package wrapped in simple brown paper on the table between you. His expression held an endearing mix of anticipation and nervousness that reminded you how far he'd come from the controlled, emotionless man you'd married.
"What's this for?" you asked, picking up the package. "It's not my birthday or our anniversary."
"Do I need a reason to give my wife a gift?" he countered with a smile. "Open it."
You carefully unwrapped the paper to find a leather-bound journal, its cover soft and supple. When you opened it, you discovered it was filled with poems—some typed, others handwritten in Jungwon's precise script.
"I've been collecting them," he explained, watching your face closely. "Every poem that made me think of you. The ones that helped me understand what I was feeling when I didn't have the words myself."
You turned the pages, eyes widening as you recognized some of the poems you'd once secretly marked in your books, now preserved in this new collection. But there were others you didn't recognize—contemporary pieces, older classics, even what appeared to be original works.
"Did you... write some of these?" you asked, looking up in surprise.
A flush crept up his neck—the unguarded reaction still so different from the controlled man he'd once been. "I tried. They're probably terrible, but..." He shrugged, a gesture of vulnerability that would have been unthinkable in the old Jungwon. "I wanted to find a way to tell you what you mean to me that wasn't borrowed from someone else's words."
You found one of his original poems, dated from the early days of your reconciliation:
I lived behind walls so high
Even I forgot what lay inside
Until your voice broke through
And light flooded places
I had kept dark for so long
I had forgotten they could shine
Tears pricked your eyes as you continued reading. The progression of the poems—from hesitant early attempts to more recent, confident expressions—mirrored the journey of your relationship.
"This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me," you said finally, closing the journal and holding it against your heart.
"There's one more thing," Jungwon said, reaching across the table to take your hand. "I've been thinking about what you said last week, about not being ready to go back to real life yet."
"I was just being silly," you assured him, though the thought of returning to schedules and obligations did fill you with a certain dread. "We can't stay on vacation forever."
"Why not?" He smiled at your startled expression. "Not forever, but... longer. I've been working on something." He pulled out his phone—rarely used during the trip except for taking photos—and showed you a property listing. "It's a small villa on Paros. Nothing extravagant, but it has a garden for you and a study for me with a decent internet connection."
"You want to buy a house here?" you asked, stunned.
"I want us to have a place that's just ours. Not tied to the Yang name or business or social expectations." His eyes held yours, serious despite his smile. "A place where we can come whenever we need to breathe. Where no one expects anything from us except being ourselves."
"But your work—"
"Can be managed remotely for extended periods," he interrupted gently. "I've been talking with the board about restructuring my role. Less day-to-day management, more strategic direction. It would mean fewer hours, more flexibility."
You stared at him, processing the magnitude of what he was suggesting. The old Jungwon would never have considered stepping back from his corporate responsibilities, would never have prioritized personal happiness over professional ambition.
"What about your father?" you asked, knowing that Mr. Yang would view such a move as a betrayal of family duty.
"He'll adapt," Jungwon said with surprising calm. "Or he won't. Either way, I'm not living my life to meet his expectations anymore." He squeezed your hand. "What do you think? Not about him—about the villa."
You looked out at the endless blue of the Aegean, then back at the man who had transformed himself for love of you—who continued to transform, to grow, to choose your shared happiness over prescribed obligation.
"I think," you said slowly, a smile spreading across your face, "that I'd like to plant bougainvillea along that terrace wall in the photos."
His answering smile was radiant. "Is that a yes?"
Instead of answering with words, you stood and moved around the table, settling onto his lap. His arms came around you automatically, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world—which, you knew now, you were.
"It's a 'you make me happier than I ever thought possible,'" you said, framing his face with your hands. "It's a 'I love the life we're building together.'"
"Even if it scandalizes my mother?" he asked, laughter in his eyes.
"Especially then," you replied, leaning in to kiss him as the Greek sun climbed higher in the sky, warming your skin, illuminating the future stretching before you—unplanned, unprescribed, and gloriously your own.
Behind you, the pages of the poetry journal fluttered in the sea breeze, open to the last entry, written in Jungwon's hand just days before:
stats class. keep ur glasses on when u fuck me. statistical analysis with ur tongue. thats abt it. sunghoon word porn ngl
ENHA HARD HOURS (kinda) 18+ MDNI
-
You're late. Again.
The digital clock on your phone reads 3:10 PM as you sprint across campus, your backpack bouncing against your spine with each step. Statistics seminar started ten minutes ago, and Professor Clarke has definitely noticed your absence by now. Not that it's unusual—you've made it a habit to burst through those doors at exactly ten minutes past, a whirlwind of apologies and bright smiles.
"Sorry, sorry!" you announce as you push open the computer lab door, slightly out of breath.
Twenty pairs of eyes swivel toward you, but Professor Clarke doesn't even look up from his laptop at the front of the room.
"How kind of you to join us," he says dryly. "We were just assigning semester project partners."
You flash him your most charming smile as you slide into an empty seat. "Perfect timing then."
A few people laugh. You've mastered the art of diffusing tension with humor, of making your tardiness seem like a quirky character trait rather than a genuine inability to manage time. It's gotten you this far in university.
"As I was saying," Professor Clarke continues, "this statistical analysis project will count for forty percent of your grade. You and your assigned partner will select a dataset, develop a hypothesis, and use STATA to analyze your findings." He gestures to the complex statistical software displayed on the projector screen—the same software that has been giving you nightmares since week one.
You glance around the room, hoping you'll be paired with Olivia or Zara—friends who wouldn't mind carrying the team if necessary. But when Professor Clarke reads off, "Sunghoon Park and..." followed by your name, your heart does something unexpected.
It skips.
You've noticed him before—it's hard not to. He always sits in the same spot three rows from the front, always arrives fifteen minutes early, always has his notebook open at the exact moment class begins.
What you haven't fully appreciated until now, as you turn to locate him in the room, is just how devastatingly handsome he is. His dark eyes find yours immediately behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses that give him an irresistible intellectual appeal. One corner of his perfectly shaped mouth lifts in the smallest acknowledgment, and a strand of black hair falls across his forehead when he nods at you. The combination of his reserved demeanor and model-worthy looks creates an effect that makes your stomach flip. He's the definition of a hot nerd—the kind that makes you temporarily forget about statistical analysis altogether and wonder what he'd look like with those glasses slightly askew, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
After partnering announcements finish, Professor Clarke instructs everyone to move next to their assigned partners to discuss project ideas.
You gather your things and make your way to Sunghoon's station, dropping into the chair beside him with dramatic flair.
"Fair warning," you say brightly, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this software. Like, none. Zero. Statistical analysis to me is deciding which café has the shortest queue."
You expect a sigh or a look of disappointment—it's what most serious students do when they realize they've been paired with you. Instead, Sunghoon's expression softens.
"It's okay," he says quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "I'm... not an expert either."
"But you always look so focused during class," you say, gesturing to his immaculate notes.
He shrugs, the movement slight and controlled. "I write everything down. Doesn't mean I understand it all."
When he opens the STATA program and navigates through a few screens with apparent ease, you lean closer.
"Okay, so you're being modest. You definitely know more than I do."
"Barely," he admits, and you catch the faintest hint of a smile—not the polite one from before, but something genuine that makes you want to see it again. "I just know how to make it look like I know what I'm doing."
"That's an important life skill," you laugh, pulling your chair closer to see his screen better. "So what kind of data are we analyzing? Please say something fun like ice cream consumption versus happiness levels."
Sunghoon doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Actually," he says, "we can choose almost anything that interests us."
You bump his shoulder lightly with yours. "See? We're going to be great partners. I bring the wild ideas, you bring the common sense."
"Is that what they call it?" he asks, and there's a hint of playfulness in his voice that catches you off guard.
"What would you call it?" you challenge.
He considers for a moment, adjusting his glasses with a single finger pushed against the bridge. The gesture shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Survival instinct."
You laugh, genuinely surprised. "So I'm dangerous?"
"No," he says, turning slightly to face you better. "Statistical software is dangerous. You're..." he pauses, seeming to search for the right word, "unpredictable."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one." The quiet confidence in his voice sends a small thrill through you.
Professor Clarke clears his throat at the front of the room. "I expect project proposals by the end of next week. Choose your dataset carefully—it will determine the scope of your entire project."
You glance at the clock. Only fifteen minutes of class remain.
"So, partner," you say, lowering your voice as Professor Clarke continues, "when should we meet to figure this out? I promise I'll try not to be ten minutes late."
Sunghoon's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Would you actually show up if I said 8 AM at the library?"
"Now you're just testing me," you whisper back.
"Coffee shop after class on Thursday?" he suggests instead, his voice equally quiet. "The one behind the science building?"
"Beans & Books? You've got good taste." You nod approvingly. "I practically live there between classes."
"I know," he says, then immediately looks as if he wishes he could take it back.
"You know?" You raise an eyebrow, intrigued and slightly pleased.
A faint color appears high on his cheekbones. "I've seen you there. You always order something different and then type furiously on your laptop."
The fact that he's noticed you before, observed your habits even, gives you a little flutter of satisfaction. "And what do you order, Sunghoon Park? Let me guess—plain black coffee, no sugar."
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Close. Earl Grey tea."
"Of course," you nod sagely. "Sophisticated."
When class ends, you gather your things slowly, suddenly reluctant to leave. Sunghoon stands, slinging his messenger bag across his chest in one smooth motion.
"Thursday, then," he says, as if confirming an important business meeting.
"It's a date," you reply with deliberate casualness, watching his reaction.
His expression remains mostly neutral, but you don't miss the quick blink, the slight pause before he nods. "For statistics," he clarifies, but the slight upturn of his lips betrays him.
"For statistics," you agree solemnly, though you're already wondering what other subjects you might explore together.
The coffee shop meeting goes surprisingly well. What you expected to be an hour of awkward dataset discussions turns into three hours of conversation that meanders far beyond statistics. Sunghoon, it turns out, has layers beneath his reserved exterior—he plays piano, reads philosophy for fun, and has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh harder than you have in weeks.
By the end of the evening, you've not only selected your dataset (coffee consumption versus academic performance—your suggestion, which he surprisingly agreed to), but you've also learned that his stammer appears when he's either nervous or passionate about a topic. You find both instances equally endearing.
When Friday's class rolls around, something shifts. You arrive only five minutes late (progress), and the space beside Sunghoon, which is usually empty, now seems to be waiting for you. You slide into the seat and he glances up from his notebook, the corner of his mouth lifting in that subtle way that's becoming familiar.
"You're almost on time," he says quietly, amusement in his eyes.
"Don't get used to it," you reply, but there's no bite to your words.
Throughout the class, your awareness of him is heightened—the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, how his fingers tap thoughtfully against the desk when Professor Clarke asks a difficult question, the scent of his cologne when he leans closer to point something out on your screen.
After class, you find yourself hesitating as you pack up your things, watching as he meticulously organizes his notes.
"So," you begin, aiming for casual, "I was thinking... we should probably meet again this weekend to work on the project." You pause. "My roommate's gone for the weekend. We could use my dorm? Fewer distractions than the coffee shop."
Sunghoon looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nods. "That would be... efficient."
You laugh at his choice of words. "Very statistical of you."
"I meant—" he starts, a hint of that stammer appearing.
"I know what you meant," you interrupt, grinning. "Saturday at four?"
He nods, adjusting his glasses. "I'll bring the data analysis. You bring the coffee."
"Deal."
Saturday arrives, and for the first time in your university career, you spend thirty minutes tidying your room before a study session. You tell yourself it's just basic courtesy, not because you care what Sunghoon thinks of your living space.
At precisely four o'clock, there's a knock at your door. Punctual as always.
You open it to find Sunghoon standing there in jeans and a simple button-down shirt, his laptop bag slung across his body. He's swapped his usual wire-frames for slightly thicker black glasses that somehow make him look even more attractive—scholarly but with an edge.
"You're making me look bad with this punctuality thing," you say by way of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.
"Sorry?" he offers, clearly unsure if he's actually done something wrong.
You laugh. "I'm joking. Come in."
Your dorm room is standard—bed, desk, small seating area with a loveseat and coffee table—but you've made it yours with art on the walls and plants on every available surface. Sunghoon takes it all in with curious eyes.
"I like your space," he says, and it sounds genuine.
"Thanks. Where should we set up? Desk or coffee table?"
"Either is fine," he says, that formal politeness still present even after your hours in the coffee shop.
You end up at the coffee table, sitting side by side on the loveseat, laptops open. For an hour, you actually make progress on the project. Sunghoon explains correlations in a way that finally makes sense, and you discover you have a talent for visualizing data in creative ways that makes his eyes light up with approval.
But as the afternoon wears on, the small space means your shoulders keep brushing, your knees occasionally touch, and each point of contact feels increasingly deliberate. When you reach for your coffee at the same moment he reaches for his tea, your hands collide, and neither of you pulls away immediately.
"Sorry," you both say at once, and then laugh.
"Great minds," you add, but you're distracted by how his eyes look behind those glasses, warm and focused entirely on you.
At some point, you shift positions, both of you turning toward each other to discuss a particularly complicated aspect of your analysis. Your knees are definitely touching now, and the loveseat suddenly seems much smaller than it did an hour ago.
"So if we compare these variables..." he's saying, but you're watching his mouth form the words more than listening to their meaning.
"Hmm?" you say, forcing your attention back to the screen.
He turns to look at you fully, and you realize how close your faces are. "You're not listening," he says, but there's no accusation in his voice.
"I'm distracted," you admit.
"By statistics?"
"By you."
The words hang in the air between you. Sunghoon blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something more intense. He swallows visibly, and you watch the movement in his throat.
"I'm... distracting?" he asks, his voice lower than before.
"Extremely." Your eyes lock on his glasses, the way they frame his dark eyes, how they complete his devastatingly attractive intellectual look. "Especially with these on."
His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "The glasses?"
"God, yes," you breathe, moving closer. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look in them."
A flush spreads across his cheeks, but there's a new confidence in the way he holds your gaze. Without warning, he pulls you forward into a kiss that has nothing of his usual restraint. His laptop slides forgotten to the coffee table as you shift closer, and then somehow you're straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face as you deepen the kiss.
When you break apart to breathe, his glasses are slightly askew. You straighten them gently, then run your fingers through his usually immaculate hair, deliberately messing it up while keeping the glasses perfectly in place.
"You're so sexy," you murmur against his mouth. "I've been thinking about this since the first day we were paired up."
His hands find your hips, holding you firmly against him. "I find that... statistically improbable," he manages, but his breathing is as uneven as yours.
"I'll show you improbable," you whisper, grinding down deliberately. His glasses fog slightly from the heat between you, and the sight sends a thrill through your body. "So fucking hot," you repeat, unable to stop yourself.
His hands slide beneath your shirt, exploring with a surprising boldness that makes you gasp. "We should—" he starts, breathing heavily.
“Yes,” you agree, already pulling him up from the loveseat, walking backwards toward your bed while keeping his mouth on yours. “The project can definitely wait.”
You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you, careful not to knock his glasses off as he hovers above you. They’ve fogged again from the heat between your bodies, and something about that sight—this controlled, precise man coming undone while still looking every bit the hot intellectual—pushes you past any remaining hesitation.
“Leave them on,” you insist when he reaches to remove his glasses. “Please.”
His lips curve into a smile that’s nothing like his usual restrained expressions—this one is knowing, almost wicked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck.
“It’s definitely what I want,” you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. “Along with… everything else.”
There’s a playful air to each touch, a slow building of tension as you both start to peel away layers. You tug at the hem of his shirt first, sliding it up inch by tantalizing inch until he lifts his arms to help you pull it off. He returns the favor by slipping a hand under your blouse, fingertips teasing over your ribs. Every time he tries to hasten the pace, you grin and slow him down, dragging the fabric just a bit more before letting it fall away, leaving him momentarily breathless. The sound he makes—caught somewhere between a groan and a laugh—sends a thrill through you.
Time seems to blur as clothing is discarded piece by piece, inhibitions falling away with each new revelation of skin. The afternoon sunlight filters through your curtains, casting everything in a warm glow.
At some point, you find yourself above him, both of you completely bare except for his glasses, which have somehow remained perfectly in place despite everything. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him beneath you—all lean muscle and flushed skin, those wire-rimmed glasses still perched on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat between your bodies.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, a vulnerability in his voice despite the intimate position.
“Can you blame me?” You lean down, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, then another, and another, each one growing more insistent. “God, look at you.”
His hands find your hips, steadying you as you continue to kiss him, his glasses occasionally bumping against your face in a way that only heightens your desire. There's something impossibly erotic about him being completely naked except for those glasses—the contrast between his exposed body and that one remnant of his studious, put-together appearance.
"You're so fucking sexy," you breathe against his mouth. "How does anyone focus in that statistics class with you sitting there looking like this?"
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. "I could ask you the same question."
Your kisses become more urgent, your bodies moving together with increasing need. The heat between you builds with each touch, each whispered encouragement. Sunghoon's usually careful movements grow bolder, more instinctive, as your hands explore each other's bodies. His glasses, still perfectly perched on his nose, begin to fog at the edges first—just a light mist that catches the dim light of your room. But as your passion intensifies, as your breathing grows more ragged and synchronized, the lenses cloud completely.
When you pull back to look at him, you can't help but laugh softly at the sight—this brilliantly composed man now completely blinded by the evidence of your shared desire, those glasses that make him look so irresistibly intellectual now rendered useless by the heat radiating between your bodies. To your surprise, he laughs too—not the polite chuckle you've heard in class or the soft amusement from your coffee shop conversations, but a genuine, uninhibited sound that seems to come from somewhere deep inside him. It's rich and warm and completely unguarded.
"I can't see a thing," he admits, his voice husky with desire and amusement. His hands find your face despite his temporary blindness, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with unexpected precision. "But I don't need to see to know exactly where you are."
"Is that so?" you challenge, your breath catching as his fingers trail down your neck, across your collarbone, mapping you with deliberate attention.
"I've been studying you," he murmurs, his touch making you shiver despite the heat between you. "Memorizing. Analyzing patterns." His hands continue their exploration, finding every sensitive spot with remarkable accuracy. "It's very... statistical."
You laugh against his mouth. "Only you could make statistics sound sexy."
Through the fogged lenses, you can just barely make out how his eyes darken at your words. "I have other statistical terms I could demonstrate," he offers, surprising you again with his boldness. His accent becomes slightly more pronounced when he's like this—another detail you've grown to cherish.
"Show me," you whisper, and he does—his hands and mouth conducting a thorough analysis of cause and effect, of stimuli and response, until you're clutching at his shoulders and gasping his name. All while those fogged-up glasses remain perfectly in place, the final vestige of his composed exterior while everything else between you unravels into glorious chaos.
You’re already bare beneath him, skin flushed from teasing and anticipation, but the only thing still clinging to his body—those damn glasses—make it so much worse. Or better. Definitely better.
Sunghoon hovers over you, gaze dark behind the lenses, lips swollen and slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. You should be embarrassed at how wanton you must look, legs spread for him, body already trembling, but he’s the one who looks wrecked. His composure is gone, shattered somewhere between the desperate kisses and the way you dragged your nails down his back.
His lips quirk. “Still want me to leave them on?”
“Don’t even think about taking them off.”
His smile turns wicked, and then he’s moving—kissing, sucking, trailing his mouth down your body with purpose. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider, and then he’s right there—close enough that you can feel the ghost of his breath against you, the heat of it making your stomach clench.
He doesn’t start slow. No teasing, no light flicks of his tongue just to test the waters. Sunghoon eats you like he’s been starving for this, like he’s been waiting for the moment he could taste you, drown in you. His tongue is hot and relentless, curling against you just right, pressing where you need him most, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body.
But what really undoes you is the feeling of his glasses pressing against your inner thighs, the cold metal contrasting with the heat of his mouth. Every time he moves, every time he adjusts his angle, the frames shift against your skin—slightly rough, slightly smooth, a reminder of exactly who is between your legs and how absolutely ruined he’s making you.
You fist the sheets, hips jerking up into his mouth, but he pins you down effortlessly, a strong arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you exactly where he wants you. He groans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations shooting through you, making you gasp his name.
“Fuck, Sunghoon—”
His response is a low hum against your clit, and your whole body shakes. You feel the damp heat of his breath, the slick slide of his tongue, but more than anything, you feel the weight of those goddamn glasses as they drag along your skin, fogging up even more, smudging against your inner thigh every time he moves deeper, harder, sloppier.
The sheer filth of it makes you clench around nothing.
Sunghoon notices, because of course he does—because he’s been studying you this whole time, memorizing what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble around his head. And he’s smug about it, too, because when he pulls back just enough to glance up at you, lips glistening, glasses just barely slipping down his nose, he smirks.
“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is raspy, breathless, wrecked.
You don’t even try to deny it. “Yes—God, yes, don’t stop.”
Sunghoon’s smirk deepens, and he doesn’t make you beg for it. He dives right back in, tongue flicking, sucking, his grip on your thighs tightening as you lose yourself completely. The drag of his glasses, the precise way he adjusts his angle to push you higher, the way he groans into you like he’s getting off on this just as much as you are—it’s too much.
The coil in your stomach snaps hard, pleasure crashing over you so intensely that you barely realize you’re pulling at his hair, moaning his name like a prayer, like you might fall apart completely if he stops.
Sunghoon doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow, methodical, lazy in a way that makes you shudder from overstimulation. Only when your body twitches beneath him does he finally pull away, chin glistening, glasses fucking ruined.
You’re still gasping when he crawls back up your body, hovering over you, his mouth right there, his glasses so close you can see the way they’re fogged-up and smudged with sweat.
When you finally collapse beside each other, spent and satisfied, his glasses are askew once more. You reach over to straighten them, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.
"So," you say, when you've caught your breath, "should we tell Professor Clarke we've found an interesting correlation to study?"
Sunghoon laughs, the sound free and unrestrained in a way you hadn't heard before today. "I don't think this is what he had in mind for the assignment."
"His loss," you murmur, snuggling closer. "I'd say our statistical analysis was very... thorough."
"We should probably actually work on the project at some point," he says, but makes no move to get up.
"Tomorrow," you promise, running a finger along his jawline. "I think we need to collect more data first."
His eyebrow raises above the rim of his glasses. "For the sake of academic integrity?"
"Absolutely," you agree solemnly, before dissolving into laughter.
The statistics of probability have never been so compelling.
-
Over the next few weeks, your statistics class takes on an entirely new dimension. What was once your least favorite part of the week has become the highlight—not because you've suddenly developed a passion for data analysis, but because of the subtle dance that unfolds between you and Sunghoon twice a week in that computer lab.
The Monday after your "study session," you arrive to class five minutes early—a personal record. Sunghoon is already there, of course, and the moment he sees you, his ears turn slightly pink. When you slide into the seat next to him, now officially your spot, he gives you a small smile that feels like a secret.
"You're early," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
"I had motivation," you reply, letting your knee brush against his under the desk.
His eyes flicker to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his notebook. "I hope it wasn't just for... statistical analysis."
"Depends on how you define statistics," you whisper just as Professor Clarke calls the class to order.
Throughout the lecture, you're acutely aware of every movement Sunghoon makes—how he adjusts his glasses when he's thinking, the precise way he takes notes, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking. Halfway through class, you deliberately drop your pen between you. When you both reach for it, your fingers touch, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, he hooks his pinky finger over yours for just a moment before handing you the pen. The small gesture sends a flutter through your chest.
After class, you walk together to the coffee shop without needing to discuss it. Somehow, it's already become your routine.
"How's the dataset compilation going?" he asks as you find a small table in the corner.
"That's what you want to talk about right now? Really?" You raise an eyebrow.
A faint smile plays at his lips. "We do have a project due in three weeks."
"Always so responsible," you sigh dramatically, but there's fondness in your voice. "It's going fine. I've got the coffee consumption survey data from about fifty students so far."
He nods approvingly. "That's a decent sample size for our purposes."
When your drinks arrive—his Earl Grey and your excessively complicated latte—you notice something different about him. He's still quiet, still thoughtful, but there's a new ease to his movements, a softness around his eyes when he looks at you.
"What?" he asks, catching you studying him.
"Nothing," you say, then reconsider. "Actually, not nothing. You seem... different."
He takes a sip of his tea, considering. "I feel different," he admits after a moment. "With you."
The simple sincerity of his words catches you off guard. For all your flirtatious confidence, his straightforward honesty disarms you completely.
"Good different?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy.
"Very good different," he confirms, and beneath the table, his foot rests against yours. Not by accident.
By the third week, you've fallen into patterns that blend the academic with the intimate. Your Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are devoted to actual project work—usually in the library where the public setting keeps you reasonably focused.
Your Saturday “study sessions” in your dorm room are significantly less productive in the statistical sense, though you joke that you’re certainly collecting plenty of data on other variables.
Sunghoon rolls his eyes every time you say it, but you know he loves it—loves how eager, how shameless you are when it comes to him. Because every time you spread your legs for him, every time you drag him into another compromising position, he never tells you no.
Case Study #1: The Textbooks
It starts with an innocent enough setup—Sunghoon sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against your bed, flipping through a statistics textbook while you sit across from him, pretending to study. But it’s boring. He looks too good in his glasses, sleeves rolled up, the slightest furrow in his brow as he concentrates. And before you even realize you’re moving, you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him right there on top of the book.
He barely has time to exhale your name before you sink down onto him, making both of you groan.
The hardcover digs into your knees, the pages creasing beneath you, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon is buried inside you, stretching you open, warm and deep and perfect, and the only data you’re analyzing is how his breath stutters when you roll your hips just right.
“Fuck, you’re unreal—” he pants, hands gripping your waist, watching you through the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses as you use him, ride him slow, grind on him like you want to ruin him.
You do. You want to wreck him just as much as he’s wrecking you. The friction, the delicious drag, the way his hands squeeze your hips to urge you to go faster, harder—it all shreds your self-control.
By the time you both come undone, gasping and clinging to each other, the textbook beneath you is thoroughly creased, sticky, ruined. Neither of you even bother looking at it.
Case Study #2: The Desk Chair
Another Saturday, another useless attempt at studying.
Sunghoon’s seated at your desk this time, one leg lazily spread, hand bracing his forehead as he tries to focus. But you’re kneeling between his legs, and the moment you reach for his zipper, his entire body tenses.
“You’re insatiable.”
“And?” You tug his pants down just enough to free him, palming his length, watching him harden in your hand as his breathing turns shallow.
He leans back, exhaling sharply when your lips part and you take him deep. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, tease him, make him fall apart.
His glasses slip down his nose as he watches you, half-lidded and dazed, jaw slack as you take him deeper, sucking, hollowing your cheeks, making obscene little noises that drive him insane.
He trembles when he finally spills down your throat, groaning your name, head thrown back against the chair.
And the moment he catches his breath, he drags you into his lap, flips you onto the desk, and fucks you stupid.
Case Study #3: Against the Window
Another week. Another “study session.” Another location.
This time, you find yourself pressed against the glass of your dorm window, palms splayed, breath fogging the pane as Sunghoon pounds into you from behind.
The curtains are open.
You don’t know if anyone can see—if someone walking by on the street below can look up and spot your bare body, the lewd way you’re bent over, Sunghoon’s hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with punishing force.
But you don’t care.
All you care about is the way he grunts into your ear, his glasses slightly askew, one hand slipping down to rub your clit, making you jerk and gasp his name as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growls, voice thick with lust, dragging his lips along your shoulder. “Look outside. Look at what a mess you are.”
Case Study #4: The Shower
It’s late, and you should be asleep. But instead, you’re pressed up against the tiled wall of your tiny dorm shower, water scalding hot, steam curling around you as Sunghoon lifts you up, holds you against him, and fucks you slow, deep.
His glasses are gone, finally.
They’d fogged up the moment he stepped into the shower, and the second you’d made a joke about it, he’d taken them off and set them on the sink. But you don’t miss them too much—not when his mouth is on your throat, sucking bruises into your wet skin, not when his fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you in place as he rolls his hips into you with exquisite precision.
You come twice before you finally stumble out of the shower, exhausted, dripping, completely spent.
And the moment you walk back into your dorm room, still naked, Sunghoon picks up his glasses, slides them back on, and gives you a look that tells you he’s nowhere near finished with you.
Case Study #5: The Floor (Again, Because You Can’t Stop)
At this point, you don’t even make it to the bed.
You’re both desperate, panting, **clawing at each other like you can’t stand the idea of being apart for another second.**The moment Sunghoon pushes you onto the floor, you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down, gasping when he fills you in one smooth thrust.
It’s fast, dirty, messy.
He grits out your name, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open as he slams into you, pace brutal, relentless. The carpet burns on your back will be worth it.
He loses his glasses at some point, but you don’t even notice—you’re too busy coming apart beneath him, clawing at his back, moaning his name like you’ll never get enough of him.
Maybe you won’t.
Because the second you catch your breath, still tangled up in him, you’re already thinking about where you’ll fuck next.
What surprises you most is how much you enjoy both versions of your time together. The project, which should be tedious, becomes engaging through Sunghoon's perspective. He has a way of finding patterns in chaos that makes even the driest data seem fascinating. And through your influence, he's learning to approach problems more creatively, to see beyond the rigid frameworks he's always relied on.
"What if we visualize it this way instead?" you suggest one Tuesday, sketching a completely unorthodox chart on the margin of his meticulously organized notes.
His initial reaction is skepticism—you can see it in the slight furrow of his brow—but he considers it longer than he would have three weeks ago.
"It's unconventional," he says finally.
"But?"
"But it might actually work better for presenting the correlation," he concedes, and the smile you give him is so bright it makes the student at the next table look over.
In class, Professor Clarke notices the change in both of you. Your questions become more insightful, Sunghoon's responses more animated. When you present your initial findings mid-semester, the professor actually seems impressed by your unusual approach to visualization.
"An interesting methodology," he comments, adjusting his own glasses in a way that reminds you of Sunghoon. "Unorthodox, but effective."
You beam at Sunghoon, who ducks his head slightly but can't hide his pleased expression.
After class, he catches your hand as you're packing up—a gesture he would never have initiated before.
"We make a good team," he says quietly.
"The best," you agree, squeezing his fingers before reluctantly letting go. Public displays still make him slightly uncomfortable, and you respect his boundaries.
-
It's during a rainy Friday evening in your dorm room, six weeks into your relationship (though neither of you has officially labeled it as such), that something shifts again.
You're sprawled on your bed with your laptop, Sunghoon sitting at your desk reviewing your latest statistical findings, his glasses reflecting the blue light of the screen. Classical music plays softly from his phone—another new development. He's been gradually introducing you to his favorite composers, and you've found you actually enjoy the background music while working.
"Your scatterplot is missing a data point," he says, turning to look at you.
"Mmm, probably deleted it accidentally," you reply, not looking up from your position. "Is it important?"
"All data points are important," he says, but there's amusement in his voice rather than criticism.
You roll onto your back, laptop balanced on your stomach. "That sounds like something that would be on a statistics department t-shirt. 'All data points matter.'"
He laughs—a sound that's become less rare but no less thrilling to hear. "I'd wear it."
"Of course you would," you tease. "With your glasses and a pocket protector."
He makes a face at you. "I don't own a pocket protector."
"Yet," you add with a grin.
He shakes his head, turning back to the screen, but you catch the smile he tries to hide. After a moment, he speaks again without looking at you.
"My parents want to meet you."
You sit up so quickly your laptop nearly slides off your stomach. "What?"
Now he turns, his expression a mixture of nervousness and something softer. "I mentioned you during our weekly call. Multiple times, apparently. My mother... noticed."
"You talk about me to your parents?" You can't keep the pleased surprise from your voice.
He adjusts his glasses, a gesture you now recognize as his tell when he's feeling vulnerable. "It seems I do."
"What do you tell them?" You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention.
"That you're brilliant in ways I'm not. That you see solutions I miss." He pauses. "That you make statistics class the best part of my week."
Your heart does that skipping thing it did the first day Professor Clarke paired you together, only stronger now.
"Sunghoon Park," you say softly, "are you saying I'm statistically significant to you?"
His expression turns serious, though his eyes remain gentle. "With a p-value approaching zero," he replies, and though it's phrased as a joke, his tone makes it clear it's anything but.
In statistics, a p-value approaching zero indicates an extremely high likelihood that an observed effect is real and not due to chance. It's the closest thing to certainty that statistics allows.
You cross the room to where he sits, gently taking his face between your hands. His glasses are slightly smudged, and you resist the urge to clean them, focusing instead on the eyes behind them.
"So," you say, "when do I meet these parents who raised such a statistically significant nerd?"
He laughs, pulling you into his lap in a move that would have seemed impossibly bold from him just weeks ago. "They're visiting next weekend. Dinner on Saturday?"
"I'm there," you promise, sealing it with a kiss.
-
The day of your semester project presentation arrives with an unexpected lack of anxiety. You're prepared—more prepared than you've been for any academic presentation in your life. Partly because the subject has actually become interesting to you, but mostly because working on it meant spending hours with Sunghoon.
You stand beside him at the front of the class, watching him explain your methodology with a confidence that wasn't there at the beginning of the semester. His voice is still quiet, still measured, but there's a strength behind it now, an assurance that comes from truly understanding his material. When he gestures to your creative visualization on the screen, there's a hint of pride in his voice that makes your chest warm.
When it's your turn to present, you catch him watching you with undisguised admiration. You explain the correlations you found between different types of coffee consumption and various academic performance metrics, throwing in jokes that make the class laugh and complex statistical terms that make Professor Clarke nod approvingly.
"And in conclusion," you finish, "we found that while caffeine consumption generally correlates with improved academic performance up to a point, the type of environment in which the coffee is consumed may be an equally significant factor."
"Furthermore," Sunghoon adds, stepping forward to stand beside you, shoulder to shoulder, "we discovered that the companionship variable—whether students studied alone or with others—showed the strongest positive correlation with both satisfaction and performance outcomes."
His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, and you know he's not just talking about the data anymore.
When Professor Clarke gives your presentation an A and commends your "complementary analytical approaches," you resist the urge to high-five Sunghoon in front of everyone. Instead, you wait until you're outside the building, then throw your arms around him in celebration.
To your surprise, he lifts you slightly off the ground in his enthusiasm, spinning once before setting you down, his face flushed with excitement and mild embarrassment at his own uncharacteristic display.
"We did it," he says, adjusting his glasses which were knocked askew by your hug.
"Was there ever any doubt?" you reply, reaching up to straighten them properly. "We're statistically significant, remember?"
His smile softens, and right there on the path outside the statistics building, with students streaming past on their way to other classes, he kisses you without hesitation or self-consciousness.
"What was that for?" you ask when he pulls away, delighted but surprised by the public display.
"I've been collecting data," he says, his eyes crinkling behind those glasses you've grown to love, "and I've formed a hypothesis."
"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. "And what hypothesis is that, Mr. Park?"
He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you begin walking toward the coffee shop that's become your place.
"That I'm in love with you," he says simply. "And unlike most statistical conclusions, I'm one hundred percent certain."
You stop walking, turning to face him fully. "That's a bold statistical claim. Absolute certainty is rare in your field."
"I have compelling evidence," he counters, and the confidence in his voice, so different from the hesitant student you met months ago, makes your heart race.
"I might need to review your data," you tease, though your voice catches slightly.
"Extensive observation over time," he begins, stepping closer. "Consistent results across multiple variables. Reproducible effects." His voice drops lower. "Significant positive impact on all quality-of-life metrics."
"Very scientific," you murmur, your hands finding their way to his chest.
"I thought so," he agrees, his eyes serious despite the playful exchange. "So my conclusion stands."
You rise on your tiptoes, pressing your forehead to his. "Well, as someone who's conducted a parallel study, I can confirm your findings. The evidence suggests I'm in love with you too."
His smile, rare and full, lights up his entire face. "Independently verified results. The best kind."
“Should we celebrate this breakthrough with coffee?” you suggest, already knowing his answer.
“I was thinking maybe we skip the coffee today,” he says, surprising you again. “I have other hypotheses I’d like to test.”
“Professor Clarke would be shocked at your dedication to statistical research,” you laugh, letting him lead you in the direction of your dorm instead of the coffee shop.
“Some variables,” he says with newfound confidence, “are worth studying in depth.”
You lean in close, pressing your lips right against the shell of his ear, and whisper the kind of filth that would make even the most shameless person blush.
“Then why don’t you pin me down the second we walk through that door, shove your face between my legs, and eat me so fucking good I forget my own name? And when I can’t take anymore, you’ll flip me over and fuck me like you’re trying to imprint yourself inside me—deep, rough, until I’m crying and drooling on the sheets, too dumb to do anything but take it.”
Sunghoon stops breathing.
You feel the exact moment your words hit him—his entire body locks up, his grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind.
His glasses fog immediately.
A strangled noise escapes him, something between a curse and a choked groan, and then he’s moving.
Not just moving—dragging you, fast, purposeful, like a man on a mission.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice wrecked, dangerous, and it sends a thrill straight through you.
By the time you reach your dorm, he’s already reaching for the door handle, barely keeping himself together, and the second it clicks shut behind you—
You know he’s about to make good on every single word you just whispered.
That, by any metric, was statistically significant indeed.
