What begins as innocent teasing quickly turns into playful mockery, cuteness aggression, and heated touches as your boyfriend pins you down and discovers how much you love the overwhelming size difference between you two.
WARNINGS ◦ size difference themes ◦ nsfw content, mdni ◦ strength kink ◦ manhandling ◦ lil bit boring and dragging as usual ◦ reader is smaller than sunghoon ◦ cringe alert lmao ◦ bad writing and poor development because i wrote this in 20 minutes okie ◦ size kink ◦ unrealistic sex scene bahahahah #stayfocusedsisters
6,184 ━━━━━ drabble park sunghoon x reader
۶ৎ 𝓜 , park sunghoon and size difference. that's it. that's the tea. this was only created because @hoonstrology put this in my head, it's her fault guys. y'all know i'm not normal that's why i can't just write a small short drabble so here it is me yapping about hoon muscles and managing a poor developed smut scene for 6k words. I KNOW THIS IS CRINGE AND UNCANON OKAY MY BAD, not my usual cup of tea if i'm being honest. anyways, I LOVE YOU WIFE. #legendarylovers4ever
━━━━━ read on ao3
The lights were off except for the soft glow of the TV. Some random action movie neither of you were really paying attention to played in the background—explosions, car chases, loud orchestral music. The couch had become a nest: your blanket thrown over both of you, Sunghoon’s long legs stretched out so far his feet hung off the end. You were curled into his side, head on his chest, one leg hooked over his thigh because he ran warm and the apartment always felt a little cold at night.
Your boyfriend had one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other resting lazily on your thigh where it lay over his. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns on your skin under the blanket—up and down, sometimes slipping just under the edge of your sleep shorts before retreating again, innocent. Or at least that’s what it started as.
You were trying to focus on the screen. Really.
But then Sunghoon shifted. Just a small movement—reaching for his cellphone on the coffee table with his free hand. His torso twisted slightly, chest tightening under your cheek, and suddenly the sheer scale of him hit you all at once.
His chest has gotten so broad that when he stretched like that, your entire upper body felt small against him. The arm behind your shoulders flexed without him meaning to, thick bicep pressing into your nape. His thigh under your leg felt impossibly solid and warm, the muscle dense even through the soft gray sweatpants. When he settled back again, he pulled you closer without thinking, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.
“This movie is actually ass,” he muttered, already reaching for his phone on the coffee table with his long arm. He didn’t even have to sit up fully — just stretched, torso tightening under you again, and grabbed it effortlessly.
You hummed in agreement, too distracted by the way his body moved beneath you to care about the plot anymore.
He slid down the couch a little more, getting comfortable, his hips sinking lower so his long legs spread out even further. The movement caused his gray sweatpants to pull tighter across his thighs. You felt the shift immediately — the solid muscle under your leg flexing as he adjusted his posture.
Without saying anything, without even really looking at you, Sunghoon’s free hand slid under the blanket and found your waist. And then he just… moved you. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His large hand gripped your hip firmly, fingers digging in just enough for you to feel the strength there, and he pulled you higher up his body in one smooth, effortless motion. Your leg that had been hooked over his thigh was now straddling his lap completely. Your chest pressed flush against his as he tucked you tighter against him, your face ending up buried in the crook of his neck.
He did it all with one arm. No straining, no grunting, just pure, casual manhandling — like you were a pillow he was rearranging for maximum comfort.
“There we go,” he mumbled under his breath, already looking down at his phone screen as he started scrolling. His thumb moved lazily across the display, completely at peace. “You were sliding down.”
Then he went right back to scrolling on his phone, thumb moving lazily across the screen, completely at peace. The faint blue light glowed against his sharp jaw as he read something that made the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
You, on the other hand, were spiraling.
Your entire body was now lying on top of his. Completely. Every slow breath he took lifted you gently, like you were floating on the rise and fall of a warm ocean.
You couldn’t see the TV at all anymore. Your world had narrowed down to the heat of Sunghoon's body, the clean scent of his skin at his neck, and the overwhelming size difference that was making your head spin.
He has gotten just so big.
The way your legs looked so short compared to his long ones stretched out beneath you. The way one of his hands could nearly wrap around your entire waist. How easily he had moved your whole body without even glancing away from his phone.
Heat kept blooming low in your stomach, heavy and insistent. You tried to stay still, but your fingers kept clenching and unclenching in the front of his hoodie, and your breathing had turned shallow and uneven against his neck.
Sunghoon kept scrolling peacefully for another minute, completely lost in whatever he was looking at. Then his thumb paused on the screen.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low and genuinely confused. “…Jagi? What’s going on?” His free hand rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, still thinking you were just tired or cold. “You 'kay?”
You lifted your head just enough to look at him, cheeks flushed, eyes a little wild with frustration and want.
“Sunghoon,” you said, voice impatient and slightly breathless, “you just manhandled me like I weigh five pounds, put me completely on top of you, and now your thigh is pressed right between my legs and your hand is basically covering my entire ass and you’re just… scrolling like nothing happened.”
You kept going, the words spilling out faster.
“You’re getting so fucking big, one hand and you just slid my whole body wherever you wanted, I can’t even see the TV anymore. I can barely think because all I feel is how easily you can just… handle me.”
There was a beat of silence, then your boyfriend burst out laughing. Literally laughing.
It wasn’t a small chuckle — it was a full, deep, surprised laugh that shook his chest underneath you. His head fell back against the couch cushion as he laughed, eyes crinkling, the sound warm and boyish and so genuinely amused it made your ears burn.
“Jagi— really?” he managed between laughs, phone now completely forgotten on his chest. “That’s what’s got you like this?”
You glared at him, half embarrassed, half still ridiculously turned on. “Yes. And you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m sorry— I’m sorry,” he said, still grinning, trying (and failing) to stop laughing. One of his big hands came up to cover his mouth for a second, but his shoulders were still shaking. “I was literally just trying to make you comfortable. You kept slipping down and I thought— fuck, I didn’t think it was that, jagi.”
He looked at you again, eyes sparkling with a mix of fondness and newfound heat. The laughter slowly faded into a soft, dangerous little smile as he finally seemed to register the full situation — your flushed face, your quick breathing, the way you were gripping his hoodie.
Sunghoon’s hand slid lower again, resting heavily on your ass under the blanket, fingers spreading out possessively.
“So…” he murmured, voice dropping, “you really like it when I move you around like that, huh?” He gave a small, experimental squeeze, easily palming most of your ass with one hand, and watched your reaction closely.
“Oh my God, stop with the posturing right now,” you muttered, cheeks burning hotter.
Sunghoon’s grin widened, clearly enjoying this way too much.
“I thought you liked it.”
“Well, yes,” you huffed, “but not now that you know it.”
You twisted in his hold, trying to escape the overwhelming attention. You turned your body away from him, attempting to roll onto your side and face the back of the couch, hoping the embarrassment would cool down if you didn’t have to look at his stupid smug face.
But Sunghoon didn’t let you. His arm tightened around your waist instantly — that same big hand locking you in place like it was nothing. Before you could even finish turning, he shifted his weight and rolled on top of you in one smooth, fluid motion. The air left your lungs.
He was so heavy. Not crushing, but solid and warm and everywhere. His chest pressed you deeper into the couch cushions, completely blocking out the soft glow from the TV. His shoulders were so wide they shadowed your entire upper body. You couldn’t see anything above you except him — just the dark outline of his face, the faint shine in his eyes, and the way his damp hair fell forward slightly.
“Sunghoon—” you started, but he caught both your wrists in one of his hands and pinned them above your head against the couch.
You pouted hard, trying to tug your wrists free from his grip. You twisted and pulled, but his fingers stayed locked around both of your wrists with ridiculous ease. He didn’t even seem to put in effort — just held you there, smiling down at you like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
“Let me go,” you whined, half-laughing, half-serious.
“Nope.” He shook his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “You tried to run away from me earlier. Can’t trust you anymore.”
Before you could curse at him again, Sunghoon suddenly got hit with a full wave of cuteness aggression. He dropped his head and attacked. First he bit your cheek — not hard, but enough to make you squeal. A playful, toothy bite followed by a loud kiss on the same spot.
“Sunghoon!” you yelped, laughing despite yourself.
He ignored you completely, too busy nuzzling and biting. He moved to your other cheek, biting gently before sucking a quick kiss there too.
“Stop— you asshole—!” you cursed between giggles, squirming underneath him, but that only made him press you down harder with his chest.
He moved lower, dragging his teeth slowly down the side of your neck before biting down on the sensitive skin there. Not enough to bruise (yet), but enough for you to feel the sharp edge of his teeth and the heat of his mouth. Then he soothed it with wet, open-mouthed kisses, sucking lightly.
You giggled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. He kissed all over your neck — slow, hungry kisses mixed with little bites and nips, murmuring between each one:
“So small under me…” Kiss. “Can barely see anything except your cute little face…” Bite. “Fits so perfectly in my hands…” Kiss. “Love how I can just pick you up and put you wherever I want…”
You were a mess — laughing, whining, cursing him between shaky breaths.
“Park Sunghoon, I swear to God—”
He cut you off by biting your jaw, then immediately kissing the spot tenderly. His free hand slid under your hoodie again, palm hot against your waist, fingers spreading wide like he needed to remind himself how much of you he could hold at once.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but still sparkling with that ridiculous fondness.
His thumb stroked over your trapped wrists as he leaned in again, hovering just above your lips. “Tell me how tiny you feel right now, baby.”
You stared up at him, flushed and frustrated, still trying to catch your breath after his attack of kisses and bites.
“I can’t believe this is foreplay for you right now, Hoon,” you muttered annoyingly, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re literally pinning me down and acting like a giant cat with cuteness aggression and you want me to stroke your ego on top of it?”
Sunghoon’s expression shifted instantly. He looked genuinely offended, eyebrows pulling together as he stared down at you. “Ya,” he said, voice flat but clearly playful-offended. “Answer my question.”
You tried to hold back a smile. When you stayed quiet, just staring at him with a defiant little smirk, your boyfriend narrowed his eyes.
Then his eyes dropped.
Your oversized hoodie had ridden up during all the squirming and wrestling, and the collar of the shirt underneath had shifted. A delicate strap of your new bra was now peeking out near your collarbone — soft sage green lace against your skin.
He stopped mid-sentence, completely sidetracked.
Without any warning, Sunghoon used the hand that wasn’t pinning your wrists and casually tugged the hem of your hoodie and shirt upward, pulling both up halfway in one smooth motion. Cool air hit your stomach and ribs as he exposed the pretty bra fully.
“Hey!” you yelped, offended, eyes widening. “You can’t just— Sunghoon!”
He didn’t even look guilty.
His gaze was locked on your chest, genuinely focused now, the teasing completely forgotten for a second. His free hand stayed resting on your waist, thumb absently brushing the underside of the bra cup.
“Is this a new set, baby?” he asked, voice softer, almost distracted. He tilted his head, still hovering over you, eyes tracing the delicate lace. “It looks so pretty… the color really suits you.”
You stared at him, cheeks burning with a completely different kind of embarrassment now.
He was ogling. Not in a dirty way — at least not yet — but in that focused, slightly awestruck boyfriend way, like he’d just discovered something fascinating and needed to study it.
“Yeah… it’s new,” you answered reluctantly, squirming under his heavy gaze. “I bought it last week. Stop staring like that.”
Sunghoon finally looked back up at your face, but his hand was still gently touching the fabric, fingertips brushing over the lace like he was testing how soft it was.
“I’m not staring,” he said, clearly lying. “I’m appreciating. The green looks really good on you. Seriously. It’s soft too… is the whole set like this?”
You groaned, trying (and failing) to pull your wrists free again. “I hate you. You were literally in the middle of teasing me about my size kink and now you’re acting like a fashion critic because you saw lace.”
He smiled, slow and mischievous again, but his eyes kept flicking back down to the bra.
“Look, I'm just a man, jagi.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right above the bra strap on your collarbone. “You should wear this more often. I like it.”
He smiled, slow and mischievous again, but his eyes kept flicking back down to the sage green lace.
“Look, I’m just a man, jagi.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right above the bra strap on your collarbone. “You should wear this more often. I like it.”
You huffed, still half-annoyed at how easily he got distracted, but the way his lips lingered on your skin was making it hard to stay mad.
Sunghoon’s gaze darkened again as he slowly dragged his eyes up your body. He seemed to suddenly remember the position you were in — you pinned underneath him, wrists still trapped in one of his hands, hoodie and shirt bunched up under your chin.
The teasing smile returned.
“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, voice lower now.
He shifted his hips, pressing his thigh harder between your legs, right against your core. The pressure was deliberate this time. You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you.
Sunghoon’s free hand slid up your ribs, fingers splaying wide across your skin until his palm covered almost the entire underside of your breast through the new bra. You let out a embarrassed, turned-on whine and tried to twist again, but he only chuckled darkly and pinned you harder into the couch.
“Stop moving like that,” he said, though his tone made it clear he loved it. “You’re making me so fucking hard.”
He finally released your wrists, but only so he could use both hands to shove your hoodie and shirt higher, completely exposing your chest. Before you could protest, he leaned down and mouthed at your breast through the lace, hot and wet, teeth grazing the fabric while his other hand squeezed your waist like he needed to feel how small it was.
“Hoon—” you breathed, fingers finally free to thread through his hair.
He hummed against your skin, sucking lightly before pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips were glossy, eyes completely blown.
“You wanted this,” he reminded you, voice rough. “You got wet the second I moved you like a doll. Don’t act shy now.”
In one smooth motion, he sat up on his knees, pulling you with him like you weighed nothing. He flipped you so your back was against his chest, your smaller body settled between his spread thighs. His arms wrapped around you from behind — one across your chest, the other sliding down your stomach until his big hand cupped between your legs possessively.
He pressed his hard cock against your ass, thick and obvious through his sweatpants.
“Feel that?” he murmured against your ear, biting the lobe gently. “That’s what you do to me. Just by being this fucking tiny.”
You moaned softly, head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers started slow, teasing circles over your sleep shorts. The TV was still playing explosions in the background, completely ignored.
Sunghoon kissed the side of your neck, slow and open-mouthed, while his hand kept working you.
“Tell me what you want, jagi,” he whispered, voice sweet but filthy. “Want me to keep manhandling you? Or do you want me to fuck you like the tiny little thing you are?”
He squeezed you tighter against him, emphasizing just how easily he could control your whole body.
Your answer came out shaky and needy:
“…Both.”
Sunghoon let out a low, satisfied laugh against your skin and tightened his arms around you.
“Good girl.”
The praise hit you low in your stomach. His voice had gone deeper, that lazy rasp he only got when he was properly turned on. One of his arms stayed banded across your chest, holding you flush against him, while his other hand kept slowly rubbing between your legs over your sleep shorts. The pressure was firm, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to drive you crazy.
You could feel every inch of him behind you. His chest was a solid wall of heat against your back. His thighs on either side of you were thick and firm, caging you in. And his cock — hard, heavy, and insistent — pressed right against your ass, twitching every time you shifted.
He nosed along your neck, breathing you in.
“Lift your hips for me,” he murmured.
You barely had time to process the request before his hands were already moving you. He gripped your waist with both hands and lifted you slightly, pulling your shorts and panties down your thighs in one smooth tug. The fabric caught at your knees before he impatiently yanked them the rest of the way off and tossed them somewhere on the floor.
The cool air hit your bare skin, but it only lasted a second — Sunghoon immediately pulled you back against him, one big hand sliding between your thighs again. This time there was no fabric between his fingers and your pussy.
“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he groaned softly, almost like he was talking to himself. Two of his long fingers dragged slowly through your folds, spreading the wetness. “All this just because I moved you around a little? My tiny baby really has it bad.”
You whimpered, head falling back against his shoulder. He circled your clit with the pads of his fingers — slow, deliberate strokes that made your thighs tremble.
Then, without warning, he slid one thick finger inside you.
The stretch was immediate. Even one of his fingers felt big, especially with how worked up you already were. He pumped it slowly, curling it just right, while his thumb kept rubbing lazy circles on your clit.
“So tight,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “Always so fucking tight for me. Like your body knows how big I am and still tries to take me anyway.”
You moaned louder, hips rolling against his hand. Sunghoon chuckled darkly and used his other arm to hold you still, keeping you pressed tight against his chest so you couldn’t move much.
“Stay still, jagi. Let me play with you.”
He added a second finger, stretching you wider. The wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of you was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment, even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.
You reached back, grabbing onto his hoodie, needing something to hold onto. Sunghoon rewarded you by kissing your neck and grinding his hard cock against your ass in time with his fingers.
“You feel that?” he asked, voice rough. “That’s how hard you make me. Just from being this small and pretty and easy to move around.”
He suddenly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the loss. But before you could complain, he manhandled you again — flipping you onto your back on the couch like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread thighs, pushing them wide apart with his hands.
For a moment he just looked at you, eyes dark, hair messy, breathing a little heavier. His gray sweatpants were tented obscenely.
Then he leaned down, shoving your hoodie and shirt all the way up and over your head, leaving you in just the sage green bra. He hooked two fingers under the front of it and tugged it down, freeing your breasts.
“Pretty,” he murmured, almost reverently, before leaning in and sucking one nipple into his mouth.
You arched into him with a gasp. His mouth was hot and wet, tongue flicking teasingly while his hand kneaded your other breast. The size difference was even more obvious like this — his large hand completely covering one of your tits, fingers able to touch around it easily.
He switched sides, giving the other the same attention, then started kissing a trail down your stomach.
When he reached your pussy, he didn’t tease. He licked a slow, broad stripe up your center, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.
Your hands flew to his hair, thighs trying to close around his head, but he easily pushed them back open with those strong arms, holding you spread for him.
He ate you out like he was starving — messy, hungry, focused. The wet sounds mixed with your broken moans and his low groans of approval. Every time you squirmed too much, he tightened his grip on your thighs, reminding you how easily he could hold you down.
“Hoon— fuck— I’m close—”
He hummed against you and slid two fingers back inside, curling them perfectly while his tongue kept working your clit.
You came hard, back arching, thighs shaking in his grip. He didn’t stop, working you through it until you were whimpering and pushing at his head.
Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes blown wide with lust.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled back up your body, hovering over you again. The outline of his cock was straining desperately against his sweatpants.
Sunghoon leaned down, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
“Think you can take me now, baby?” he asked, voice husky. “Or do you want me to manhandle you a little more first?”
You barely managed a shaky breath before answering.
“…Manhandle me,” you whispered, cheeks burning.
Sunghoon’s eyes flashed with dark satisfaction. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sat back on his knees, towering over you on the couch.
“Greedy girl.”
In one fluid motion, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach like you were weightless. He pulled your ass up high, forcing you onto your knees while keeping your chest pressed down against the cushions. The position made you feel incredibly small — face down, ass up, completely exposed for him.
His big hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he admired the view.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, almost reverently. One hand slid up your spine, pressing you down harder into the couch. “So tiny like this. I can fit both my hands around your waist… and still have room.”
You felt the couch dip as he shifted closer. The sound of fabric rustling filled the air as he finally pushed his sweatpants and boxers down. His cock sprang free, heavy and hot, slapping against your ass cheek.
He rubbed the thick head along your soaked folds, teasing your entrance without pushing in.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice suddenly softer for a second, even as his grip on your hip stayed firm.
Then he started pressing in.
The stretch was intense. Even after his fingers and his tongue, the sheer girth of him made your mouth fall open in a silent moan. Inch by inch, he sank into you, slow and controlled, growling low in his throat.
“Shit… so tight,” he hissed. “You’re squeezing me so fucking hard, jagi. Like your pussy doesn’t want to let me in… but you’re still taking every inch.”
When he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt impossibly full. The size difference was overwhelming — his much larger body completely covering yours, his chest pressed to your back, one arm braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.
He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, lips brushing your ear.
“Feel that?” he whispered. “I’m so deep I can feel your stomach bulging a little when I push in.”
You moaned brokenly, fingers clawing at the couch cushion.
Sunghoon started moving — deep, powerful thrusts that made your whole body rock forward. Every time he drove back in, his hips slapped against your ass, the sound filthy and loud. His free hand reached under you, pressing against your lower stomach so he could feel himself moving inside you.
Sunghoon started moving — deep, powerful thrusts that made your whole body rock forward with every snap of his hips. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the living room, filthy and rhythmic, barely covered by the explosions still playing on the forgotten TV. His free hand stayed pressed firmly against your lower stomach, feeling the way his cock bulged slightly inside you with every thrust.
“Fuck, jagi,” he groaned, voice rough but still carrying that familiar teasing edge.
You whimpered into the cushion, fingers twisting in the fabric as he drove into you again, harder this time. The stretch was overwhelming in the best way — he was thick, long, and unrelenting, making your thighs tremble every time he bottomed out.
“Too big,” you gasped, half-complaint, half-plea.
Sunghoon let out a breathy laugh, the sound warm despite how hard he was fucking you.
“Too big?” He slowed his thrusts just to grind deep, rolling his hips in filthy circles. “You’re the one who got dripping wet when I moved you like a doll. Don’t act like you don’t love how big I am now.”
He leaned over you completely, his broad chest pressing against your back, caging you in. The weight of him was grounding and overwhelming all at once. One of his hands found yours on the couch, easily covering it completely as he intertwined your fingers.
You let out a broken moan, pushing back against him despite your words. Sunghoon grinned against your neck and bit down gently, the same cuteness aggression from earlier creeping back in even while he was buried inside you.
“Brat,” he whispered fondly, then suddenly pulled out.
You whined at the loss, turning your head to glare at him over your shoulder.
“Sunghoon—”
But he was already manhandling you again. He flipped you onto your back like it was nothing, hooking his hands under your knees and folding you in half. Your thighs pressed against your chest as he settled between your legs, lining himself up again.
“This is better,” he said smugly, pushing back inside you in one smooth thrust. “I like seeing your face when you’re trying so hard not to moan my name.”
You slapped his chest weakly, laughing through a moan.
“You’re so annoying— ah!”
He cut you off with a particularly deep thrust, bottoming out completely. The new angle made you see stars. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened as he watched your face, drinking in every reaction like it was his favorite thing in the world.
“There she is,” he murmured, starting a brutal pace again. “My noisy girlfriend.”
The couch creaked under you both as he fucked you harder, his hips snapping against yours. Sweat was starting to cling to his skin, making his black compression shirt stick to his broad chest. You reached up, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric, pulling him down closer.
Sunghoon obliged, folding you even more as he kissed you messily. It wasn’t graceful — it was desperate, tongues and teeth, little laughs breaking through when your noses bumped.
“You’re laughing during sex?” you gasped, half-offended, half-amused.
“Can’t help it,” he grinned, nipping at your bottom lip. “You’re just so fucking cute when you’re getting railed. Look at you… all folded up and taking me so well.”
He shifted his weight onto one arm and used the other to press your thigh higher, opening you up even more. The change made him hit a spot that had you crying out, back arching.
“Right there?” he asked, voice cocky but genuinely focused on your pleasure. “Yeah? That’s my girl.”
Your hands moved to his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there. Even now, in the middle of intense sex, Sunghoon couldn’t stop being Sunghoon. He kept murmuring little comments between thrusts — some filthy, some stupidly sweet.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight… my tiny pussy trying to keep me inside.” Then, softer: “You’re so pretty like this, jagi. Love you so much.”
The mix of his dirty praise and genuine affection made your head spin. You felt the pressure building again, fast and overwhelming.
“Hoon— I’m gonna—”
“I know,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come on, baby. Come for me. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”
He reached between you and rubbed tight circles on your clit, never slowing his thrusts. The combination sent you over the edge hard. Your orgasm crashed through you, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around him as you moaned his name.
Sunghoon fucked you through it, pace turning sloppy as he chased his own release.
“Fuck— you’re so tight when you come,” he hissed, burying his face in your neck. A few more deep thrusts and he came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a low, broken groan.
For a moment, the only sounds were both of you breathing heavily and the distant movie still playing in the background.
Sunghoon stayed buried inside you as he carefully lowered your legs, letting you stretch out. He didn’t pull out right away. Instead, he collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you completely, and nuzzled into your neck like a big clingy cat.
“You okay?” he asked softly, pressing lazy kisses to your sweaty skin. The cuteness aggression was back in full force now that the heat had settled — he was gently biting your shoulder, then kissing the same spot.
You let out a tired laugh, running your fingers through his damp hair.
“I think you broke me.”
He lifted his head, grinning proudly.
“Good. That was the plan.” Then his expression softened. “But seriously… was it too much? I know I get carried away when you look at me like that.”
You shook your head, smiling up at him.
“It was perfect. Even if you are an annoying, smug giant.”
Sunghoon chuckled and kissed you sweetly, slow and deep, before finally pulling out. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it over both of you, tucking you against his chest like he always did after sex.
“You know,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, “next time you get shy about your size kink… I’m just gonna remind you how loud you moaned when I folded you in half.”
You groaned, hiding your face in his chest.
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, jagi.”
He laughed softly, pulling you even closer, the two of you tangled together on the couch as the movie finally ended in the background.
Sunghoon stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, both of you catching your breath. Then he slowly pulled out with a quiet groan, immediately reaching for the tissues on the coffee table. He was gentle as he cleaned you up, wiping between your thighs with careful strokes.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, almost to himself. His voice had lost all the teasing edge, replaced by that soft, low tone he only used when he was feeling protective.
You let out a tired hum, eyes half-closed. “That’s your fault, giant.”
He smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up. Even now, right after sex, he moved with that effortless grace. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a warm, damp towel and a bottle of water.
“C’mere, jagi.”
Without waiting for you to move, he slid one arm under your back and the other under your knees, lifting you easily into his lap. You curled into his chest automatically, still feeling floaty. He wiped you down gently with the warm towel, one big hand holding your thigh open while the other cleaned you with slow, soothing strokes.
“Too rough?” he asked quietly, eyes scanning your face.
You shook your head, nuzzling into his neck. “Hell no, I enjoyed it.”
He hummed, satisfied with your answer, and set the towel aside. Then he uncapped the water bottle and brought it to your lips.
“Drink.”
You took a few sips obediently while he held the bottle for you, his other hand rubbing slow circles on your bare back. When you were done, he took a long drink himself before setting it on the table.
Sunghoon pulled the blanket over both of you again and shifted so he was lying on his back with you draped completely on top of him. Your smaller body fit perfectly against his — your head on his chest, legs tangled with his much longer ones. He wrapped both arms around you, one hand resting possessively on your ass under the blanket, the other gently playing with your hair.
“You’re so warm,” you mumbled sleepily, pressing your cheek against his chest.
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating under your ear.
“That’s because I’m a walking heater. Built for tiny girlfriends who get cold easily.”
You lightly pinched his side. “Stop calling me tiny.”
“But you are tiny,” he teased, though his voice was incredibly fond. He hugged you tighter, almost squeezing you. “My perfect little handful.”
You groaned but didn’t pull away. Truthfully, you loved being held like this — completely surrounded by him. His heartbeat was steady under your ear, and his body heat made the blanket feel almost unnecessary.
Sunghoon seemed to sense it, because he pulled you even closer, one large hand gently cupping the back of your head while the other rested possessively on your lower back. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, his lips warm and soft.
“You’re so quiet now,” he murmured, amusement coloring his tired voice. “Where’s the girl who was calling me annoying ten minutes ago?”
“Shut up,” you mumbled against his chest, but there was no heat in it. Your fingers traced lazy circles over his shirt, feeling the firm muscle underneath. “I’m recovering from you trying to fold me into a pretzel.”
He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You asked for it, jagi. Literally said ‘manhandle me.’” He shifted slightly, adjusting you higher so your face tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck. “But I’ll be gentler next time… maybe.”
You pinched his side weakly. “Liar.”
“Only a little,” he admitted, smiling. His fingers continued threading through your hair in that soothing rhythm, slowly lulling you toward sleep. The rain outside had gotten heavier, creating a gentle white noise that mixed with his steady breathing.
After a long, comfortable silence, Sunghoon spoke again, softer this time.
“Thank you for letting me stay tonight. I know you had work to do.”
You smiled sleepily. “Worth it.”
He hugged you a little tighter, almost instinctively, like he couldn’t help it. “I love you,” he whispered against your hair. “Even when you’re pretending to be mad at me for being big.”
You let out a quiet laugh, already half-asleep. “Love you too, giant.”
Sunghoon stayed awake a little longer, just holding you, occasionally pressing small kisses wherever he could reach — your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your ear. Eventually his own breathing slowed, his body relaxing completely beneath yours as sleep finally took him.
The two of you stayed like that on the couch, tangled together under the blanket — your much smaller frame safely wrapped up in his warmth, the Sunday night feeling a little less borrowed and a lot more like home.
author's note — i didn't edit this btw. planning to write a proper hoon drabble soon bc i HATED this one >< but i did release it because size kink sunghoon was eating the worms in my brain lately and i had to get it out somehow. i know this is cringe ok bye <3
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 💌 crazy making out scenes, literally they're only making out, suggestive and steamy! making out, grinding, spit play, tongue play, so messy, sunghoon's so obsessed! non proofread as usual!
𓆩♡𓆪 i donno if this is obvious but i highlight kissing so so so much and for so many times in almost every smut i write about. i love kissing, i think kissing is the most intimate act ever. kissing is sex, and i have this weird thing where i'm like, oh kissing IS THE point of everything... u cheat and fuck her?? ok... u KISS her...? ok now wtf that's actually cheating... i can talk abt it for hours sorri ok mwah. i love kissing <3
thinking of kisser boy sunghoon aka sunghoon who’s obsessed with kissing. unlike the other guys who make one another choose ass or boobs, sunghoon prefers your… lips instead.
it shows in the way he kisses you like he’s trying to memorise every plump, every skin, every texture of it. so slow at first—almost lazy—just pressing his lips against yours again and again, barely moving.
“sunghoon—”
his arm snakes around your waist from behind. you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, notes and textbooks scattered around the foldable table, but sunghoon—who’s leaning against the edge of the bed—has clearly run out of patience and things to do.
you let out a small surprised sound as he pulls you backwards, settling you between his legs, back meets his chest, and your head naturally tilts up toward him.
“don’t—” you start, trying to keep your focus on the open laptop in front of you. “i need to study.”
he doesn’t listen, nor care really. instead, sunghoon’s slender fingers slide along your jaw, turning your face toward him with that determination when he wants something from you. and this something is your lips.
“just one,” he murmurs, mouth already hovering close. “please?”
you turn your head away at the very last second, lips pressing into a line. “no. i have a test tomorrow—”
sunghoon follows. his hand cups your cheek, guiding your face back to him. the moment your lips are within reach, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to them, slow and sweet like he’s just beginning to melt.
you pull back slightly, whining, “sunghoon, i’ve got a test—”
but he’s already tilting your head the other way, chasing your mouth with his own. another kiss, a little deeper this time, his lips moving against yours. when you try to pull and turn away again, het lets out a soft, pleading sound against your lips.
“please, baby, just a little more,” he whispers, voice sweet and saccharine. his thumb strokes your cheek as he angles your face toward him once more. “your lips are so pretty when you’re focused…”
his thumb then lightly presses and tugs on the plump centre of your lips. “it’s so pouty…”
you frown and squirm half–hearteedly in his hold, giggling despite yourself as he keeps stealing kiss after kiss—each one slowly and more consuming than the last. every time you mutter “nooo”, or try to look away from him, he simply nudges your chin back and captures your lips again.
more persistent. more greedy. more annoying.
“babe—” you try one last time, but it just comes out breathy, whiny, and weak against his mouth.
your boyfriend hums softly, super satisfied, and kisses you even deeper, one hand cradling your face while the other keeps you pressed against his chest. he takes your bottom lip between his, tugging it gently before soothing it with a slow swipe of his tongue.
“mmhm,” sunghoom hums, sucking your top lip and just lost in the feeling overall. every kiss is so deliberate and unhurried and felt, but so persistent that you’re melting nonetheless whether you want to or not.
he barely gives you room to breathe, and it’s not helping with the awkwardness of the position you’re in—twisted around with your back against his chest, neck craned. but he doesn’t seem to notice; and if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. your boyfriend just keeps turning your head with his hand so he can kiss you from every angle he wants, smiling against your lips every time they part a little more for him.
“so soft,” he murmurs between kisses, voice hazy and low.
his fingers squish your cheeks together, making your lips pout. he starts peppering tiny, greedy pecks all over them—soft, repeated little kisses on the plump centre, then the corners, then back to the middle again like he can’t decide which part tastes better.
you let out a muffled whine.
sunghoon cuts you off by pressing a firmer, deeper kiss right in the centre of your squished lips, feeling them yield underneath. he doesn’t let go of your cheeks, keeping them pinched while he indulges—sucking, then the top one, savouring the plush.
“you’re so perfect,” he whispers before tilting your head further to the side, capturing your mouth fully, slow and so deep, completely lost.
he’s so irritating.
——
a kiss is a sex.
sunghoon doesn’t just love kissing during sex—he pretty much can’t get hard without it. or he gets hard every time you guys kiss? it’s not foreplay, nor is it an add on. he cannot fathom how some people don’t devour each others’ lips during sex.
making out is the main event most of the time.
the nights where you both start with the intention of going further, clothes already scattered on the floor, his body hovering over yours, hard and ready… and you’re so fucking desperate your pussy keeps spasming over fucking nothing…
but then his lips find yours and everything slows down except the hardness in his cock. he gets so lost, completely.
like right now.
sunghoon’s got you underneath him, thighs spread around his hips, skin hot and flushed and sweaty. you can feel how hard he is, his cock pressed against you and it twitches every time you shift.
“can’t—can’t take it anymore, hoonie… need you inside m—”
your boyfriend cuts you off by slamming his lips against yours instead of pushing inside and fucking you feral.
and there goes everything.
he tilts his head, slotting your mouths together perfectly, sucking on your bottom lip before sliding his tongue against yours in sensual strokes. every time you try to pull back for air, he just chases over—whining into your mouth.
“where you going?” he whines, grinding his cock between your pussy lips. “just kiss me—c’mon.”
it’s so fucking annoying how his hips roll so nicely, his cock between the wetness of your cunt and sometimes the tip dips in—but he never actually thrusts in. sunghoon’s too busy indulging your mouth—licking and biting.
instead of the wet sex, thrusting, pounding sounds, the room is filled with messy and obscene wet kisses.
you moan into his mouth when he angles his head and kisses you even deeper, tongue exploring every corner and crevices of your domain. his thumb strokes your cheeks while he keeps your face right where he wants it, completely taking control of the kiss as usual.
“shit, shit, shit,” he moans, grinding his cock faster against your soaked pussy—hot, heavy, throbbing—and kisses you just as much.
not for a single second does he pull away. his mouth stays glued to yours, every grind makes you both whimper. sunghoon plays with your tongue like he’s making love to it—curling around yours, sucking on it, then licking it flat and messy.
gosh, he’s even fucking licking your teeth like it’s toothbrush, or something.
sunghoon pulls back just enough to let a thin string of spit corner your lips, then dives back in, pushing his tongue against yours. this time, sloppier on purpose. sunghoon mixes his spit with yours under it’s dripping down your chin before catching it with his tongue then feeds it back to you in an open–mouthed kiss.
“so wet,” he pants like a dog in a heat. “your mouth, pussy—everything’s so fucking soft for me.”
you’re both a mess. spit on your chin and chest. his hips that just rolls in that desperate rhythm he’s not doing anything to fix, rubbing his cock against your clit, but still not slipping inside. he’s too addicted to your mouth,
this is sex for him.
sunghoon pulls back for half a second, eyes hazy and you swear his pupils dilate by many when he stares down at you. momentarily, you thought you’re finally getting pounded—but then he spits directly onto your tongue—a blob of warm saliva pooling on the flat of your tongue—before he kisses you again.
there have been nights when he spends hours just making out and being naked with you and sunghoon cums just from that. shoots up those precious semen that should’ve been inside you on your tummy.
your boyfriend is so pathetic and annoying he cums from kissing alone. from the way you whimper into his mouth when he sucks on your tongue. from how swollen and shiny your lips get.
this is one of those nights that don’t even go further than this.
because to sunghoon, a kiss isn’t just a kiss.
it’s sex.
——
“...what did you do?”
you’re staring at the mountain on the bed—all from that expensive brands you mentioned once in passing. sunghoon stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, looking way too pleased.
“i bought you stuff baby,” he smiles, pressing a kiss on the slope of your shoulder. then, he presses his cheek against yours, lips not failing to brush your skin. “...try ons?” he says innocently, but the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise.
sunghoon bought you more lip products than lingeries or toys. glosses in every shade and flavour—sheer pinks, shiny nudes, tinted reds, glittery ones, plumping ones. stacks of lip oils, balms, liners, liquid lipstick, satin, powdery—it’s endless.
“hoonie,” you laugh, half–amused, half–shocked. “this is too much. you just bought me some few weeks back, and i don’t even wear lip gloss that often—”
“but you will now,” he murmurs, already pulling you forward with him. he picks up a shiny pink gloss and uncaps it, eyes locked on your mouth.
“try this one first.”
you barely have time to protest before he holds your chin and applies the gloss on for you. his gaze is so focused on every glide of the wand across your lips. when he’s done, he admires how glossy and pouty they look.
“gosh,” he murmurs, feeling the throb beneath his sweats.
sunghoon presses his lips against your newly glossed ones, smearing the shin between you. it starts soft—but sunghoon being sunghoon—he quickly gets greedy. he kisses you deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip to taste the sweet goods.
“mmm… strawberry,” he murmurs, then goes back in for a confirmation and more. he sucks lightly on your bottom lip, licking the gloss, only to kiss so the shine transfers to his own lips.
you pull back a little, giggling. “you bought all this just so you could kiss it off me, didn’t you?”
your boyfriend doesn’t deny it. instead, he picks up another tube—a cherry red one this time—and grins that pretty, naughty smile.
“obviously. be good and try the next one for me, baby.”
sunghoon plans on spending the entire night applying, admiring, and then thoroughly kissing every single shade off until your lips are swollen and shiny with his spit because sunghoon believes nothing—nothing looks better on you but him.
buying you all these glosses aren’t just a gift for you—it’s an investment for him.
their stocks are falling, the petition is around LESS THAN 100k signatures away from reaching ONE MILLION, there have been almost EIGHT MILLION posts on x/twt about this, multiple protest trucks outside the building of hybe THAT HYBE STAFF THEMSELVES TOOK PHOTOS OF !!!! and reminder there have been NO news of his contract termination even if he’s supposedly (let’s assume) under a soloist contract THERES STILL NO NEWS OF HIS CONTRACT TERMINATION FOR ENHYPEN. as bad as it may feel and look like for us rn it’s looking WAY worse for hybe/belift. there’s still sm hope don’t any of u dare to give up pls — mass email, call, use as many emails as you have, do anything in your capability because nothing has been fully confirmed and decided yet we still have a chance !!!
SIGN THE PETITION !!! LINK
• READ THE THREAD TO HELP: LINK
• EMAIL THEIR INVESTORS: LINK 1 | LINK 2 | LINK 3
• KOREAN [in person] PROTEST: LINK 1 | LINK 2
• GIVE BAD REVIEWS (they’ve currently deleted over hundreds of bad reviews to fix their image — meaning that they’ve seen and heard everything!!! keep going!!!): LINK
• EMAIL KOREAN JOURNALISTS/MEDIA: LINK 1 | LINK 2 | LINK 3
• TRUCK DONATIONS: LINK 1 | LINK 2
• BANNER DONATIONS / FUNDRAISERS: LINK
• EMAIL JBTC CHANNEL [one of the biggest news outlets in sk]: LINK
The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional crackle from the fake fireplace video on the TV. It's late — too late for Seoul, but Sunghoon's still wired from the flight back. Milan feels like a dream already: the cold bite of Italian winter air, the weight of the torch in his gloved hands, the flash of cameras, the roar of the crowd chanting his name.
You find him on the balcony, leaning against the railing in just a hoodie and sweats, staring at the city lights. His hair's messy, a little windswept — and there's this soft glow in his eyes that hasn't faded since he landed.
You step out, wrap your arms around his waist from behind, face between his shoulder blades. He doesn't startle; he just exhales, long and slow, like he's been holding it.
"You okay?" you whisper.
He nods, but his fingers find yours, lacing them tight. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
You press a kiss to the back of his neck. "About?"
"About everything." His voice is quiet, the one he uses when it's just you two and the world can't hear. "When I was a kid, I used to skate until my toes went numb. Every day after school, same rink in Seongnam. Coach yelling, blades carving lines. I thought — that's it. Olympics. Gold. Or at least the team. That was the dream."
You hum, remembering the old photos he keeps tucked in a drawer: tiny Sunghoon in sequined costumes, medals dangling, smile shy but fierce.
"Then I quit. For... my idol dream. Audition, debut, lights brighter than any spotlight on ice. Fans screaming my name, but not for spins or jumps. For songs. For smiles. For being Park Sunghoon of ENHYPEN." He laughs softly, self-deprecating. "I thought I left the ice behind."
You tighten your hold. He turns in your arms, eyes searching yours. The city lights catch in his pupils. He says it slow, like tasting the words. "Milan... carrying that flame... it wasn't competing. No jumps, no scores. But standing there, feeling the crowd — it was like the ice came back to say hello. Like it never really left."
Fans online are losing it: edits of him gliding as a junior skater cutting to him holding the torch, captions screaming "full circle," "dream achieved one way or another," "our ice prince finally at the Olympics." You've seen them. He pretends not to check, but you know he has.
You cup his face, thumbs brushing his sharp cheekbones. "You did it, Hoon. Not the way kid-you planned, but you still got there. And you looked... radiant. Like you belonged."
His lips quirk — that small, private smile he saves for you. "Radiant, huh?"
"Shut up." You kiss him then, soft at first, then deeper, tasting the faint mint from his gym. He kisses back like he's anchoring himself, hands sliding under your shirt to warm skin, pulling you closer until there's no space left.
When you break apart, foreheads pressed, he murmurs, "Coming back here... to you... feels like coming home too. The ice was my first home. But this — us — it's the one I choose every day now."
You smile against his mouth. "Then stay. No more running from dreams. You've already caught them."
He laughs — real, breathy — and kisses your temple. "Yeah. I think I have."
Later, you drag him inside because the balcony air is turning too cold even for an ice prince. He lets you tug him by the sleeve like a kid, hoodie sleeves too long, hair falling into his eyes as he follows without protest. You both collapse onto the couch in a heap — him pulling you half into his lap, legs tangled, blanket yanked over you both like it's the most natural thing.
"Hey," you whisper, turning in his arms to face him properly. Your noses brush. "You don't have to be strong about it all the time, you know."
His eyes — those dark, pretty ones that always look a little surprised when someone's this close — go soft. Shiny at the edges. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just... weird. Good weird. Like I got to hold the flame and it reminded me I was still that kid who cried when he fell on triple axels. And now I'm here. With you. And it's okay that both versions are still me."
A single tear slips down his cheek — quick, almost embarrassed. He tries to blink it away, laughing softly at himself. "God, I'm such a mess."
You catch it with your thumb, then lean in to kiss the spot, tasting salt and warmth. "My favorite mess," you say, voice thick. "The one who isn't afraid to chase his dreams and still comes home to steal all the blankets."
He huffs a watery laugh, arms tightening around you like he never wants to let go. "I love you," he says suddenly, quiet but fierce, like the words have been waiting behind his teeth all night.
Your heart does that stupid flip it always does when he gets like this — vulnerable, real, no stage polish. "I love you too, Hoon. The skater kid who dreamed too big. The idol who still dreams. And the guy who's currently hogging the couch and making me cry at 3 a.m."
He sniffs, then buries his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling shakily. You feel the dampness of another tear against your skin, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he presses soft, messy kisses there — grateful, grounding — murmuring "thank you" between each one, like a secret only you get to hear.
You hold him closer, fingers carding through his hair. The city hums outside, indifferent, but in here it's just shared breaths, and the quiet certainty that home isn't just a place — it's this: him melting into you, safe enough to let the old ice thaw without fear.
You fall asleep like that, tangled and warm, his heartbeat steady against yours. And for the first time in a long time, Sunghoon sleeps without dreaming of falls or spotlights — just of tomorrow, with you, exactly as he is.
𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 ੭୧ yeah… i definitely did not cry while writing this... i’m just so insanely proud of him — he finally got to achieve his dream, one way or another, and i don’t think you understand how much that means to me 😭also, if you’re reading this, please listen to End of Beginning — i had it on repeat while writing, and this whole idea actually came to me after watching a tiktok that completely wrecked me… so yeah. blame that.
ᐟ⋆ S you have a strict “never fuck park sunghoon again” policy in motion. but unfortunately, he’s got a big mouth, an even bigger dick, and absolutely zero intentions of letting you keep your promises.
part of the teeth series, but can honestly be read as a standalone.
𝓦 。ᐟ smut (p in v) MDNI ⨾ angry rough sex, angst, alcohol consumption, brat tamer/dom sunghoon, reader is horny and rageful, jealousy, sunghoon is an asshole, public sex, unprotected sex (#don’t), there’s just so so much filth, pussy drunk sunghoon, they’re too kinky and freaked out, he ties her up with his tie, ft. drunk babygirl heeseung PAIRING 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 ۶ৎ 𝘧𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 💿 playlist WC 23.8k
𝓢ummer。i excluded several warnings so just… prepare to be surprised. also i'm severely unwell. anyways happy new year my beloved little freaks 🥂 <3 may 2026 bring you everything your heart (and other parts) desire. mwah mwah mwah!!!
You wonder if anyone here in this banquet hall has the slightest clue that you and Park Sunghoon have spent the last four days pretending the other doesn’t exist.
Well, “pretending” is putting it generously considering you’ve still got faint bruises from where his hands were pressed into your thigh four days ago when he had you bent over a classroom desk with your panties shoved aside and his ringed fingers fucking you open so slowly and so deeply until your brain shorted out completely and all you could see behind your closed eyes was light and stars and his name written everywhere. Then, of course, there was the day after that, where your face was pressed into silk in a vacant room in his father’s hotel as he fucked you so hard your legs shook all the way back home. Oh, and let’s not forget when he—
Okay. Uh. So, obviously, there is something severely wrong with you.
Maybe the better question is whether anyone here can tell that whatever exists between you only really exists in the negative space between arguments and the furious, hungry way you tear into each other like starving animals with no sense of control and even less shame. (Like, genuinely less than zero.)
Probably not. No one ever looks at Seoul’s precious business prodigy and imagines he’s capable of losing control, let alone decorum. Meanwhile, you’re the only one who knows he’s actually the most insufferable asshole to ever exist.
Whatever. No one here even has basic instincts, let alone intuition. From the outside, you look serene and every bit the beloved perfect porcelain doll perched exactly where she belongs on her little shelf beside her ‘fiancé,’ and that’s all anyone notices, which is what matters, right? So really, who cares if from the inside you’re vibrating with this horribly specific urge to either smash Sunghoon’s stupidly pretty face into the nearest marble or drag him by the tie into an empty room and let him fuck you senseless? (Preferably both.) (In that order.)
Time out.
You care. Obviously, you care. Hello? Pull yourself together and get the hell out of your own head. This freakishly insane sex thing cannot keep happening.
Also, you are literally at a formal event with cameras and vultures in designer circling everywhere, drooling for a singular misstep. For God’s sake, your sweet, sweet parents are here, hovering somewhere near the front, trying (and failing) not to look obvious as they peek over their champagne flutes and watch you with that unmistakable cocktail of pride, hope, and a reasonable dash of parental concern. Every time you catch their eye, they break into these ridiculous, adoring smiles and wave at you like you’re still six years old and twirling onstage in a tutu instead of swanning through a ballroom with the devil himself hanging off your arm. And by an incredible mercy from the universe, they’re also just as completely and spectacularly oblivious to the fact that their darling, beloved daughter is currently one blasphemously filthy Sunghoon-shaped thought away from turning the whole family legacy into a cautionary tale whispered at every future gathering in this vicinity.
Not to fucking mention, the two of you fucking around cannot keep happening, not just because it’s monumentally stupid or a total violation of basic common sense, but because of the kind of consequences you don’t even want to think about. You’d like to say regret is one of those consequences, but that would be a lie so bold that you fear the heavens might actually smite you where you stand. Normal people (sane people) would probably lie awake at night, mortified and consumed by guilt or, at the very least, a sense of shame, but you? Oh, you lie awake restlessly (and terribly, terribly horny) replaying every minute, genuinely wondering whether anyone else in the long and sordid history of the human race has ever been fucked the way Park Sunghoon fucks you.
So, what damning consequences are there then, if not sorrows and prayers? Well, none other than your best friend finding out. Not Sunoo (God bless his messy little heart). No, the true terror is having to look Jang “I’ll kill us both” Wonyoung in the eye and admit you fucked Sunghoon again after swearing (for the third… maybe fourth? time) that you wouldn’t. Oh, the thought alone makes you grimace. So seriously, get it together and stop thinking about fucking Sunghoon. Literally and figuratively.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the mirrors as you pass, and it honestly defies belief even to you that beneath all this Prada and these pearls, your brain is hosting the kind of thoughts that would make the devil blush. Your skin is bare from your neck to just below your collarbones, except for a double strand of pearls tight around your throat, which right now feels more like a leash than an accessory (Especially when it’s practically one more deep breath away from strangling you, and not even in the fun, kinky way). You’re still wearing that disgusting diamond ring, too, which is a reminder so gaudy it feels like it hums with radioactive energy every time you move your hand, so you do your best to pretend it’s just another ring. And of course, not a single soul in the room is trying to hide the fact that they’re watching your every move as if you’re just another centerpiece for them to look at. At least the lilies in the flower arrangements have the luxury of being replaced before they wilt.
You smile and keep walking anyway. They want the show? They’re getting the fucking show.
“Stop yanking my arm,” Sunghoon suddenly mutters from the side of his mouth and gets you out of your thoughts. “Can you pay attention for five seconds? You’re practically dragging me across the room. Fucking relax.”
“I’m not yanking your arm,” you hiss back, smiling wider for the cameras that are flashing so aggressively you’re about two seconds away from developing epilepsy. “I’m walking at a normal pace. Like a normal, non-corpse person. And I am completely, one-hundred-percent fucking relaxed—”
“For the love of God, stop talking” he cuts you off under his breath, sounding highly irritated while also keeping that artificial, picture-perfect smile glued to his face. “You’re literally clenching.”
“Oh, am I?” you mock, still keeping your face perfectly poised for the people passing by as the photographers move on to their next target. “Funny, you didn’t seem to complain about that last time. Should I do that thing you liked to make it better? What was it you said? ‘Just like thaaat, just stay right there and let me—’
Sunghoon immediately turns his head and gives you a look that says he’s half a second away from dragging you back to the car. Which, frankly, would solve nothing except maybe you’d finally get the chance to scream at him again. Or Worse.
“That’s not funny.”
You let a quiet little laugh slip when you see the way he clenches his jaw out of anger. “It’s hilarious, actually.”
No one can tell that the two of you are dysfunctional. Right?
Eventually, after collapsing back into your chair and listening to a very tipsy Heeseung’s soliloquy about god-knows-what (something about how he’d trade this entire table for a bowl of Ramen right now) for about thirty minutes, you make the fatal mistake of tuning into the conversation across from you, and you have to blink three times just to make sure you’re not hallucinating and that it actually is Park Sunghoon who your very own dad is coddling right now.
Oh. Okay.
This is a fresh new circle of hell you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, which is ironic, considering the enemy in question is Park Sunghoon himself. And he is actually, somehow (terrifyingly), bonding with your sweet, sweet dad. Over what? You’d really rather not know. But it started with your dad making some offhand, dad-tier reference to Fight Club, and that was all it took. Next thing you know, Heeseung gleefully launches Sunghoon into the conversation by saying, “Oh, oh! Hoon here made me watch that movie last week!” and Sunghoon, the absolute bastard, does the unthinkable. Instead of being normal and silent and brooding in his usual haunted-castle-inhabitant way, he slips seamlessly into the conversation like this is his true calling and starts quoting the movie to your dad with a shit-eating grin, dropping lines like—“The things you own end up owning you,”—as if he’s a misunderstood film major on the low and not, in fact, the reason you’re contemplating unspeakable sins in a public venue.
You shoot your dad a look of pure horror as he throws his head back and pats Sunghoon on the shoulder with the kind of giddy, fatherly approval that makes you want to crawl under the table and die. Et tu, Father Dearest?
So, you do the only reasonable thing in this scenario: you drag Sunghoon up by the arm and decide to begin the slow, torturous death march of personally greeting every partner, every board member, and just every single socialite whose name slips through your brain like water the second they’re said. Sunghoon does most of the talking, and of course, he’s charming enough to get away with it, but if you listen closely, you’ll notice that his voice is empty and detached and the literal conversational equivalent of reading off cue cards in his head. Though you could never deny that he knows how to work a room with ease, and it honestly just pisses you off even more. But whatever. You smile and tilt your chin the way you’ve seen in all the glossy press photos and let yourself be admired like a well-funded project that’s shiny enough to distract everyone from the fact that you’d rather be anywhere else… But if you have to spend one more minute watching him shake hands and trade pleasantries with men who would sell their own daughters for a sliver of what he has, you swear you’ll—
“Y/N, darling!” A woman coos, and you recognize her vaguely as the wife of one of those partners but can’t for the life of you be bothered to remember her name (you really need to work on that) as she leans in, lips painted the same shade of insincerity as her smile. “You look absolutely radiant. Your mother must be so proud. I just saw her, actually.” Her eyes flick over you once before she sighs delicately. “But oh—we were all so terribly concerned when you weren’t able to join us for the launch dinner in Tokyo last week. The press simply had a field day with it, didn’t they?”
What a treat.
You’d almost give her points for how sweet she makes it sound if you weren’t already an expert at translating vultures. And you’ve doomscrolled online speculations enough to know exactly how much everyone here enjoyed your so-called absence that night, so she really didn’t need to spell it out. But again, points for trying. Sunghoon tightens his grip on your arm when you lightly huff a laugh, and you can tell it’s his “please-don’t-start” warning squeeze.
So naturally, you start.
“Oh. Thank you for your concern. You know, I figured Tokyo would survive a night without me. Last I heard, the city’s still standing, so it seems I was right. I’m glad it gave everyone something to talk about, though.” You pause just long enough for her to register the dig before you sweetly add with a smile, “But really, thank you for your kindness. It means the world.”
The woman blinks about three times like she’s processing your tone, but she recovers quickly and laughs like you’ve just told the funniest joke in the world. “Oh, bless your heart. What a charming girl.” She turns back to her husband, loops her arm through his with a satisfied smile, and then gestures back in your direction with a manicured hand as she walks away. “Isn’t she just lovely? No wonder they’re a couple, those two.”
(What a charming girl. Vulture translation? What a bitch.)
You sip what’s left of your champagne and nod. “Thank youuuu.”
That earns you a quick side eye and one of those Sunghoon specials: the silent, soul-murdering scoff, and it truly takes everything in you not to grin. Instead, you look up at him with your lashes fluttering, all doe-eyed and sweet like you’ve never said anything wrong in your life. There’s the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appears with a flicker of something very close to amusement in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. You just keep smiling and let him steer you away as you tuck yourself tighter against his side with your head held high.
Sunghoon doesn’t say anything until you’re a safe distance away and no one’s close enough to pretend they aren’t listening. “That’s the third time you’ve scared someone off tonight,” He mutters, and there’s… a flash of worry hidden under the irritation in his eyes as he jabs his chin towards the champagne glass in your hand. “Slow down with that, will you?”
He looks at you for a second longer, and it’s like a ghost from a past life has wandered into the room. Not the spooky, sheet-over-the-head kind, but the kind that smells faintly of old cologne and broken promises, but the sight is still ghostly enough to make your skin prickle.
“Why?” you scoff, raising your glass just to spite him. “Worried I’m going to embarrass your precious little image?”
“Because I know you,” he says simply.
It’s only three stupid words, but your stupid heart still nosedives straight through your chest and drags half of your vital organs down with it. It’s funny how the human heart can memorize the shape of someone and never, ever unlearn it, even if you’ve moved on and tried to erase their ghost. But your brain knows better.
The two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and you see Sunghoon’s jaw tick in the slightest. And, of course, he doesn’t let the faint tenderness in his voice just then linger. “…And don’t think I’ll waste a second of my week listening to you bitching and whining when you inevitably fuck up and end up plastered all over every gossip site in Seoul,” he sneers, voice cold and cruel. “So behave, and put it away.”
The moment immediately snaps, and something inside you does with it, too. So you reach for something petty resting in your gut as you glance up at him through your lashes with your lips pursed in a pout. “What, are you my daddy now?” You step closer and drop your voice into a lustrous purr, and before he can even blink you lean up and drag the flat of your tongue in a slow stripe up the shell of his ear. To anyone passing by, it probably looks like a perfectly innocent moment where a doting fiancée shares a quiet word. Nothing scandalous at all. “Go ahead,” you whisper, and bite down on his earlobe gently just to tease. “Take the glass away, then. Tell me what to do, Sunghoon. I know you want to. I’d even let you, if you asked nicely.”
Sunghoon stiffens like you’ve short-circuited his entire brain and you can see the war happening behind his eyes as he fights not to react and give you the satisfaction. Which, frankly, is the best part. “Shit,” he mutters, “your fucking attitude’s out of control. We’re in public.”
You pull away snugly and pat him right on the cheek like he’s a sulky kid, trying not to laugh in his face. “I don’t care. If you tell me what to do again, I’ll set your hair on fire.” You arch your brows when you notice, with vicious curiosity, how the tips of his ears have suddenly gone bright red. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pointing at his ears. “Are you blushing? Seriously? All I had to do was call you d—”
He shoots you a death glare. “Shut the fuck up.”
You file that in your brain for a different time and gesture lazily between the two of you. “You shut the fuck up. We’re literally handing your precious father the perfect façade on a silver platter, so what more do you want from me? Should I just stand there, look pretty, and keep my mouth shut like a good little accessory?”
His eyes linger on your face, searching, and you can tell he’s trying not to look too pleased about any of this. “Funny, you almost sound like you’re enjoying yourself as opposed to how you were acting in Japan.”
You scoff, loud enough that a couple of suits glance over. “Don’t bring up Japan,” you hiss, barely moving your lips. “And for the record, you’re welcome.” Your eyes travel over him, lingering just long enough to make your point. You reach out and grab a champagne flute from a passing tray while setting your empty one down, then drain half of it in a single go before flashing your brightest, fakest smile at a group of some middle-aged women looking your way. “You look so much better with me on your arm, Sunghoon. Try to keep up.”
He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Ah. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re irreplaceable. Because you’re not.” He lets his eyes flick down to your lips, then up again. “So, let’s not get cocky, princess. It’s not a good look on you.”
Something stings in your chest, but you ignore it and focus on how absolutely rageful you feel. You glance around once with the sweetest smile across your lips, and when you’re sure no one’s watching, you step closer and lean in, acting like you’re fixing his tie, but as you do, you move your heel sideways until it lands right on top of his polished leather shoe. At first, you press down slowly, and then you lean in and put your whole weight behind it to dig in harder and harder until he grunts a curse right in your ear and his hand shoots up to wrap around your waist to steady himself.
“I don’t know, Sunghoon. I’d say this is a pretty fucking good look on me,” you hum, twisting your heel mercilessly. “Or does it only suit you when you’re the one stepping on everyone else?”
Sunghoon grits his teeth—clearly refusing to give you the satisfaction of a full wince as his hand tightens on your waist. “I think you’re doing all the stepping right now—Fuck—Are you trying to break my foot?”
You only smile wider, straightening up as you let go of his tie, but not before digging in with your heel one last time just to make your point. “If the shoe fits,” you purr, letting him go.
Sunghoon’s brows pinch together, and his eyes are practically shooting daggers through you, but you know better than anyone that he’s all bark and no bite when you’re in public like this. So you shrug and turn away first just as an old man wobbles up to greet him, and all of a sudden, Sunghoon is the poster boy of composure and charm, acting like he owns the goddamn building (Which, by extension, he literally does.) You mirror him in your own way and glue yourself to his side while also nodding along to whatever bullshit they’re talking about.
But unfortunately, the problem here isn’t the urge to scream at him or throw a champagne flute at his head (tempting as that is.) No, it’s how your self-control seems to shrivel by the second the longer you stand here pretending to be a functioning, sane, and dignified member of high society, when in reality, you believe you’re objectively the horniest person in this entire godforsaken ballroom and maybe even in the greater Seoul area. Quite possibly on earth, even. Is there… like a hotline for this? Ew. Scratch that. Is there a vaccine instead? Because you’re starting to think you might be a medical anomaly at this point, and you’d honestly wire your life savings to whoever can prove that somewhere, someone out there is hornier than you. And if such a person exists, how do they even get anything done, considering every single waking moment that Sunghoon isn’t inside you lately feels like slow-burning agony and bottomless despair?
Wait a damn minute.
You know what? This is just the ridiculous amount of champagne you’ve had planting these thoughts in your head. You need to drink a glass of water immediately and maybe even splash it in your own face for good measure.
Okay. Okay, deep breath. Whatever you do, just don’t look at his hands. Easy. There we go. Hands? What hands? You’ve never even seen a hand in your life. Don’t even think about his hands. (You are absolutely thinking about his hands.) Just think about literally anything else. Think about corporate tax fraud, think about puppies… or your mother’s face if she could hear your internal monologue right now—literally anything but his hand and the fact that every vein on it is standing out like a road map you want to trace with your tongue—oh, perfect. Now he’s moving his hand. Aaaaaaaand now he’s wrapping it right around your arm. Excellent. Fantastic. Has he somehow developed psychic powers specifically to torment you? Hello? Park Sunghoon, if you can hear this, I fucking hate you. Get your evil psychic sex hands out of my personal space and focus on talking to that fossil fuel. I’m done. Fuck you.
As if on cue, he shifts, and his stupidly thick, long fingers tighten around your arm just a little, and you can practically catalogue every single vein that runs up his knuckles. And don’t even get started on those gold Tiffany rings he always wears that are flashing under the chandelier lights every time he idly moves or spins them around like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Fucking great. Your mind is now running a highlight reel of everywhere they’ve been and every time he’s made you come apart with just two fingers. You can’t even blink without picturing them coated in your wetness with his rings glinting as he circles your clit and works you apart.
“You can stop looking at me like that now.”
Sunghoon says with his gaze fixated on you, and it breaks you right out of the spell. His hand tightens minutely on your arm, and his fingers make a slow circle around your bare skin, enough to set every nerve on fire. You tense instantly, because that tiny movement is enough to let you know he definitely saw the way you were looking at him. (Allegedly.)
“Unless,” he hums mockingly with one brow arched, “Is there something you want, darling?”
You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip until he looks down at your mouth. Okay… So it’s over. How do you even come back from this? Fuck. You’ve at least got to try. Get out of your head and stop staring at him.
“Don’t start this again. I don’t want anything from you.” You blink the Sunghoon-induced stupidity from your brain, and give him your best impression of someone who hadn't just been mentally deep-throating his fingers with God and all of his angels listening. “And I wasn’t looking at you. I was trying not to kill myself while you were talking to that borderline misogynistic ogre by indulging in the act of dissociation, and you just so happened to be in my line of sight.”
Before Sunghoon can say something cutting back (and you know he’s about to, because lo and behold, Smug Sunghoon™️ has made an appearance), Ningning materializes at your side, and her timing is so perfect you almost want to kiss her on the mouth.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, voice calm and sweet in that way she does when she’s trying to sound professional as she looks at Sunghoon. “You’re needed by the west bar—Chairman Lee says it’s urgent. Something about the press embargo regarding your father, I believe. Also, the Chairman of Mirae Holdings wants to greet the two of you personally. And, um, his wife would like a photo, so… good luck.”
She turns to you, and there’s a brief, panicked flicker in her eyes that only you catch. You widen your own just a fraction to give her the universal—please save me—signal and, God bless her heart, she gets it instantly.
“Oh! Right, and—Y/N, you’re also needed by… Ms. Oh? Yes, Ms. Oh! She’s been looking everywhere for you about—um—the… guest list for the afterparty your parents are hosting? Also very urgent. She says it can’t wait, actually, so… let’s move along, shall we?”
With that, she politely but firmly starts to steer you away with her “I’m-trying-to-be-professional-but-your-dysfunction-is-making-it-impossible” smile on her face.
And of course, Sunghoon immediately narrows his eyes and scoffs like he finds the whole situation absurd. “Really? Table placements? That’s what we’re going with?”
“Yes, really,” you shoot back defensively. “Clearly, I have a very important, very urgent job to do, so you should go handle your… embargo crisis, or whatever.”
He cocks a brow, looking wholly unconvinced, but he watches as Ningning pulls you away anyway. “Right. Try not to miss me too much.”
Oh, shut up.
Thank God for Ningning.
If only she could also solve the problem of your brain and your legs threatening to betray you before the night is over.
Sunghoon is bored out of his fucking mind.
He’s been smiling for so long his jaw hurts, and if one more middle-aged man with a bad haircut asks him how his father is doing in New York, he might actually snap. Chairman-this, Director-that, and whoever fucking else. All of them are eager to praise Park Group’s “global vision,” as if glazing his father hard enough will magically elevate their stock.
As if Sunghoon gives a shit.
“Yes, he’s well.”
“Yes, he sends his regards.”
What he doesn’t mention is that he wouldn’t actually know if his father sends his regards or not because he hasn’t even spoken to the man himself in weeks. Any “conversation” they’ve had has been filtered through a tired assistant or squeezed into a curt business call that never lasted longer than necessary and never strayed beyond numbers and names. His father doesn’t waste words on pleasantries, let alone sentiments like “regards.” Whatever version of Park Sunghoon these men think they’re flattering right now is just another empty suit fulfilling his role, all while his father is God-knows-where out of the country, spinning deals and shaking hands with men who’d eat their own children if the price was right. But Sunghoon lets them talk and charms them anyway. He’s been trained for this since before he could tie his shoes. It’s easy. It’s always been easy.
All throughout this endless amount of small talk that makes him want to smash his fist through the wall just to feel something again, some stubborn, traitorous part of him is always keeping track of you underneath it all, the same way the tide can’t help but be pulled by the moon.
Let’s get one thing straight: he’s not looking for you.
He’s being responsible and checking on you to make sure you haven’t disappeared out of a window just to spite him or made a mess he’ll have to clean up later, since you seem to be in a particular mood tonight.
Even as his eyes mindlessly scan the room to get a sense of where you are, your presence still presses in next to him even though you’re nowhere near him. Like a phantom limb, he keeps forgetting he’s lost until it starts aching again. He feels you in the space at his side where you were standing minutes ago. He can feel the ghost of your touch, the shape of your fingernails digging crescents into his arms while everyone else was oblivious, and the sound of your voice when you were half-mad and furious and begging for something you’d never admit out loud. The most infuriating part is that lately, he can’t just turn it off and ignore it anymore, despite how good he’s always been at doing that. (Numbness is practically a family heirloom.)
Whatever.
His gaze drifts over your shared table, and his eyes catch for just a second on Hana doubled over, laughing with Mr. Lee and your parents. There are two empty chairs near them, and they sit there like a gap in the teeth of something living and hungry, and tonight they technically don’t belong to his parents, but the emptiness seems to gape right back at him accusingly, as if it knows it’s the missing piece everyone’s learned to ignore. Sunghoon glances away, annoyed with himself, because he hates the way that after all these years, it still feels like standing outside on a patio somewhere, watching someone else’s family pass plates and laughter around a candlelit table. A father sneaks a slice of cake for his wife while voices call out for the birthday girl, and a boy just hovers at the edge, trying not to want what would never be his.
Where the hell are you, though? Why can’t he—
There you are.
He spots you by one of the tables, haloed in the warm spill of the chandelier light with your head tilted in concentration and your pearls catching on your collarbones. You look happier than you did next to him just a few moments ago, and that alone is enough to set his teeth on edge. What’s worse is that you actually look… comfortable. Not the kind you pretend to look. The real kind.
And standing next to you is…
Of course.
Jeon Jungkook. Park Group’s favorite rival heir and his father’s pet nuisance. Jeon Jungkook, who has a reputation for never once learning how to keep his hands to himself, whose idea of a good time is ruining someone else’s, and who’d probably auction off his own father’s soul (and his own, for that matter) to knock Sunghoon off his pedestal. He can see the way he’s standing just a little too close and grinning that lazy, dangerous grin, with one tattooed hand hovering near your waist as he leans in to say something he most likely has no business saying to you.
The rest of the ballroom disappears as he watches the way his eyes drag over you without shame. It’s just the sight in front of him and the ugly, primal urge to put his fist through something—preferably Jungkook’s cocky face. He really fucking hates that every part of him wants to storm over and remind him (and himself) that you’re not fucking available for other people to look at, or touch, or even think about with that damned ring on your finger.
Fuck off, he tells his own mind. We’re not doing this.
So he ignores the two of you. In theory.
But then he sees Jungkook reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and his fingers brush your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and something in Sunghoon’s carefully constructed composure fractures so fast he almost feels dizzy. Surely he can’t just get away with that. Surely this asshole knows—everyone in this room knows—that you’re supposed to be his fiancée. Surely you—
Sunghoon doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s pulled straight towards you by whatever sick gravitational force that keeps fucking with him. Jungkook grins wider when he sees him approaching, then tilts his head as if he’s surprised to see him.
“There you are, Sunghoon-ah!” he drawls, “Y/N here was just telling me the most interesting story about your little trip to Tokyo.”
The mention of Tokyo nearly knocks the breath right out of him for the hundredth time tonight, but he keeps his expression ironed flat. He flicks a glance at you, and you’re sparkling in the light and looking so goddamn alive—not the way you did on that first day in Japan with your eyes always somewhere far away in an empty way—and you lean into him when he slides an arm firmly around your waist like it’s his birthright. Your mouth curves up at the corner in a way that tells him you know exactly what you’re doing, then you tip your head back, and your perfume wraps around him so suddenly it nearly makes him falter.
“What’s wrong?” You purr, and every syllable is dipped in the kind of mockery only he would ever catch. “Miss me too much?”
For a heartbeat, Sunghoon goes completely still, and the noise of the ballroom drops away and is replaced by the wild thrum of his pulse and the scent of you. Then he remembers where he is, and he clears his throat.
Sunghoon greets Jungkook and politely inclines his head—all courteous respect for the older man, but there’s not a single atom of warmth beneath it. “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”
“Hello to you too,” He raises his glass at Sunghoon in a way that only pisses him off more. “I go where the fun is, you know that.”
Sunghoon returns his smile with one of his own, perfectly polite, perfectly blank, every inch the heir his father raised him to be. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I’m sure you’ve made the rounds by now. Or have you only just arrived to try your luck?”
Jungkook laughs, and his eyes flicker down to where Sunghoon’s hand is gripping your waist. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, it’s not every day I get to catch up with old friends back home since I’m practically overseas all the time.”
“Ah, right. I almost forgot how much older you are,” Sunghoon hums, punctuating and slightly raising his tone when he says the word older. “Back in the day, you’d be out on the balcony with her brother, keeping score while she and I turned the whole garden into a racetrack. She had pigtails, I had grass stains, and you… Well, you already had a drink in your hand, didn’t you? Weren’t you in your… mid-twenties?”
You clear your throat and give Sunghoon a look that says you’re about ten seconds away from staging an intervention for this pissing contest, but Sunghoon doesn’t even so much as blink.
“I was nineteen, actually,” Jungkook corrects firmly. “Young and stupid, I know. But still, barely older than you are now. You make it sound like I was supervising you from a rocking chair.”
“Same thing,” Sunghoon says smoothly, and his grip at your waist tightens just a fraction. “You’re practically like family, aren’t you, hyung?”
“I haven’t even seen him since like… 2023?” you cut in, glancing between at Sunghoon like he’s mildly embarrassing you. Then your fingers slip behind him as you pinch his side hard, though he doesn’t react. “We’re just catching up. Try not to scare him off, sweetheart.”
“Hey, I’m only following orders. Her brother told me to keep an eye on her—make sure she doesn’t get too bored hanging around all these old men.” Jungkook glances at you with a wink that makes Sunghoon want to put his fist through the nearest antique vase. “Someone’s gotta keep her entertained.”
Sunghoon’s smile never falters, though his grip around you tightens. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. She’s in good hands with me. Never a dull moment.”
You snort so loud it actually startles Sunghoon, and he turns his head to look at you, and you just meet his eyes and smack his arm in an almost playful way. “Shut up,” you mouth at him, but your lips are twitching, and he can’t help it—he almost smiles. Almost.
Then you turn your attention back to Jungkook. “Oh, come on. Hold on. Don’t tell me you’re about to start playing big brother on me now. Weren’t you the one sneaking me soju under the table at my graduation party?”
Jungkook presses his pointer finger up to his lips and laughs. “Allegedly. And only because you begged so sweetly, love.”
Sunghoon tongues his cheek. The fuck?
Then the memory of that exact party flickers across his mind. It was the summer he perfected the art of self-control, and there were fairy lights tangled in the trees, the distant hum of cicadas in the open night air, and you were spinning in your heels with Wonyoung and Sunoo egging you on as you drunkenly stumbled over to him with your cheeks flushed red, even after he’d spent all summer ignoring you. He remembers looking at you and swallowing down everything he didn’t know how to say and turning away coldly.
Fucking hell. I’m not eighteen anymore. I’ve moved on.
Meanwhile, you—well, you can’t even pinpoint the exact moment the night turned into whatever this is, but honestly, you’re buzzing. You’re pretty sure it’s mostly from the champagne (which you’ve been sipping way too fast), but also maybe from the absolute thrill of watching this unfold in real time.
“You were always my favorite troublemaker. Sunghoon-ah, tell me, are you keeping her in line, or do I need to step in?”
“Trust me, she doesn’t need anyone to keep her in line.” His voice goes a touch lower, just for you. “She does whatever the hell she wants, don’t you, sweetheart?”
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t having the time of your life right now.
Jungkook, for all his charm, is just being himself—more or less harmless. If anything, he’s always looked at you like you’re the world’s most annoying little sister he loves to tease, and unfortunately, if you really think about it, he only touched your cheek the way someone who’s been around long enough to see you in every awkward preteen phase would (Which is all kinds of mortifying.) The only thing less likely than him actually flirting with you is him surviving your brother’s wrath if he tried.
But you know exactly how this looks right now.
Two can play this game, Park Sunghoon. Let him stew and simmer and dig his stupid hand into your waist just a little harder, like he’s got something to prove. It’s not that he cares about you—God forbid—but you know when it comes to you, Sunghoon only cares when the narrative slips out of his pretty fingers because he’s a fucking control freak who can’t stand the thought of anyone else having his toys, especially when the world is watching and his precious image is on the line. His ‘fiancée’ shouldn’t be giggling with someone you’ve suspected he’s always low-key, always hated for reasons you can’t name, but maybe it’s because he could maybe, possibly, publicly rival him in name and in attention.
So that’s exactly why you’re doing it.
You laugh a little louder, toss your hair over your shoulder, and give Jungkook your best, most sparkling eyes. “Maybe I should let you step in, actually. At least you’re fun at parties,” you raise your glass towards Jungkook, “which is more than I can say for some people.”
Jungkook laughs again, and you swear you almost see fumes come out of Sunghoon’s ears. “See? Some things really don’t change. She’s keeping you on your toes, I bet.”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon murmurs, letting his gaze linger on you, “She’s an expert at that.”
“Hardly have to try,” your heart trips over itself, but you just smirk back and whisper. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to wind up.”
He leans in even closer to whisper in your ear. “Careful, princess. One of these days you’ll push too far.”
You pout. “Maybe I want to see what happens.”
Jungkook watches this exchange with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Ah, you two are adorable... Watching you is like watching a car crash in slow motion, like it’s almost impossible to look away from. Really makes me miss being that young and stupid.”
“I beg your pa—”
You blink at him. “Stupid—?”
“Just an observation. You’ll figure it out.” Jungkook shrugs and looks between you with a knowing look. “Try not to kill each other. Or do. Either way, make it entertaining. But anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to stand in the way of true love—or… whatever you kids are calling it these days.”
He lifts his glass in a lazy salute, and his gaze lingers on the two of you just a second longer than necessary before he turns to disappear into the crowd, leaving you and Sunghoon standing there alone. You immediately pull away from his grip, not quite yanking but not exactly gentle either, and you shoot him a glare.
“Do you have an ounce of respect in you? Or do you constantly itch with the need to prove that you think you’re better than everyone?”
Sunghoon barely looks at you, eyes darting past you like he’s checking to make sure nobody’s watching, then he looks back at you and shrugs. “I don’t think I’m better than everyone,” he smirks. “I know I am.”
“You arrogant bas—”
“And I was just making conversation,” he completely cuts you off, speaking calmly as ever, as if he didn’t just spend five minutes trying to burn holes through Jungkook’s head with his eyes. “Or would you rather I stand here and let him eye-fuck my ‘fiancée’ right in front of me?”
“Oh my fucking god—Eye-fuck?” The way he says it just kills you, and the laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and it only pisses Sunghoon off more. “He literally treats me like I’m still a kid, you moron—please. Oh myyy god. Oh, I wish. My stomach hurts.”
“Like a kid? Did you fucking see the way he was looking at you—?” He nearly chokes, and the words spill out so fast it’s like he can’t stop himself. Then he falters and his brows furrow, and you see him actually pause like he’s trying to make sense of the universe. “What the hell do you mean, ‘you wish?”
You arch a brow and huff one last laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous, Sunghoon.”
He smoothens his expression, and his mouth curves into a mockery of a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. When are you finally going to get it through that stubborn little head of yours that nothing you do actually matters to me? The only thing that matters to me is my image—which, unfortunately, includes you now.”
Despite everything you’ve been telling yourself, you almost say it. It’s right there, and it’s burning the back of your throat like battery acid:
Why the hell did you shove your tongue down that scandalous little skank of a socialite’s mouth just last week in Tokyo if this is how you’re acting?
But you ultimately swallow it down because you don’t want his answers. Not anymore.
“You were foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, but ooooookay. By all means, bullshit me.” You huff, looking around to make sure no one is too close.
Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “No, really. If you actually want to throw yourself at him somewhere more private, go right ahead. See if I care.”
“Oh, I will.” You go for the jugular because you’re tired and bored and angry. “Maybe I’ll let him buy me a drink. Hell, maybe I’ll even let him—”
“Go,” he cuts you off, and his nostrils flare. “Be my guest. I mean it, go.”
You just stare at him for a moment, and you can’t tell if he means it or not. “Heartless bastard,” you mutter under your breath. “You really are a fucking asshole, you know that?”
He tilts his head and huffs an empty laugh. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? What, did you expect me to beg you not to go to him?”
“No, Sunghoon,” you breathe, “I don’t think you have any feelings left to hurt.”
You’re both painfully aware of the watchful eyes circling the ballroom—the way every gesture gets noticed, catalogued, and whispered about by people who’d sell their souls just to get a small understanding of what you’re saying. You keep your posture perfect with your teeth bared in something that only barely passes as a smile.
Then you scoff and turn on your heel.
Before you can take more than three steps, his hand is desperately around your wrist—not nearly as composed as he wants to look. It’s subtle enough that it might pass for a romantic gesture from the outside, but his grip is anything but soft. You freeze, and the whole world seems to slow down for just a second.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs.
And for a second—just one—your stupid, traitorous heart actually stutters at it like it forgot itself and heard something it’s been trained not to listen for. It’s quiet and almost careless, like he didn’t mean to let it slip out that way. He leans in a fraction and lowers his voice even more, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
“…It’s going to look like you’re storming off after an argument.”
There it is.
You laugh under your breath and slowly glance down at where his fingers are wrapped around your arm, then back up at him. “Let me go. I’ll do whatever I want.”
He doesn’t let go. “I know,” he says, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “But you’re not going anywhere tonight. Not with him. He’s—”
“What?” You hiss quietly. “Is he selfish? A liar? Cruel? Oh, maybe he fucks around? Or maybe he’s just another narcissist with a pretty face and a daddy complex? Is it all of the above?” Your mouth curves up, and you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Does that ring a bell?”
His fingers dig in harder. “Keep pushing, and I’ll remind you what happened the last time you mouthed off.”
You hum just to piss him off. “Oh? What’ll you do—drag me to the bathroom and fuck me stupid with all your precious investors ten feet away? That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? You’re literally incapable of doing anything else.”
He doesn’t answer. But you catch the way his jaw clenches and his eyes darken, and that tells you everything you need to know. God, he’s so easy.
And you’re even worse, because you almost hope he tries it.
“Let go, Sunghoon,” you say quietly. “You don’t get to grab me, and you don’t get to scare off the people I choose to talk to just because you don’t like how it makes you feel.”
His mouth curves into that same empty smile from earlier, though the way his fists curl at his sides says otherwise. “I don’t feel anything.”
“So let go.”
He does.
And you walk away without looking back.
You unclip the double strand of pearls from your throat with shaking fingers because it suddenly feels like it’s cutting off the last bit of air in your lungs. With a sigh you can’t quite control, you set the pearls down on the marble counter, and for a second you just stand there with your palms pressed flat against the surface, letting the coolness seep into your skin and settle the electric rage buzzing in your chest. You close your eyes and count to three in a pathetic little ritual because if you don’t, you’re genuinely going to scream.
Back in the day, you’d be out on the balcony with her brother, keeping score while she and I turned the whole garden into a racetrack. She had pigtails, I had grass stains...
Oh, he can fuck all the way off.
Actually, no. He and the boy in that memory can fuck off, loop the block, trip down the stairs, and take that cocky little nostalgia reel with them while they’re at it. You don’t know what possesses Park Sunghoon to just reach into the past and pluck out something golden and innocent as if it belongs to him, as if those memories are communal property—like he didn’t spend the last three years pretending none of it mattered, but there is something deeply, profoundly unwell about the way his mind works, and you once again have zero interest in diagnosing it.
Those memories should be yours. Yours only.
But maybe the tragedy of it all is realizing that they never belonged to just one of you. They’re his, too, and you can’t unshare them no matter how badly you want to. No, actually. The real tragedy isn’t that those memories belonged to both of you once—it’s that he only reaches for them when he wants to win. When it benefits him. When he wants to remind you that he still has access to something soft and sacred and yours.
You don’t want him touching them with his dirty hands.
The boy from the garden is gone. You buried him yourself. And if Park Sunghoon thinks he gets to stand there in his perfect suit and cruel composure and decide when that version of himself is convenient to remember—
The bathroom door swings open.
You don’t have to look. You know it’s him by the way the room seems to contract, by the way your skin goes tight like it’s anticipating the impact of whatever is about to happen next.
Sunghoon doesn’t say your name. He never does when he’s like this. His expression is unreadable; it’s the same one he wears in boardrooms and press photos—except his jaw is clenched way too hard, and his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long, and his eyes—God, his eyes are burning holes through you.
“Really?” You huff irritably and turn to face him. “You can’t give me five fucking minutes alone?”
“Are you finally done making a scene?”
You laugh and look around humorlessly. “You followed me into the women’s bathroom. Want to rethink who’s making a scene? Wait, actually—don’t you dare stand there and try to lecture me. Not when you getting blackout drunk at a formal fucking event is the reason I’m even standing here, wearing this—” you flash your ring finger at him, “—stupid fucking ring in the first place.”
“Keep your voice down,” he bites out, voice low enough to make your skin prickle. “Fuck. Do you want everyone to hear how desperate you are for attention?”
“If I wanted attention, I’d go up to Jungkook and ask him to fuck me on the table.” Sunghoon’s jaw clenches at that, and you want to grin, but you’re too pissed off and have a lot to say. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much energy minding your own business as you do pretending not to care about mine—”
Sunghoon locks the door.
“The fuck? Why the hell did you lock—”
“Shut up,” He clicks his tongue and takes a step further. “I’m here to make sure you don’t ruin everything I’ve worked for. But you’d love it if I cared, wouldn’t you? Is that why you keep pushing me? Or is it just easier for you to piss me off than to admit you want something from me that you keep denying?”
“If anyone is going to ruin anything you’ve worked for, it’s you, you sloppy drunk bastard.” You bite back, but you can’t ignore the heat simmering between you. “What I want is for you to leave me the fuck alone. Or is that too complicated for Seoul’s precious little prince to understand?” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re talking to a particularly dense child. “Me. Want. You. Gone. Away. Not. Here.”
Sunghoon seems entirely unfazed. “You don’t want me to leave,” he says, eyes heavy-lidded with something dark that makes your stomach twist as he steps even closer. “You never do.”
Fucking hell. He needs to stop eyeing you like he’s about to devour you and get the fuck out of here before you do something really, really stupid again.
“So help me, Park Sunghoon, if you take one more step closer, you’ll see exactly how far I can push you—right down those fucking stairs outside, and I’ll make sure you hit every single one on the way down—”
He’s in your space in half a heartbeat, and his voice feels like a blade at your throat. “Stop fucking talking. You talk so fucking much, you know that?”
“I do, actually,” you snap. “And I’ll keep fucking talking if I want to. You’ve been telling me what to do all night, as if I’d actually ever listen to you.” You shove your finger into his chest, hard enough to make his suit jacket wrinkle. “Why the fuck did you follow me in here like a dog? Huh? Should I throw you a bone to make you leave, puppy? Why are you here?”
“Because—” His voice cracks with anger, and his lips twist like the words taste sour in his mouth. “Because you make me so fucking mad I can’t even think straight. You drive me insane. Is that what you want to hear?”
Oh no. You know exactly where this is about to go.
And you should stop it right here, right now, like a rational person, because you spent the whole night swearing up and down that you were above this and that you could see Park Sunghoon one (1) time and walk away with your pride and panties intact. Oh, who the hell are we fooling? Your brain’s been on a never-ending loop playing the image of him on his knees with his full pink lips wet from your slick and his face buried between your thighs while you try and fail not to sob his name, even though every person in Seoul desperate for a scandal is just on the other side of the door.
You are about two seconds away from setting feminism back an entire decade. Oh noooooo.
“No. No. No. I don’t want to hear anything coming out of your mouth right now,” you spit back and shove him square in the chest. “Leave me alone.”
He doesn’t budge. Not an inch. The only thing that moves is his hand of his own accord to catch your wrist mid-air. Before you can snarl or snatch it back, he twists your arm behind you and spins you so your front slams against the marble edge of the sink.
“Let go—” You start, but your breath stutters when he presses right up against you and cages you in with his hips, his chest, and the iron grip of his hand. “You fucking bastard—”
“Do you even know what you look like right now? Do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking? What have you been thinking of this whole night?” He mutters into your ear, his breath hot, his hand flattening yours against the cold marble. “You want to run your fucking mouth? Then say it to your own fucking face. Look at yourself.”
He growls and roughly brings his hand up to your jaw, and it’s big enough to cover nearly half your face as he forces your chin up until you’re staring at yourself in the mirror. You glare at his reflection, but the sight of the two of you like this—your body trapped between him and the sink, his broad frame blotting out everything behind you, the raw anger written all over your faces—sends a bolt of something hot and vicious right down your spine.
Your (not so) precious resolve is slipping through your fingers again. You need to stop this. You really, truly do. This is a disaster. This is all so, so wrong.
So why do you want it more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life?
“Hmm?” He slides his hand down your throat and curls his long fingers just tight enough to steal the breath from your lungs, and squeezes once. “Cat got your tongue, princess? Go on. Tell me to leave. I want to hear you say it while you look like this.”
He’s everywhere all at once. Behind you, around you, filling every inch of your space like he owns it, and worst of all, he’s curling into every corner of your mind until it feels like there’s nowhere you could turn where he isn’t already waiting for you.
You swallow against his palm. “Asshole.”
“Go on,” he growls. “Lie to me.”
Fuck this.
Maybe it’s the champagne ever so faintly humming through your system and making you braver than you should be, or maybe it’s something meaner. Either way, you twist hard out of his grip and slam your palms against his chest and shove him back with everything you have. He staggers a step, and you don’t give him time to recover before you’re on him, fisting the front of his suit jacket and pushing him against the wall with a grip so fierce your knuckles go white.
“You know what, Sunghoon?” You tighten your grip on his jacket. “You’re the one who followed me in here with your tail wagging like you just can’t help yourself. So you tell me, what is it you want so badly?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He rasps furiously and tries to shove you off lightly, but you dig in harder and pin him right there. “Move. Don’t fucking push me.”
“No,” you spit. “Not this time. If there is something you want, you’re going to have to fucking ask for it.”
“Y/N. I said move, or—”
You click your tongue. “If you wanted to move me, you would’ve done it by now. So shut up, and use your words.” You drag your mouth along his jaw to taunt him, and you feel the way his chest stutters under your palm as you throw his favorite phrase back in his face. “You can have anything you want—if you just ask for it. Or is the big, bad Park Sunghoon too fucking proud to beg for what he wants?”
You let your tongue flick against the shell of his ear just to drive the knife in deeper, and you can feel the way he strains against his own pride and everything that’s kept him composed this long.
“You said those exact words to me, remember?” You whisper, letting your lips drag slowly down to his throat. “So which is it, Sunghoon?”
His jaw is clenched so tight you half expect him to crack a tooth, and there is a moment where you think maybe he’ll snap, maybe he’ll just walk away and leave you trembling with all this ugly, disgusting tension. But then his hand fists in your hair, and he yanks your head back just enough that your eyes meet his.
“What makes you think you can talk to me like this?” He grits out, voice low, but there’s a tremor in it—something that’s not anger, not entirely. “You’re such a fucking bitch. Running your filthy mouth like you weren’t out there—”
You grin and cut him off. “And you’re not getting anything from me until you ask for it, pretty prince. Up to you.”
He stares you down, and for one deliciously glorious second, you think he might actually say it.
But instead, he drags you by the hair into a kiss that’s all teeth and fury, and your hands are everywhere at once—threading into his hair and tugging hard, dragging him closer like you want to fuse your mouths together until neither of you can breathe. He groans against your lips, and the sound of it goes straight to your core as you pull his jacket off him.
Sunghoon’s hands are even worse. One is fisted in your hair, and the other’s grip is bruising, possessive, and greedy as he slides it down the length of your spine to grab your ass, hauling you up till you’re practically grinding against his thigh. You claw at his chest, at the buttons of his shirt—anything to get more, anything to get under his skin. He lifts you effortlessly and sets you back down so your ass lands hard against the edge of the sink. His tongue pushes into your mouth and tangles with yours, and you moan and arch your back further into him—clawing at his shirt until you’re tearing the first button open, then digging your nails across his skin hard enough to mark him.
He answers with a breathless groan and shoves your dress higher, and his palm skims your bare thigh, and his fingers ghost over the band of your panties until you gasp right into his mouth. He brings his other hand back to fist it in your hair so he can tug your head back to bare your throat for him, and his lips are on you in an instant—trailing harsh kisses down the line of your throat, then dragging his tongue in one hot, wet line all the way from the swell of your breast up to your ear. He leaves absolutely nothing untouched.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn whiny for someone who’s always telling me this can’t happen again,” he growls into your skin. “Is this what you wanted? Is this what you’ve been thinking about, you slut?”
He sinks his teeth into your earlobe and soothes it with a slow lick, and you shudder and roll your hips up against him without shame. The feeling of him between your legs is maddening as you feel all that hardness straining right into your core, and it only makes you want more, more, more, and MORE.
You don’t bother responding to his taunts, so you just drag him down into another kiss, and he immediately melts right into you as if he flew right into the sun. He opens his mouth, and your tongue presses flat against his, and you whine into his mouth and cling to him and let him swallow every single desperate, needy little sound you make as his soft lips kiss yours bruisingly. He grabs your hips and grinds you down onto him harder.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you right here like the whore you are.”
You almost want to keep mouthing off—almost. But then he’s pushing your panties aside, and you’re so wet for him it’s humiliating. He can feel it too because he immediately grins like he’s won. Smug bastard.
“Fucking knew it,” he growls, sliding a finger through your slick folds. “You run your mouth like a fucking bitch and tell me to leave you alone, but you’re dripping for my cock every time I so much as look at you.”
You grab his wrist before he can feel you any further, and you dig your fingers in hard enough to stop him cold.
“Not so fast,” you breathe steadily despite the way your body’s betraying you. “You’re not getting it so easily.”
His eyes snap up to yours. “Don’t start playing games—”
“Oh, I’m not playing.” You shove his hand away from between your legs and press your palm flat to his chest, pushing him back just enough to make space. “You don’t get to touch me like that unless you earn it.”
Sunghoon cocks a brow, and you scoff right in his face. “What? What is there to be confused about? Did you think I’d just let you fuck me immediately because you’re huffing and puffing?” you say.
The bathroom suddenly feels too small despite how ridiculously huge it is. All you can hear is his frantic breathing now, and he looks like he might explode before he gives you even an inch of what you’re asking of him.
You tilt your head and smile meanly. “Get on your knees.”
His laugh is strained and incredulous. “You really think I’m going to—?”
“I’m not here to think.” You immediately interrupt him. “On your knees. Chop-chop. What, do you need a fucking map?”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” he mutters as he stares you up and down.
“And you’re still on your feet,” you shrug. “Are you hard of hearing or just stupid? Whatever it is, I really don’t have time for men who can’t follow simple instructions. Might just leave and get someone else, honestly.”
“Someone else?” he repeats quietly, and you can see him getting angrier by the second. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel the way I do, huh?”
No. “Yes.” you breathe, “I told you, I’m not here to think.”
He steps closer, so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. “You want to test that theory, princess?”
You let out a breathy laugh. “Who says I haven’t already?” Your throat feels tight because, for a moment, you think of Jake. Though you keep your expression taunting as you go on, “Matter of fact, I could call him right now. You know who I mean, right? You’re just convenient right now. Proximity, that’s all. But if I wanted to, I could—”
He smiles as his gaze flickers across your face. “I know you haven’t,” he says. “You’re a shit liar. You swallow every time you lie, and you never look at me when you do it.” His thumb lifts, and he hovers it right under your chin. “Just like now. But hey—he already had his fill with you, didn’t he? And yet, I’m the one you always come crawling back to. Guess proximity must work both ways, huh? Or is it just that no one else can fuck the attitude out of you the way I do?”
You have to physically restrain yourself from headbutting him. Why does he always have to say shit like that?
“Okay,” You roll your eyes like you’re bored out of your skull. “Since you’re so good at reading me, tell me this—can you also tell when I’m horny? Because I’m genuinely getting turned off. Like, do you think it’s hot that you’re not willing to do something as simple as ask for what you want? Because I know how bad you want it, considering the second your dick’s barely inside me, you act like you’ve seen the face of God. Let me just tell you, this is not working for me right now.” You kiss his cheek softly, almost sweetly, then lick a stripe up to his ear just to piss him off. Your hand slides between you, and you reach down to palm his hard cock right through his pants, squeezing just enough to make him twitch. “Which is such a shame, by the way, because you’re so fucking hot when you’re angry. I’d let you do anything you wanted if you could just ask for it like a big boy.”
Sunghoon grabs your wrist and yanks it away, not quite gently. “Don’t test me.”
You shrug again, already glancing away like you’re bored. “Last chance. If you’re not going to do it, there are about a hundred men out there who’d get on their knees just for the chance to look at me. I don’t have time to babysit your ego.”
A long, loaded silence stretches between you with your eyes locked in that ridiculous battle of wills until Sunghoon finally lets out a slow exhale, shakes his head, and tongues the inside of his cheek like he can’t believe he’s even entertaining you.
Then, ever so slowly—like he’s physically fighting himself every inch—he drops to his knees in front of you.
There he is, down on the marble floor, all glossy dark hair and those stupidly perfect cheekbones, glowering up at you with his eyebrows furrowed so hard you think he might actually combust from how livid he is. His lips are pressed in a flat, furious line, except you can feel the raw energy of his desire rolling off him like you’re standing in the eye of some ruined storm that only wants to tear you apart, burning in the way his gaze rakes over your body and snaps straight back to your eyes.
God, he looks good like this.
You toy with the knot of his tie and let the silk slide between your fingers as you drag it up until you’re tipping his chin up just the way you want it. You force him to look at you and make him hold it, putting on the most self-pleased smile you’ve ever had in your life.
“There you go. Took you fucking long enough, pretty boy,” you say, letting it drip with just the right amount of mockery.
“Fuck off,” he grinds out, and he looks like he’s seconds away from killing you, and it honestly just turns you on even more.
See, the thing is, it’s no secret that you’ve been dying to slap him all night—God knows he deserves it—and considering the way he’s looking at you now, especially down on his knees? Yeah, he’s practically begging for it.
So you do.
Not too hard, but just enough to make it sting and make your point. Sunghoon doesn’t even flinch or raise a hand or anything; his eyes just fly wide in shock, like he cannot for the life of him believe you actually had the audacity to just do that. You watch the flash of disbelief twist into something so much darker, and before he can react, you’re already on him, grabbing his jaw with both hands and digging your nails in deep enough to make him groan. Sunghoon’s nostrils flare, and you swear you’ve never felt more alive. You feel drunk on the sweet, dizzying power of having Park Sunghoon glaring up at you, utterly furious and still letting you hold him like that.
“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he snarls, pale cheeks blooming red faintly under your grip. “You want to play like this? You actually want to see what happens if you keep pushing me?”
“I’m not the one still on my knees,” you purr, tracing your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw before dragging it over his bottom lip. “I wasn’t kidding before. I really, really am starting to hate how you always act so tough and take whatever you want without ever asking for it first, like a real man. I need you to use your words for once and ask me nicely. Beg for it.”
Sunghoon’s brows pull together tighter, and if looks could kill, you’d be dead twice over. “Keep fucking dreaming.”
“So you’re telling me your pride is bigger than your dick? That’s honestly impressive. But like, hello? You’re literally on your knees? And a few words is what you want to choke on? God, you’re pathetic,” you say calmly despite how fast your heart is beating. You let go of his face and turn on your heel, reaching for bait you’ve used before on him. “Whatever, I’m bored. Guess I’ll just go lock myself in that stall and take care of it myself, then. Maybe I’ll even moan your name if I’m feeling generous. Or better yet—I’ll go get my phone so I can send you a video or two so you see what you’re missing out on.”
You make it two steps before he grabs your wrist tightly. “Fuck. You’re insane,” he rasps, and his hands tighten on your wrist.
You arch a brow and stare him down. “One word, six letters. Say it, and I'm yours tonight.”
“Shut up. Just—Stop,” He grits out, and he pauses for a moment. “Stop playing games and let me touch you. Let me make you come. I need—” He swallows, eyes dark and pleading. “I need to feel you.”
You brush your fingers over his lips again, and you watch his mouth twitch and fight the urge to open for you, and it just eggs you on. “Tsk. You forgot the magic word, pretty boy,” you pout.
His lips curl into a snarl, but his eyes are anything but that. “Please,” His voice is trembling with something you’ve never heard before. “Please let me have you.”
Fuck.
You can feel yourself dripping down your own thighs just from the sound of him, the sight of Sunghoon on his knees, angry, desperate, and all for you. It’s honestly too much, and you can’t help but slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer.
“Good boy,” you purr. “Now shut up and put your mouth to work.”
He’s on his feet for barely a second before his hands are on you and hauling you up so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. He turns you and plants you back against the sink with a hard shove, and then, just as abruptly, he drops back to his knees. His hands slide up your thighs and drag you closer until your ass is half off the sink and your knees brace around his shoulders. His grip is unforgiving and brutal now—fingers digging in so deep and harshly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises—as if he’s punishing you for every second you made him beg and for every ounce of control you stole from him.
“You want to fucking play with me? Fine. Let’s see if that filthy little attitude holds up when I fuck it right out of you,” he growls, and then he spreads your legs wider with a bruising grip, hooking your panties aside with two fingers and staring at your slick cunt with absolutely unashamed hunger, licking his lips like he could devour you whole. “Not. A. Sound. I’ll fucking stop and leave you here to rot if you do. Got it?”
You arch into his touch. “You talk too much.”
He digs his nails in even harder, so rough it’s almost cruel. “I said, do you fucking understand me?”
“Yes—fuck, yes, whatever—just—”
He slaps you hard across the thigh, making you jolt and gasp, the sting blooming delicious and hot beneath his hand. “Talk. Fucking. Nicely.”
You glare at him, but he just raises his brows and delivers a quick, stinging slap right across your pussy—enough to make you jolt and clench around nothing. “I said. Nicely.”
Your mouth drops open, but you’re too far gone to do anything but give in. He was literally just on his knees for you, so who cares? “Please, just—please, eat me out. Be good—be mean—whatever you want, just, please.”
“That’s better,” he smirks, and then he presses his warm tongue flat against your bare cunt, and like always, your thoughts immediately float up, up, and away. The first lick is absolutely gutting. He slides his tongue up slowly, right up your slit, and he doesn’t break eye contact for a second—doesn’t let you look away as his mouth moves like he’s trying to ruin you. You stifle a gasp and dig your nails into his scalp, but you can’t hold back the way your hips twitch up and chase every filthy flick of his warm tongue. He growls and bites your inner thigh hard enough to make you whimper, then he licks a stripe back up and shoves two fingers inside you without warning.
“Go on. Keep running that bratty mouth for me,” he growls, curling his fingers until your back arches. “Let’s see how fucking clever you sound with my tongue and my fingers inside this pretty pussy. And stay fucking still.”
You try—try—to stay still, but the moment his tongue finds your clit, you’re arching off the counter with one hand braced against the mirror and the other still fisted in his hair, and he immediately holds you down even harder and sets a punishing pace. Fuck. Sunghoon eats pussy like he’s trying to carve his name into your bones with nothing but his tongue—he groans into your cunt like he’s the one getting off and like the taste of you on his tongue is the only thing that matters in the world. His lips are so soft and plush you almost laugh, because no one with a mouth that gentle should ever be allowed to be this fucking nasty and mean. You watch him between your legs, and it honestly looks like he needs this as much as you do—Maybe he’s addicted. Maybe he likes it too much. You’d tease him for it, but your brain can barely form a thought that isn’t just his name or a litany of please and fuck and don’t stop, don’t ever stop while his thick fingers spread you open, stretch you out, and fill you until you feel him everywhere, curling right where you need it most like he wants to coax your soul out through your cunt.
“What was that? Aw. Poor baby. Not so tough now, huh?” he mutters, voice muffled by your cunt. “Look at you, already falling apart, and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You know what they’d say if they walked in right now? You know what they’d see? Everyone’s perfect little princess spread out and taking it like a cheap slut.”
“Fuck y-you,” you gasp and try to twist away, but he pins you in place and slaps your thigh once more, and you wince at the sting of it. The slick sound of your wetness, his mouth, and the guttural sounds he makes when you grind down on his face make it genuinely impossible to think, to breathe, or to let alone care about whoever the fuck could walk by and hear you. “Sunghoon—My God—”
He did say not to moan, and you’ve been so, so good about it and biting it back until your jaw aches and your throat burns from holding everything inside. But there’s only so much a body can take. So the sound slips out of you anyway, not even to taunt him this time, but just because it’s becoming physically impossible to stay quiet with the way his thick fingers are fucking you open and curling just right. Sunghoon’s mouth tears away from you, and before you can even register the loss, his hand comes down hard against your thigh again, and your hips twitch helplessly.
“What did I fucking say?” he snaps, eyes dark as he glares up at you from between your legs. “Are you fucking stupid?” His grip tightens, fingers digging bruises into your skin. “You think this is a joke? You think I’m playing with you right now?” He leans back in and bites your inner thigh as his breath ghosts over your cunt. “One more sound,” he growls, “and I swear I’ll stop right when you’re about to break. You’ll stand here shaking and dripping with nothing but your own fault to blame. Got it?”
“M’sorry,” you pout, mocking him even as he squeezes your thigh harder to the point where it makes you jerk your thigh away from his grip on instinct. “You gonna punish me for it?”
He watches you for a beat, and you can tell he can see right through you—the flash of enjoyment in your eyes and the way you practically arch into the pain instead of shying away. And then, to your utter disbelief, Sunghoon actually laughs like he can’t help himself. “You like this too much,” he murmurs, “Little fucking masochist.” He sinks his teeth into your thigh again, and this time it’s harder, and he does it long enough to leave a mark, lips slick with you as he drags them up to your cunt again. “I’m not going to punish you.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Nah. Why would I give you what you want? Dirty little whore like you just gets off on being slapped around, don’t you?” He thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them in a way that has your back arching off the sink and your nails scrabbling for anything to ground yourself while he fucks you with his hand. “Am I right? Hmm? You’re not getting shit. That’s your punishment.”
He groans and curses into you so animalistically you feel it vibrating right up through your core and straight to your soul as he buries his face deeper between your thighs. Then he slides two thick fingers back inside you and pumps them deep and curls them perfectly in the way only his fingers ever know how to hit that sweet spot, and latches his mouth back onto your clit—sucking with a ruthless hunger that has your head falling back and your mouth open in a silent scream with your eyes shut so tight you genuinely fear you’ll go blind from the force of it.
“Fuck—fuck—yes—oh my God, I’m so close, don’t you fucking stop—” you gasp with your hands tangled in his hair as you squeeze his face harder in your thighs, everything building so fast you could die from it.
He lifts his head just enough to speak with his breath hot against your soaked skin. “Yeah?” he coos. “You close? Gonna come for me, slut?”
You’re barely coherent now, grinding your hips helplessly into his face—chasing his nose, his tongue, his literal anything. “Yes, fuck. Don’t—Fuck. I need it. I’m about to come—”
And then fucking he stops. Just like that.
The absence is agony. He pulls his mouth and fingers away and leaves you empty and shaking, and you snap your eyes open to look at him just as the heat in your belly suddenly starts abandoning you, and you nearly want to sob from the loss.
“Beg for it.”
You immediately scowl. “Are you fucking deranged—”
He looks up at you and licks his lips slowly. “What’s wrong, princess?” he taunts. “Did you really think I’d let you come that easily? You want to act like a bitch; you’re going to suffer like one. Beg.”
“I’m not fucking begging you for anything,” you snap, but your hips buck into his hand like you’re starved for it. “Don’t underestimate my willingness to kill you in this bathroom, Park Sun—”
“Then I guess you’re not coming tonight.”
He lets one finger rest right over your slick, swollen clit—just pressed flat and heavy as you squirm helplessly beneath him. It’s torture. It’s cruel. He knows it. He loves it. You can tell by the infamous smug look plastered on his perfect fucking flushed face, and you want to slap him so hard that his face gets dented into the drywall.
“Okay. See if I care.” you pant, and you brace yourself for a strike of lightning to hit you and smite you where you stand because you are so, so full of fucking shit. “I don’t need you to come.”
You glare and try to grind down for friction, but he doesn’t budge. “Come on, baby, don’t say that,” he drawls and clicks his tongue. “You want me to make you come so bad, but you can’t even swallow your pride and ask for it? God, you’re pathetic.”
“Fuck you—”
He grins, letting the pad of his finger dip in just enough to feel how soaked you still are. “Pretty thing. So cocky a minute ago. Now you’re dripping down your thighs and twitching for me to keep touching you. Look at you. Spreading wide for me with your parents five rooms away. What would they think of their precious little girl? Do you think they know she’s a fucking whore?”
You glare, fighting the urge to sob, to scream, to claw at him until he does something. “You’re so fucking disgusting.”
He laughs, and he sounds too delighted, and his mouth ghosts over your inner thigh. “You like it. Bet you’d come just from me talking to you like this, wouldn’t you? I want to hear you say you need me. I want you to say you’re my filthy little slut. Go on. Or I’ll make you wait all fucking night.”
Fucking bastard. You should’ve known he’d pull this shit on you.
His finger dips lower, barely grazing past your soaked folds, then he pulls them away again and tortures you with every single second. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he whispers and uses his free hand to force your chin up to make you stare at the flushed reflection of yourself. “This is what you look like when you’re desperate to come on my fingers.”
“Fuck,” you choke out, and you feel your pride dissolving into nothing in real time. “I’ll do anything. Just—let me come.”
“Anything?” He smiles gorgeously and cruelly. “That’s more like it. That’s what I like to hear.” His finger circles your entrance, still not giving in entirely, but it’s enough to make you whine. “Tell me whose filthy little slut you are. I want you to say it nice and flowery, just like you look, pretty baby.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, but he tightens his grip on your jaw until your gaze is locked with your own ruined reflection. “I’m—” The words are shameful, and you feel tears prick your eyes from the sheer overwhelming need to come and from how fucked out you already feel. “I’m your slut. Nobody else gets me like this, just you. I’ll be good; I need you so bad, Sunghoon—Want you to make me come so bad. Please.”
“That’s it,” he rasps. “My perfect little slut. All mine. You sound so fucking sweet when you beg. If anyone saw you right now, they’d know exactly who you belong to. Such a shame no one ever will.”
His finger finally pushes inside, and he dips back down and presses his mouth to your clit and immediately starts sucking harshly, punishingly, until the room spins again. You’re clawing at his hair, choking on your own moans, and barely managing to hold back any sound at all. He fucks you with his thick fingers harder and harder, rings dragging in and out of you with every pump, and your entire body bows, and pleasure rips through you so sharp it almost hurts.
“That’s it. Fuck. Make a mess for me.”
Your orgasm hits so hard you almost black out. But you keep your lips sealed and don’t let a single moan escape as your eyes roll back and your whole body shakes apart. Your head tips back and hits the mirror with a soft thud as your whole body quakes around his hand. “You know how good you look like this? Dripping all over my hand and biting your tongue like a good girl. Fuuckk.”
“Sunghoon,” you pant, voice nothing but a desperate whisper, not even sure if you’re begging or just clinging to the only name that means anything right now. “Sunghoon—Sunghoon—h—”
“Can’t even speak? You’re just my good little fucktoy, all dumb and desperate for me. That’s all you are.”
He keeps pumping his fingers deep, coaxing every aftershock out of you and refusing to let you go. His breath is rough, and then he rises—mouth and chin shining with your slick—he leans in and captures your lips before you can even catch your breath. He kisses you slowly, and you moan quietly into his mouth, and he swallows it right up with his lips pressed tight to yours as his thumb strokes you in slow, lazy circles. He kisses your nose, then your eyelids, gently, reverently—and it always manages to shatter you even more than the roughness does whenever he gets like this. You clutch at his shirt and let yourself collapse against him with your face buried in his neck, just breathing him in.
But before you can fully catch your breath, Sunghoon’s hand is right back between your legs, and his thick fingers are sliding through your messy, dripping cunt like he owns it. “You’re not going anywhere until you’re wrung out and wrecked and leaking all over my hand. I’m not leaving you alone until you give me everything and beg me to stop.”
The joke’s on him, you think, even as your eyes roll back and you violently twitch in his grip as his fingers slowly start working you again, because if he still thinks you’ll ever beg him to stop, he’s clearly never met a girl who could match him round for round. You might just be the one who ends up leaving him wrung out and begging for mercy. But all your thoughts fade into static when Sunghoon shoves two of his fingers deep inside and twists it upwards until he finds that spongy, devastatingly sweet spot, and he stays there—swirling his fingers, pressing into it, rubbing you from the inside out, and the pads of his rings drag along your slick walls, making you twitch and arch and tremble against him.
“Oh my god. That feels so—Why—why the fuck do you even know how to do that?” you gasp into his mouth, not even meaning to say it out loud.
He smiles wickedly into your mouth. “You like that?” he tilts his head down to softly trail kisses down your neck. “It’s all you. You’re just so fucking sensitive and easy. I barely have to do anything, and you’re already falling apart for me.”
You’re still twitching and grinding helplessly down onto his hand, not even sure if you can stop as he pumps his fingers into you harder, the sound of your wetness filling the bathroom. “More—Harder. I could fucking live like this. Don’t you dare stop, Park Sunghoon, or I swear I’ll kill you—”
“You keep saying don’t stop. Why would I ever stop? Especially when you’re being so fucking good for me. So perfect. Just the way I want you.” He laughs—and it’s shaky and raspy, and so, so hot you almost can’t breathe. “Just look at you—fucking shaking and twitching on my hand and still begging for more. That’s what I fucking love about you—you can never get enough, can you?” He almost sounds dazed, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your hip. “Drive me fucking crazy.”
You instantly feel the weight of a thousand suns drop right in the center of your stomach—not from pleasure at all, but from the sheer audacity of that word coming out of his mouth.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
You don’t give yourself time to think through the haze or even let it settle. Before he can even process what just came out of his own mouth, you fist your hand in his hair and yank him down, and he grunts in surprise as you drag him down and crash your lips into his messily. You suck on his lower lip until he groans, then you shove your tongue into his mouth furiously, like you’re reminding him exactly what this is and what it isn’t. His fingers keep pumping in and out of you, and his thumb drops back to your clit and starts working slow, cruel circles that make you twitch again and again. You dig your nails into his shoulders and then down his neck, scratching hard enough that he hisses into your mouth and bites down on your lip in warning.
You scratch harder and drag your nails down his neck like you want to carve your entire being into him. You grind down onto his hand shamelessly and keep chasing that pressure inside you, and then his thumb presses harder onto your clit. Just enough.
You shatter.
He dips his head and kisses you again, swallowing every broken moan as you come for him a second time, harder than before. Your body seizes up so violently you nearly drag him down with you, and Sunghoon doesn’t even say a word—just grunts into your mouth while his fingers pump you through every aftershock and every shudder. He presses his free hand flat against your stomach, holding you steady as your muscles spasm and twitch under his palm, hips jerking helplessly into his grip like you’re not even in control of your own body anymore. Your forehead drops to his shoulder, and your body is still pulsing around his hand while he continues to finger your overstimulated cunt, and the only thing tethering you to the earth is the vice grip you have on him and the filthy sound of his groans in your ear.
“God, what the fuck are you doing to me—” you whine shakily. “Fuck.”
Sunghoon pulls his fingers out from you, and you don’t even waste a second, even through all your panting and shaking. You grab his wrist, bring his hand straight to your mouth, and suck his fingers in deep without breaking eye contact. You curl your tongue and taste yourself, then you moan around the thickness of his fingers just to fuck with him.
He bites his lip and stares at you like he wants to eat you alive. “My fucking girl,” he rasps when you bite down lightly on the pad of his index finger. “So fucking filthy.”
You ignore the way your heart skips a beat at what he says and pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft, wet pop, and before he can breathe, you’ve got him by the tie, yanking him down to devour his mouth again in an open-mouthed, desperate, filthy kiss. Your tongue traces the taste of yourself off his lips, and his mouth is hot and demanding as he kisses you back like he wants to fuck the air out of your lungs. Your hands fumble with his belt frantically with trembling fingers until you get it open, and his cock is already so fucking hard you swear you can feel it throb before you even wrap your hand around it. Fuck… you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him this hard and heavy, which is crazy because you’re pretty sure this thought occurs every single time you see him bare for you.
You drag your hand along his length with the slowest, meanest rhythm you can muster, and the moment you pull back from the kiss and fix your gaze on him, a hunger to devour him whole washes over you so fast it makes you dizzy. Sunghoon’s pretty pink lips are parted and his head is tipped back, and a raw, guttural sound claws its way out of his chest, and it’s so fucking gorgeous you want to bottle it and wear it like perfume. You take your time with him and draw your fist up slowly from the thick, heavy root of his cock all the way to his flushed, leaking tip that’s dripping with need and slicking your thumb as you circle it in a lazy spiral.
You pause at the crown, giving it an extra squeeze, thumb flicking over the slit until he jerks in your grip, so sensitive you genuinely almost feel bad for him. “Fuck—you’re really this needy?” you murmur, voice taunting and cruel as you watch another bead of precum well up and smear across your knuckles. “All pent up for me, poor thing.”
He shudders, breath hissing out between his teeth as you start setting a pace. “F-fuck. You little—Fuck—”
You smile lazily and lean in to lick a filthy, wet stripe right up his Adam’s apple, slow enough to feel him swallow around it. “Hmmm? Does that feel good?”
You don’t even get to enjoy it a second longer because his hand snaps around your wrist, and he looks down at you with dark, blown-out eyes and a crooked, dangerous smirk. Oh, fuck off. He’s doing it again. “I want to fuck you.”
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Well, he’s certainly never said that before. The words punch straight through you like electricity, and they go all the way from your heart right down to your cunt, and your whole body seizes up and everything goes light and fuzzy at once as if your bones have been dissolved and every single nerve ending is sparkling with desire. He really should not have this fucking grip over you. Dear God.
“You do this every single time,” you manage, though your heart is shaking with need. “Trust me, I wouldn’t waste your time.” You purr, and then you hum and try anyway—ducking your head down instinctively as your hunger takes over—but he catches your face in his hand and presses his thumb into your cheeks until you’re forced to look up at him.
“Uh-uh, not when you look like this,” he says quietly. “I’m not letting you get away with shit tonight.” His forehead drops to yours. “Not your mouth, not your hands, not a single fucking inch unless it’s your tight little pussy wrapped around my cock right now.”
Before you can answer, he drags you up for another kiss with his hand cupping the back of your head. He tastes like everything you want and shouldn’t have, and you can feel his cock pulsing in your fist as he grinds into your hand like he’s literally seconds away from losing his mind, and honestly, you might be too. Maybe you’ve lost it.
And then—CLICK.
Someone tries the handle, and a muffled voice calls out from the other side of the door, “Hello?!”
The door rattles again, and another muffled voice comes on the other side, and your eyes fly wide open, and reality hits you like an absolute truck as logic, panic, and self-preservation all come flooding in at once. “Wait—Fuck, Sunghoon, what time is it—? Oh my god—How long have we—”
But he shuts you up by kissing you even harder and not letting you get a single inch away. The way his hand slides between your thighs again is so tremendously possessive and unhesitant—like he’d ruin you right here no matter who’s listening, who’s knocking, or whether you’re both about to be on the six o’clock news. He kisses down from your mouth to your jaw, then down the curve of your neck, and every word is spoken hot and breathlessly into your skin between the pulse points he licks and kisses.
“To hell with it,” he mutters as he drags his lips over your throat. “There are other bathrooms.”
You try—you actually try—to claw your way back to logic and be the voice of reason for once, if only so you can look back and say you made an effort. “You’re supposed to—fuck—Sunghoon. Wait, you asshole—supposed to maintain appearances—”
He cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and it’s the kind that steals the thought right out of your head, and his hand slides up to palm your ass so he can drag you forward until your legs fall open for him. You instinctively arch into his touch because, honestly, what other option is there? The sound of the door rattling again and the distant panic of whoever is outside is nothing compared to the way his body slots against yours like it was designed this way or the way his mouth moves on your skin like he’s marking territory. And maybe you should care. Maybe you should panic, but you really just don’t. If anything, it makes it feel ten times hotter, and it feels like your clit might just catch flight and detach from how hard it’s buzzing.
“Stop fuckin’ whining. There is not a single goddamn soul outside that door that I give a shit about right now,” he says with his mouth grazing your neck, then he licks a line up your throat, and you feel your knees threaten to give. “Nothing’s dragging me out of here until I’ve had you. I don’t care—” kiss “—if the whole fucking board tries to open that door. All I care about is you—” kiss, “—and the way you’re about to take every inch I give you.”
You stare at him, and you think you’ve genuinely never ever been more turned on in your entire life. “You’re actually obsessed with me.”
“Yeah?” Sunghoon licks his lips and grins lazily. “You’re the one spread out on this counter for me, so what does that make you?”
You don’t get to answer. Or maybe you do, just not with words, because the second his mouth crashes back onto yours, your body betrays you so completely it would be infuriating if you weren’t so damn turned on right now. He crushes his mouth back onto yours and slides his tongue in so hot and filthy that your knees actually threaten to give out. Your back slams into the mirror, and the sound that spills out of you and into his mouth is straight-up pornographic and embarrassingly loud.
“Fuck,” he rasps like it actually hurts him. “We’re only kissing, and you already sound like I’m balls deep in you.”
He drags one hand up to squeeze your breast hard, and he digs his fingers in like he’s staking a claim, and you nearly sob from it. Then you whine even louder when he bites your lower lip and tugs on it while holding eye contact, all dignity lost to the sound of your own need. “There,” He groans as his fingers pinch your nipples through the fabric, hard enough that you arch up for more. “That sound. You always make that sound for me. You like it when I kiss you? You fucking love it, don’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you gasp, but it comes out weak when he kisses you again and swallows the words whole. “I hate you so fucking much,” you try, but your mouth is too full of him for it to matter. “I thought you didn’t want me making any sounds, huh? What happened to being quiet?”
“I don’t want anyone else to hear you,” he says, like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it—dragging his mouth along your jaw until you shudder. “But maybe I’ll let them hear just enough—so they know you only ever sound like this for me.”
You shove him off before his head gets any bigger.
Just enough to break the kiss and buy yourself a single, agonizing lick of space. His heavy-lidded eyes glint like he’s about to grab you again, but you reach down and drag the top of your strapless dress lower (painfully slowly) until the corset dips and your breasts spill free, heavy and bare and flushed from how worked up you are. Nothing in the way except all that anticipation and a little bit of wicked pride. You do it just to watch the way his face changes.
And it’s beautiful. There’s no other word to describe the way his mouth falls open in a silent, almost reverent curse, like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth all over again every single time. Every single cell in his body is locked onto the swell of your breasts, and his face is carved into pure, aching hunger—the kind that looks like he’d crawl through hell on his hands and knees just to get his mouth on you. He bites down on his bottom lip so hard you half expect to see blood, and for a second, you think he might actually just come in his pants just from you baring yourself for him.
“Oh, fuck me,” He groans, and then he’s on you in half a second and his hands are coming up to cup the weight of them, squeezing them hard, rolling his thumbs over your nipples as he leans down and takes one into his mouth. You arch into his mouth shamelessly—almost laughing at how fucking obscene you both are. “Fuck, these tits. You know how many times I’ve thought about fucking you just like this?”
You press your chest up into his mouth and gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple and his fingers squeeze around the soft weight of you. For a moment, you let yourself just bask in how completely ruined he looks. Park Sunghoon, usually so composed, is now devouring you like a starved man.
You bring your own hands up and brush your thumbs over your nipples as you force him to watch. His eyes drag over you, dark with desire. “Yeah?” you taunt, twisting your own nipple between two fingers. “What exactly did you think about, Sunghoon?” You purr and guide his chin up with your pointer finger, making him look at you. “Or are you too busy drooling to answer?”
He laughs low in his throat and pinches your nipple hard between his fingers until you gasp. “You really wanna know, princess?” When you nod, he brings his mouth right up to your ear as his hands knead your breasts. “I’ve thought about pinning you down and fucking you with your tits squeezed tight around my cock.” He groans and drops his head, then he sinks his sharp teeth into the curve of your breast in a burning bite that makes you moan with your back arching off the counter and your chest pushing shamelessly into his mouth as the mark blooms under his lips. “Every time I see you in one of these dresses, I think about covering them in my cum until you’re a mess. Then I’d make you lick it off your own skin while you look up at me like the needy little slut you are.”
You squeeze your thighs together. Honestly, this might be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and you’re two seconds away from letting him do whatever he wants right here—
For fuck’s sake.
What are you even doing, letting him play with you like this? Some small, rational corner of your brain is shrieking at you to hurry up before someone kicks the door down and you end up on the front page of the news, but the rest of you? The rest of you is hopelessly, stupidly drunk on him and the way his mouth is wide open around your nipple, sucking like he wants to leave you marked forever.
“Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you someday. Just—just fuck me and get it over with. God, you’re so slow,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the mirror as he squeezes your tits together and licks a stripe up from your breast to your jaw. “Fuck—Are you planning on taking all night or—?”
The asshole laughs, latches his mouth right back on your nipple, and swirls his tongue around it slowly, and then he lets go just long enough to let the cool air hit your wet skin. The look in his eyes is pure filth as he drags his teeth across your breast before he looks at you.
“You really still don’t get it, do you?” he growls, squeezing your breasts rough enough to make you whine. “I don’t give a single fuck about time. You’ll take whatever I give you as slow as I want.” His tongue laps another wet stripe over your breast, then he bites down again hard enough to make your hips buck. “And next time you whine about how slow I am, I’ll keep you locked in this fucking bathroom all night. I’ll fuck you on every surface. We’ll see if you’re still a brat when you’re stumbling out to breakfast with my cum leaking down your thighs and everyone wondering why you can barely walk.”
Oh, you’re so fucking doomed.
But if there’s one thing you know how to do, it’s swallow your massive pride when it gets you what you want (especially when you want it this badly.) So yeah, screw this. You're not above a little begging, and besides, it’s not like you don’t absolutely eat up the way his eyes go pitch-black and starving whenever you whine his name in that desperate, wrecked tone you know drives him mad.
So you lace your fingers in his hair and drop your voice into that sweet, spoiled cadence despite how every part of you wants to take him up on what he just said. “I wanna feel you deep inside me. Come on. I’ll be so good.”
He kisses you so hard you feel it all the way down your spine, and his mouth is rough and angry as his hand fists in your hair to yank your head back. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Say my name. Say it so I know you mean it.”
You roll your eyes just to piss him off, but your body betrays you with the way you squirm against him and reach for his cock to stroke him just once. “I want you to fuck me, Park Sunghoon. Want you so bad I could scream. Is that pretty enough for you? Or do you want it in writing, since you’re stupid?”
“You’re gonna eat those words, brat.” He huffs and suddenly he’s gripping your waist and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, and then he spins you around so you’re facing the mirror and the image staring back at you is obscene: you, flushed and wild-eyed with your lipstick smudged, tits fully bare and heaving, with Sunghoon pressed up behind you with his shirt wrinkled and his tie loosened, so much taller, so much broader, his face smeared with your lipstick and his hands already roaming over every inch of exposed skin and your lipstick all over his face. He bunches up your dress around your waist and shoves your panties halfway down your thighs, all while spreading your legs wide with a hand rough enough to bruise.
“Eyes on the mirror,” He lines up behind you and lets the heaviness of his fat tip press right up against your entrance, so big you almost sob from just the anticipation as his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs and ass, forcing you open even wider and more helpless in front of the glass. “You wanna act like a slut, you’re gonna watch yourself be one. Don’t even think about looking away. You don’t even blink unless I say so.”
And then he pushes in. He starts so slowly and it still nearly kills you, stretching you out inch by inch as your grip tightens on the sink and you bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud (though you fail terribly.) “Arch for me,” he growls and flattens his palm hard over your lower back, forcing your spine to curve and pushing your ass back into him until you feel every goddamn inch. It hurts—not in a way you want to stop but in a way that makes your brain immediately fade into static and your body greedily arch back for more even as your muscles struggle to take all of him.
“F-fuck—oh my god—Fucking hell, Sunghoon—‘s too much—”
“I said eyes up.” His other hand comes down to cup your jaw and force your gaze up until you’re staring straight into your own eyes in the glass as your body trembles with how full you feel. You watch the way his Adam’s apple strains in the mirror as he groans and tips his head back out of pleasure and flutters his eyes shut for a second before they snap back open, dark and wild and locked on you in the glass. “God, you’re so fucking wet—the tightest fucking pussy ever,” he pants and pushes in even deeper, and you really can’t help the way you squeeze your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation of being stretched open to the point where it borders on too much, toes curling and legs trembling as he splits you open inch by aching inch. Your body’s not sure if it’s pain or pleasure; all you know is you can feel him everywhere. You’re clenching around him so hard you nearly push him out, and Sunghoon’s grip just gets meaner as his fingers dig into your jaw to yank your face back up.
“Open your fucking eyes,” he bites out meanly, but there’s something almost tender in the way he stills with his cock nearly buried to the hilt, waiting for you and searching your face in the mirror. “Look at me—You want me to stop? Talk to me.”
“No, don’t stop, just—fuck—” you gasp and push back against him to feel every thick inch of him stretching you open and filling you up even more. “Need it. Need all of you. Don’t you fucking dare stop—no one’s ever been this deep. I want you to make it hurt—need you to fuck me stupid—”
“Listen to you. Such a needy fucking whore. Bet you can feel me all the way in your stomach, huh?” he rasps and snaps his hips even harder just to hear you cry out again. “Pretty fucking pussy stretched around me—fuck, you’re so fucking tiny and barely taking me, but you’re squeezing me like you’re trying to keep me inside forever.” His hand is still on your jaw, forcing you to keep your gaze locked on the mirror, making you watch the way your mouth falls open, the way your eyes roll back, and the way your breasts bounce as he starts to push deeper. “Yeah, keep your eyes open. I want you to see exactly how stupid you look. Look at your face, look at your mouth—fuck, look at those pretty tits bouncing for me. That’s it—good little slut.”
You moan his name even louder this time, and it’s so pornographic you almost don’t recognize the sound as your own. “Fuck, you’re so loud tonight.” Sunghoon pants behind you, and the sound of your bodies meeting echoes obscenely in the bathroom, filthier than anything you’ve ever imagined. “You really do want everyone to hear, huh? Want them all to know who’s got you bent over and drooling?”
You just… can’t even answer. But he doesn’t give you the chance anyway. He shoves two thick fingers right into your mouth. “Open wider,” he commands, and you do, sucking him in so obediently and whining around them as you taste yourself on his skin, and the metal of his rings as he pushes them even deeper. He tips your head back until your hair falls over his shoulder and your neck is against him, and then his mouth is on your throat, trailing kisses as if he’s tracing the path of the ones he left there before. His thick cock pounds into you, and you feel every ridge, every pulse, and every sharp drag against your swollen walls. Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your neck as he fucks you harder and faster, rutting into you so furiously like he wants to leave bruises on your insides.
Your body tightens without warning, and you feel that sharp edge climbing up where pleasure tips into something feral and uncontrollable. “Sunghoon. Fuck ‘M gonna come, holy shit—don’t stop. Go faster—harder.” You can barely even hold yourself up as his thrusts start turning even more brutal and relentless. You look at Sunghoon, and you see the way his nose is scrunched with his brows pulling together hard in concentration, his mouth falling open on a rough, broken groan as he fucks into you faster. His hips snap forward in short, brutal thrusts, every one knocking the breath clean out of you and making your body tighten so hard around him that he moans and throws his head back for a moment.
Then his hand slides up your throat, and he curls his fingers tight enough to steal the air right out of your lungs and pin you exactly where he wants you, forcing your chin up when your eyes try to flutter shut. “You—shiiit—really don’t fuckin’ listen, do you? Don’t look away.” You hold his gaze in the mirror, and he squeezes your throat slightly. “You like this?” His grip tightens and stars spark at the edges of your vision as he presses his thumb in ever so harder. “You like it when I choke you out like this?”
You nod frantically as your lips part around another obscene moan, and that’s what does it for him. His grip tightens for one deliciously brutal second more, and then he releases you right on the edge. You gasp and shudder and cling to him with your chest heaving, and he holds you up while softly sliding his palm down your neck and caressing your throat with his thumb. “Fuuuck—shit, you feel insane—Shit, you’re so fucking tight. So warm. You’re clenching so hard I can barely move.” Each syllable is punched into you with a bruising snap of his hips. Then he pulls almost all the way out again, cock dragging along your walls, leaving you empty and aching, before driving all his thick throbbing inches back inside in one brutal thrust. “I’m fuck—I’m getting close—shit—Keep your eyes on me. Good girl. Juuuuust like that. Don’t hold back your pretty noises.”
Sunghoon’s name rips out of your throat like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known how to say as your orgasm crashes over you so hard you almost black out. The only thing anchoring you to reality is the grip of his hands—one bruising your hips, the other tight around your throat—while you convulse and twitch, forced to keep your eyes on the mess you are in the mirror. It’s obscene, it’s raw, and it’s everything you said you’d never let happen again. But there has never been a single thing in your life that’s ever felt as right—or as wrong—as being fucked senseless in the women’s bathroom at this stupid fucking annual party or whatever as your body clamps down around him, fluttering and squeezing so tight it makes him lose his rhythm and curse under his breath.
“So fucking perfect. You know who you belong to now, don’t you? This tight little pussy is mine, you hear me? Tell me who owns you.”
Even now, all breathless and twitching, you bare your teeth in the mirror and glare at his reflection. “Fuck you. M’not telling you shit.”
Sunghoon’s mouth twists. “You wanna play that game right now?”
His hand snaps away from your throat, and before you can even catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a rough curse, leaving you gaping and empty. You try to move, but he grabs your wrists and pins them behind you, and he rips his tie loose from his collar with one hand. You barely even have a second to struggle before he’s wrapping it around your wrists and tying it so tight your pulse jumps against the silk. You whine and attempt to mouth off, but he manhandles you and holds you steady with one big hand pressing into the small of your back to keep you balanced. He drags you back onto his cock with no patience, just brute force, fucking you even deeper with your wrists tied behind your back. You’re so dizzy and wrecked and fucked out that the part of you that should be arguing (just for the hell of it) barely even gets alerted. If anything, your brain offers up a traitorous thought that this is… hot. Does he really think this is some sort of punishment? He yanks it tighter on your wrist, and all you can do is arch back further into him as he shoves you deeper onto his cock, every inch dragging a broken moan out of you every time he thrusts.
“Look at you, not even fighting it. Can’t even pretend you don’t like being tied up and used like a little toy. Fuck, you’re so loud—Yeah. Moan for me. Shit—Sluts like you need to be kept on a leash.” He thrusts again, harder, deeper, like he’s trying to push himself into places that don’t exist, and you feel it pressing in everywhere, in your spine, in your ribs, and in your soul. And then he just buries himself inside you to the hilt and goes perfectly still. He grabs your face in his big, rough hand and tilts your head right into himself, and his thumb presses into your cheek as he leans in. “Now be a good girl and tell me where you want me,” he pants, and his voice is so wrecked and raspy it almost makes you come. “You want to walk out of here stuffed full of my cum and leaking down your thighs, or should I paint your pretty tits and make you lick it off in the mirror like the messy little whore you are?”
You bite your lip, still defiant, and still very much cock-drunk—but the thought of him filling you up again has your knees buckling and your cunt clenching down around him, desperate for every drop he can give you. “I’m on the pill.”
And that’s all he needs to hear. Sunghoon groans, and his hand comes down hard against your ass and the sting shoots straight through you. “Knew you’d want it—knew you couldn’t go a single night without me filling you up. Fuck—” He yanks you back with the tie even harder until your chest bows out. “You want me to breed you like this—You wanna walk back out there with everyone watching you, smiling like nothing’s wrong, while you’re dripping down your thighs and all you can think about is me inside you—my cum, my fucking cock—”
“Ah—you talk so much,” you pant, tossing your head back against his shoulder. “I want it. I want all of it. Wanna feel you leaking out of me every time I walk. Fill me up.”
He twists you suddenly and wraps one arm around your waist to lift you clean off your feet and slam you back against the wall. The tile is cold, but your gasp is swallowed instantly as he crashes his mouth back into yours. It feels like forever since he last kissed you, and it’s so frantic that it feels like neither of you can afford to waste a second not kissing. He hikes your thighs up, grips under your ass, and starts fucking into you while standing, and every single thrust knocks a broken moan out of both of you. His hips snap faster, and his nose scrunches as he loses himself completely, groaning your name like it’s torn out of him. “Fuck—Sunghoon—” you moan in response, locking your legs tight around his waist like you want to fuse your bodies together until you’re one.
He moans into your mouth and bites down on your bottom lip, spit trailing between your lips. “Gonna breed you right here, baby. You ready for me? You’re gonna take every drop—bet you’d let me fuck you in every room of this fucking building. Fill you in each time till you’re just full of me and nothing else.”
“Want it,” you gasp, dizzy and delirious and not entirely sure of what you’re even saying anymore, “Need you to come inside me. Make me yours.”
“You’re already mine,” he growls as his breath comes in short, hungry gasps, getting sloppier and sloppier with every thrust as he chases his own high. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to break. Mine. Mine. Mine.”
If you had half a mind to care about anything else, like the rattling doorknob or the muffled voices outside or maybe even the shit that’s coming out of his mouth right now, you’d tell him to eat shit and die, or you’d just definitely say something smart, but all you care about is that perfect, ecstatic, devastating rush of pleasure building up once again as you feel the thick head of his cock press into you even harder from this angle, the way your name sounds falling from his lips, and the fact that you’ve never felt so fucking alive in your life as Sunghoon fucks you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, grunting, moaning, and burying his face in your neck as he finally loses it and spills his load deep, deep, deep inside you. He holds you pressed to the wall until the shaking subsides as his lips drag lazy, ruined kisses over your jaw. His hands don’t leave you—not even when he finally pulls his cock free with a slick, obscene sound that makes your cheeks burn.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he slides his hand up to untie the tie from your wrists, fingers working clumsily as he continues to slightly tremble and pant from how hard he just came. The second you’re free, Sunghoon holds you and steadies you by kissing you like he could swallow you whole. He’s flushed and pink, and sweat is dripping down his temple, with his hair sticking to his forehead. You lean in and lick a hot stripe up his cheek, tasting salt and heat, dragging your tongue over the sweat at his hairline just to hear him whine, eyes fluttering, so sensitive he shivers. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this, I could eat you,” you murmur deliriously against his skin and press a kiss to his nose, “Can feel you dripping out of me. Want to take care of it and make sure it stays in?”
Sunghoon grunts a curse and pushes your back flush against the cold wall again, and then he drops to his knees right there on the bathroom floor without another word, like he’s worshipping at the altar of your ruin. Then his hands are spreading you open, thumbs digging into your thighs as he stares at the mess dripping out of you, his cum spilling slowly and stickily down your legs. Sunghoon’s eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, wild, and utterly fixated as he licks his lips and groans low in his throat. “So good—so fucking perfect—I can’t believe how fucking pretty you look right now.”
He slides two thick fingers into you and gathers up every drop of his cum spilling out of you, and he pushes it back in deep, fucking it up into you with a slow, relentless twist that makes you whine and claw at the tiles. “Don’t waste a fucking drop,” he murmurs, and then he brings his face right to your cunt, sharp nose pressing just where you’re the most sensitive as he leans in to mouth at your swollen cunt, sucking at the slick mess and grunting as his tongue swirls on the taste of both of you. “So much—fuck—I’m going to have you like this every night until you can’t even walk, until all you know is my dick, my cum, my name, just me.”
You shudder and reach for him to tug his hair, arching your back to offer more into his mouth, eyes rolling back as his tongue and fingers work in tandem, licking and sucking, nose pressing hard into your clit until you’re mewling for him.
You have this stupid, floaty thought right at the edge of your brain, which is unhelpful and very much not the time for it, about how the last man you were with couldn’t even stand the sight of his own cum after. And now here you are grinding into Park fucking Sunghoon’s mouth as he eats his own cum right out of your pussy and moans into it like he’s being blessed by the heavens.
“Sunghoon—oh, fuck—Fuck—Oh my God. What the hell is wrong with you, you fucking freak?”
It honestly isn’t the filth that has you falling apart—but it’s the way he looks up at you through his lashes while he does it. His eyes are filled with a kind of tenderness that shouldn’t exist in a moment like this, but that thought floats away as quickly as it appears when he gathers the slick on his fingers and pushes them back into your sensitive, fluttering entrance again—one finger, then two, and then he sinks a third in with no warning.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he breathes, glancing up through his lashes, smug and gentle all at once. “Just know what I want—Look at that. Stretched you out so good you’re taking three fingers with such ease now. I could play with this pretty pussy all fucking night.”
You reach down and tug on his hair hard to drag him up to look at you. “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, barely holding yourself together. “Tell me I’m replaceable now, Sunghoon. Fuck—look me in the eyes and s-say it again.”
He blinks up at you, and his brows knit together for a moment. Then he gives you a disgustingly dangerous half-smile and your heart stutters, because you’ve only ever seen him look like this when he’s drunk out of his mind. “Can’t. I can’t,” he slurs. “No one—fuck—nobody tastes like you. I hate it. I fuckin’... hate you.”
You stare down at him, and for a second, your brain just blanks at how he just folded for you, babbling like it’s your fault his self-control dissolved somewhere between your thighs. And you—God, you’re not even mad, are you? No, you’re practically glowing and melting right onto his stupid, perfect face. Part of you definitely wants to gloat and say some nasty, mean shit, but your brain is too fried, and your pride is too busy soaking up the way he’s falling apart at your feet. All you can do is clutch his hair and roll your hips into his face. You moan so loud you’re sure the whole building can hear it, but you truly don’t care when his mouth on your pussy feels better than sin and better than forgiveness and better than anything you’ve ever known.
You come again with his name caught and breaking in the back of your throat, knees giving out so hard you have to grab onto him just to stay standing as pleasure rolls through you in hot, blinding waves. Sunghoon stays exactly where he is—holding you together while you shake and gasp and come apart.
“Spread your legs wider. I want to see how much more you can take.”
And god help you; you already know the answer.
Somehow, against all odds and most laws of god and man, you manage to pull yourselves off each other and look vaguely human again to re-enter civilization after having just broken every single promise you’ve ever made to yourself and to poor, long-suffering Wonyoung. Oh God. Let’s not think of Wonyoung right now.
You look in the mirror one last time before you turn to leave, and you somehow (kind of) look like a functioning, perfectly respectable human being and not like a girl who just got fucked to hell and back by the devil in Prada for God knows how long. Also, by some absolute miracle—or maybe just Sunghoon’s freakish self-control—there’s not a single incriminating mark on your neck. Nada. Which is crazy considering he’s always tearing into you like a feral dog. Sunghoon’s neck, on the other hand, is sporting a suspicious flush, and there are definitely like three hickeys half-hidden by his collar if you look too closely. (Oops.) But despite that, he somehow looks even more put together than when he went in, which is absolutely fucking infuriating—downright offensive, honestly.
But whatever. The horror and shame of anticipating the looks you’re about to get when you re-enter that ballroom is so much louder than any petty anger at the fact that Park Sunghoon is apparently immune to looking like a mess. Besides, it’s also hard to keep track of anything when you’ve just spent the last five minutes bickering like lunatics while both of you were still half-breathless and trying not to strangle each other over who should walk out first and what to say and what not to say.
So the two of you do the walk of shame with the kind of composure only the truly deranged can manage: steps perfectly in sync, faces perfectly blank, and not looking at each other once. You think—just maybe—you’ll actually make it. Just slip right back into the crowd, pretend you were powdering your nose for an ungodly amount of time, and no one will ever know—
“ARE YOU—NO. Are you KIDDING ME?!”
Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus. Here we go.
Heeseung practically yells (startling the living shit out of the two of you), stumbling back into the opposite wall with his eyes blown wide with pure, biblical horror. You barely have time to blink before his finger is flying back and forth between you, Sunghoon, and the now-infamous bathroom door.
“Hee—?” you start, but you know it’s too late. You can practically see the gears in his head breaking down one by one in his head.
“Don’t Hee me,” Heeseung’s eyes flick to the poorly hidden lipstick stains on Sunghoon’s collar (your handiwork) and your slightly failed attempt at powdering up your smudged mascara (Sunghoon’s handiwork). “Oh my god—At first I thought—No, I prayed—I was literally texting Jay. He was like, ‘Heeseung, there’s only one Sunghoon out there, man, accept it,’ and I said, ‘Noooooo, our Sunghoon? Bro he’s not capable. He drinks tea with his pinky out.’ But then—I don’t know, man, I started thinking about it… And I was like damn, it checks out. But thinking it and hearing it and now seeing it are three very, VERY different things.”
“You told Jay?!” you wince.
Heeseung looks at you like he’s offended you’d even ask that, and then he ignores you and gestures wildly at Sunghoon again (who is seemingly too stunned to speak right now.)
“Guys. Mannnnnn. In the women’s bathroom? At your family’s event? THAT LOUD?! Ohhhhh. I want to be dead,” Heeseung adds sincerely. “Lord, I’m ready to come up.”
Honestly? Same. Except you’re pretty sure whatever direction you’re headed, it’s definitely not up.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, covering your face with both hands as the absolute terror of how loud you actually were comes crashing down on you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Meanwhile, next to you, Sunghoon looks as if he’s been hit by a truck, but in classic Park Sunghoon fashion, he is valiantly remaining composed. Though you can tell that he’s clinging to whatever’s left of his sanity by a single, rapidly fraying thread as his eyebrow twitches.
“Hyung, you’re being a bit too dramatic,” Sunghoon says calmly. “You’re just… drunk. Let’s go sit down, yeah?”
“You think I have enough alcohol in my system for this?” Heeseung’s eyes bulge even wider, and you wonder how that’s even possible. “Y/N, how—how am I supposed to look your mom in the eye again? She literally chased me down—twice—asking if I’d seen you. I started avoiding the ballroom after, like, forty minutes because I was sweating so much I thought I’d leave a trail behind me. I mean, do you two just—feel nothing? No shame? Is nothing sacred? Is sex just—not SACRED anymore? Is that it?!” He fans himself dramatically. “I’m sweating again. I need to change my name and go to Bali and become a man who sells bracelets on a beach. Or maybe I’ll become a nun. Yeah. Nun sounds good. Do they take boys? Wait, do not answer that—I cannot handle a hypothetical rejection right now, I am far too emotionally fragile, and frankly, I don’t want to know. In fact, I don’t want to know anything anymore.
“We should’ve left separately,” you hiss to Sunghoon and smack him hard in the arm as Heeseung continues to speak in tongues. “I told you—didn’t I fucking tell you? Look at what you’ve done. You broke Heeseung. Like, actually broke him. Are you proud of yourself?”
Sunghoon barely blinks. “How the hell is this my fault?” His voice is maddeningly calm and borderline amused, which only makes you want to set him on fire.
“Because! Because you—with your freakish stamina and your deranged control issues and—” you gesture furiously at him up and down, “—your stupid, evil cum kink—”
Heeseung stops mumbling and makes a choked sound like a dying bird, and Sunghoon’s nostrils flare as he looks at you. “You wanna try saying that a little louder, sweetheart? I don’t think the pastry chef in the next building heard you.” He huffs, “And I fucking said let’s wait five minutes. What did you say?” He lifts a finger in the air and drops his voice into a perfect mockery of yours: “‘Noooo, nobody’s out there—it’s already late enough, you fine, handsome man, oh, you absolute sex god, Sunghoon, please—’”
You smack him even harder this time. “I did NOT say that last fucking part—!”
“WELL, CLEARLY SOMEONE WAS OUT THERE! Hello! I’m still here!” Heeseung points between you two, making a sound that can only be described as the death rattle of a man who saw Satan and lived to tell the tale. “Just stop. No more talking from you two. Stop saying things. No more. There are children here, you filthy sex goblins—”
“There are literally no children at this thing—”
“I’M the child now!” Heeseung plants a palm to his chest and flashes you his big, desperate, drunken Bambi eyes. “I have regressed. I need my mommy.”
“Oh my God. Can we not do this in the hallway?” You ultimately give up and groan, stepping closer to pat Heeseung on the arm in some sort of comforting way. “Come on, Hee. Deep breaths. Let’s get you some water, okay? And then, I’ll have to kill you so you can’t tell anyone about this. No hard feelings.”
“Oh, good,” he nods dramatically and gives you a thumbs up. “Make it quick. I’d rather die than live in a world where I got front row auditory tickets to the Park Sunghoon Breeding Kink Extended Director’s Cut.”
Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Heeseung, seriously, stop fucking talking—”
“Don’t talk to me right now, Sir Breedalot.” Heeseung yelps and scoots closer to you and physically hides behind your shoulder, clutching the back of your arm like a human shield as he presses his forehead into your neck.
Sunghoon’s eyes widen comically in absolute disbelief at the nickname, and his brows raise up so much they’re practically kissing his hairline, but before he can say anything, you nearly choke trying to keep a straight face—and the laugh escapes anyway—a sharp, traitorous snort you try to disguise as a cough again, which only makes it worse.
Sunghoon slowly turns to you with murder in his eyes. “Don’t,” he says flatly. “Fucking laugh.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Shut the fuck up.”
Heeseung, unfortunately, has momentum now. And once Heeseung gets momentum, God himself couldn’t stop him. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. My brother,” He pulls you closer and squeezes your arm, “Not the guy who desecrates public property with my pseudo-little-sister. Not the guy who talks during it. You talk so much. So. Much. Oh my god.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenches. “Were you fucking list—You know, you didn’t have to stand there, you freak.”
“Don’t give me that look! You know that the bathroom is right next to the fucking lounge I escape to! And for the record, I left,” Heeseung says, backing away when you also turn to glare at him. “Oh, I left. I’m not a monster. But… then I came back because… because? Bro, do you even know how long you were in there for? I thought it was a medical emergency, Sunghoon. Do you understand? I was worried. I am a good man.”
“I was fine,” Sunghoon huffs.
“YES. I KNOW THAT NOW.” Heeseung shrieks. “Wait—Is this, like, a thing now? Are you two… Is this happening? Like, for real? Because I’ve had my suspicions ever since I caught you in my own fucking living room—thanks for that again, by the way, really lovely. Nice little public sex kink you have going on right now, very cool, very not fun for me. But is this… are you two, like…? Is this a regular thing? Are you—” he lowers his voice, “—fuckbuddies?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon says immediately.
“NO,” you snap at the exact same time.
There’s a beat where all three of you just stare at each other. Then you whip around and slap Sunghoon upside the head so hard his hair flops. “Are you out of your rotten, diseased, childish mind?”
Sunghoon just shrugs like he’s above it all, but his lips are twitching at the corners. You think you might strangle him. “What? It’s the truth. And it’s Heeseung.”
“You know what? Heeseung is gonna go—Heeseung is going anywhere else. I’m gonna go sit down. Or maybe just try to lobotomize myself with a butter knife,” Heeseung groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I genuinely can’t—like, I literally can’t even process what this means for your relationship, you know? No—please, God. Especially having to sit and witness the two of you acting like you’re not hopelessly in love with each other since the dawn of civilization, like some modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet except you’re both freaks and meaner and, frankly, more dramatic—”
Your mouth actually falls open. Like. Fully. You stare at him in pure horror and finally find your voice. “Shut up. Oh my God, shut up right now.”
Sunghoon clears his throat loudly beside you and looks very interested in the far wall. “You’re out of your mind,” he mutters, sounding offended. “With her? Please. Don’t make me sick.”
You immediately shove Sunghoon, and he barely even stumbles back. “Oh, fuck you—”
Heeseung pauses and looks between the two of you, then scoffs and throws his hands up. “Oh, I’m the crazy one? Woowwwwww. Okay. Yeah. Let’s all gang up on Heeseung. He’s sooooo handsome and hilarious and whimsical and underappreciated.” He points at you, then at Sunghoon. “You know what? Figure yourselves out. Or don’t. I don’t care. I care a normal amount. Which is not at all because I’m normal.” He turns and starts walking away, then spins back around. “Also, you’re both NASTY. Deeply. Just so we’re clear. AND THAT’S COMING FROM ME!”
And then, still muttering to himself as a deranged man lost at sea, Heeseung disappears around the corner and leaves you and Sunghoon standing there in what is quite possibly the most cursed silence of your entire lives.
“…Don’t fucking start,” Sunghoon says.
“Oh, I’m absolutely fucking starting,” you say, and then kick him in the shin. “We need to set some ground rules for… whatever this sex thing is.”
Sunghoon raises a brow. “So you finally admit you want it to keep happening?”
“Don’t give me that smug look of yours,” You scowl. “It’s just sex.”
“Did I say it was anything else?” he fires back with a shrug, then he huffs out a low, humorless laugh and shakes his head. “And I don’t know what this obsession is you have with… rules, but I’m not doing that shit. Not on your terms.”
“Too fucking bad,” you fire back instantly. “I don’t care.” You jab a finger into his chest. “Go get me a pen and paper, unless you want me to carve them into your forehead.”
He stares at you like he’s deciding whether to throttle you or not, then after a moment of silence, he ultimately sighs and rubs his face. “You are so fucking annoying,” he mutters.
You smile sweetly and entirely unrepentant. “And you’re still going to listen to me. Chop chop, pretty boy.”
゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ S in which nothing cuts deeper than your hatred for park sunghoon, except the desire that waits underneath it. 、masterpost
𝓦 。ᐟ MDNI ⨾ SPOILERS INCLUDED ⨾ profanity, NSFW mentions of abuse, semi public sex, mirror sex, fingering, alcohol, toxic dynamics, bruising, marking, breastplay, dry humping, teasing, desperate!jake, drunk!sunghoon 。。。𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 [✧] ꧁𓊈 prev 𒆜 next 𓊉꧂ 。WC 13670
Your headache was going to kill you. You were sure of it. It was the kind of dull, stubborn ache that sits right behind your eyes and makes the street look too bright and the day feel longer than it is, and you blamed the ten thousand little buzzes of your phone that kept lighting the ceiling above your bed like a faulty star all night.
You’d told yourself you were going to be normal about it. You’d text Jake back like a functioning adult, say what needed to be said, go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Very normal.
Instead you ended up on your side with your cheek in the pillow, Wonyoung groaning into hers and telling you to please turn your stupid brightness down, while you watched the typing bubble blink in and out. His messages had started soft and easy—pretty girl, tell me how you feel, let me make it up to you tomorrow night, gonna take you out properly—and then somewhere around two, they shifted.
He said he couldn’t stop thinking about that noise you made. He said he wanted to kiss you properly, slower next time, then not slow at all, then a couple other lines you’d dreamt of him saying for too long, and you’d let out this ridiculous silent laugh into your duvet because your stomach had just dropped straight through the mattress.
You smiled at the thought of it while you made your way back to your apartment after your two classes of the day, hitting the crosswalk and waiting with a knot of strangers, the light ticking down, and for a spare second your brain tried to reroute—tried to drag you back to a moment in a room that you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t enter again in your mind, or ever. You refused it.
You stuck your eyes on the blinking white figure across the street and when it flashed, you walked.
This was the deal you’d made with yourself last night, under your breath, while Wonyoung’s hair tickled your cheek, and it was simple. You decided you didn’t have to revisit your entire history just because your skin remembered the shape of a hand that shouldn’t have touched you in the first place. You were allowed to want what you wanted without apologizing for the way your stomach reacted to a voice you once knew—chasing the ghost of someone that was far gone. You know that now.
So. Jake. You could start there and keep it simple. You could let tonight be nice if you wanted it to be. You could wear something cute, maybe another one of your skirts, seeing how Jake liked that one so much—he’d told you several times last night in the endless thread of texts. You could let him kiss you again, let it consume you wholly this time, and not feel guilty afterwards. You could take it slow. You could take it fast. You could decide in the moment without making it a referendum on your entire character.
Most of all, you could stop grading yourself on a curve nobody else could see.
The marble of the lobby floor clicked under your shoes as you crossed to the elevators of your complex, polished to a shine that reflected the little bouquet of flowers someone had dropped off with the doorman. Peonies, light pink. They reminded you of the vases your mom used to fill every summer because they were your favorite, cutting stems too long on purpose so they’d droop dramatically out of the glass.
Your apartment was waiting in its usual way with sunlight spilling through the tall windows, catching against the glass dining table, throwing sharp patterns across the rug. Everything smelled faintly like whatever candle Wonyoung had lit last night—vanilla and something woodsy. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked your shoes off, and stretched your arms above your head.
It was always a little jarring how big the place felt when you were by yourself. High ceilings, wide rooms, and far too much space for one person, though Wonyoung filled it just fine when she crashed occasionally, her things trailing in little evidence piles from the couch to the bathroom counter. Alone, it felt cavernous—which is exactly why you spent most of your days at hers or Sunoo’s.
“Sweetheart, is that you?”
You nearly gave yourself whiplash turning around.
And there your mother stood, in your living room like she owned the place—technically, she kind of did—a scarf knotted elegantly at her throat as she set a wrapped box down on your coffee table, like she hadn’t just literally materialized out of thin air.
“Oh my god. Mom!” you squealed, though your brain was still catching up. “What the—you’re back? are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest? How are you even—how did you get in here?”
“With a key, obviously.” She dangled the spare one between two fingers with a warm smile on her face. “Don’t be silly.”
You paused. “Didn’t I literally change my locks while you were in Paris?”
“And didn’t I literally give birth to you? I’ll always find a way in.”
Before you could respond, she pulled you into her arms, all warmth and the faintest trace of airport air still clinging to her clothes, though she looked unfairly put together for someone who’d clearly just stepped off a flight, lipstick intact, hair smooth, eyes crinkling in that smile that always felt like home, no matter where you were.
You were still buried in her shoulder when another voice came through from behind you. “Jesus, There’s only banana milk and two cans of olives in your fridge—who lives like this?”
You managed to turn your head a little. “Dad?”
“Hi, honey,” he said, strolling in with that boyish grin plastered across his face, a half-empty carton of banana milk in one hand and the container of prepped berries—you specifically sought out—which you’d been saving for later in the other.
“You’re back—Wait—Hey!” you cried, darting over. “I was saving tha—Those were expensive!”
“Expensive?” He popped a berry into his mouth, “I’d know if they were expensive,” he mocked your voice, “-since it’s my card paying for them.” He clicked his tongue, playfully shaking his head. “And is this how you greet your old man after a whole month apart? By accusing me of petty theft?”
You walked over to him. “Okay, first of all, as far as I’m concerned, the second that money hits my account, it’s mine. Hard-earned and all.”
“Hard-earned,” he repeated flatly, pointing a berry-stained finger at you. “From what? You haven’t worked a day in your life.”
You clutched your chest dramatically. “Excuse me,” you gasped, “are you undermining my full-time job as the most perfect, beautiful, beloved daughter in the world? Because that’s a position I take very seriously. I take great offense to such slander. I shall take you to trial for defamation!”
Your mom laughed from behind you, shaking her head. “She truly gets those theatrics from you.”
“Oh, she gets everything from me. You simply never stood a chance,” he said smugly, before tugging you into a hug so tight you almost squeaked. “My sweet princess,” he cooed in the most obnoxious voice he could muster, tightening his grip further until you actually wheezed. “My very expensive, fridge-neglecting princess. If only I’d known you’d grow up to rob your own father blind. Should’ve left you in the hospital and taken home the other baby they offered us.”
“Dad!” you yelped, shoving at his chest as he kissed the top of your head with ridiculous exaggeration. “Let me go before I suffocate!”
“Maybe then you’ll stop spending my money,” he sighed dramatically, refusing to loosen his hold. “Shhh. It’ll all be over soon, sweetheart.”
Your mom rolled her eyes but she was smiling like she’d seen this scene a thousand times before. “Don’t kill her please. I didn’t haul myself across the Atlantic just to show up to the gala without my daughter.”
At that, you froze. “…Wait what?”
You finally pried yourself loose from your father’s grip and stumbled back a step, fixing your shirt where he’d wrinkled it. He looked far too pleased with himself, already reaching for another berry, while your mom just shook her head with that fond, loving, patient look she’d been aiming at him for most of their marriage.
You eyed the wrapped box she’d set on the coffee table suspiciously. “Is that a bribe I’m seeing?”
“It’s a gift.”
“So… bribery.”
“Open it,” your mom urged, ignoring you entirely.
With a huff, you pulled the ribbon loose and pushed the lid back, and tissue paper crinkled, then your fingers sank into silk—a white gown, sharp V neckline, bare sides down to the flare of the skirt, hem cut in clean slits, and a soft scarf detail trailing from the straps. You recognized it instantly. “Oh my god. Is this—this is the vintage Valentino dress I love—”
“Perfect, isn’t it?” she said, already fussing with it as though she wanted to dress you right there in the living room like a little girl. “Had it custom-tailored for you. You’ll wear it tonight.”
“Tonight?” you blinked at her. “Wait—tonight tonight?”
Your mom raised a brow at you like you’d said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Honey, there’s only one tonight as far as I’m aware. It’s a Gala at the Lotte. Major donors, industry bigwigs, half the board your brother’s been charming in New York. I’ll spare you the details since it already looks like you’re about to shut me down—which I won’t let happen.”
You dropped back against the couch with a groan loud enough to echo off the high ceilings. “Mom—Dad,” you whined, as if he might save you. “I have plans!”
“Cancel them,” your father shrugged, like it was already settled.
“But—”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to sound serious, even though seriousness never sat right on him. “No buts.”
You sat up straighter and clasped your hands like you were praying. “My dear, sweet father… you know I love attending these fancy little… galas or whatever but I fear you’re not understanding the severity of these plans of mine.” You wagged a finger slowly at him, also putting on your best serious face. “I simply can’t cancel them. You’ll just have to go on without me—plus you’d be better off without me there anyway, because I’d spread negative energy so severe in that ballroom, they’d think parental neglect is at play, and they’d change the motivation of the entire gala and start raising funds to get me out of your care and into the best psychiatric care possible.”
He turned to your mother. “That little head of hers holds so many… interesting things,” he said. “We don’t need a gala to raise funds, let’s take her now.”
“Stop encouraging her,” your mom smacked his arm without looking away from you, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Y/N, You’ll get to spend some time with us, and you’d look breathtaking in that dress—don’t think I didn’t see the way your face lit up when you saw it, honey.”
You dragged yourself up and held the dress against your body in the mirror’s direction, and it caught the light like magic, and you hated how much you loved it, and just how well your mother knew you.
Your dad picked at your berries again, and grinned around the rim of the little glass bowl. “So then, judging by that look on her dear sweet face, I’m assuming the bribe worked?”
You dramatically sighed. “See, I knew it was a bribe. You guys don’t care about me.”
“Bribe, gift—semantics,” he said, mouth full.
“You’ve never complained about Valentino before,” your mom added smoothly. “Perhaps I should just take it away then?”
“No! Ugh—You’re both conspiring against me.” You let out another groan, collapsing back into the couch with the dress bunched tightly against your chest, careful not to wrinkle it, like they’d take it away from you any moment. “This is emotional manipulation. I hope you’re proud.”
“Immensely,” your dad said cheerfully. “Although, about that fridge of yours—”
You stuck your tongue out at him, and he held up his hands like he was surrendering and made a motion as if to say his lips are sealed, before walking back into the kitchen.
Your mom just shook her head, soft with laughter, and came to sit beside you. She smoothed the gown across your lap, fussing until it laid just right, then reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Her eyes searched your face, her hand warm against your cheek.
“You look tired,” she murmured. “Have you not been sleeping again? You know how bad that is for you, honey.”
You didn’t answer that—just leaned into her palm, cheek pressed to her skin, and your voice came out soft, deflecting. “Do you know I missed you so much?”
Her expression softened all over, the corners of her mouth tugging. “I missed you too,” she whispered. She pressed a kiss to your temple, thumb brushing over your cheekbone like she could smooth the exhaustion out of you.
From the kitchen, your dad’s voice piped up again. “What about me? Nobody missed me?”
“Not at all,” you snorted. “Your trip was too short, actually.”
A second later, he appeared in the doorway, “Brat,” he said, then jabbed a finger at your mom. “I’ll give you that. She gets that from you.”
“Are you calling me a brat?” your mom asked, brow lifting.
He put his hands up quickly, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “No ma’am.”
“Mm,” your mom hummed and turned back to you, playing with your hair. “Later we’ll sit down, and you’ll tell me all about how this semester has been going, and what you’ve been up to. I’ve been away at work long enough.”
You didn’t mean to think of him.
But he crept in anyway. Just the shape of him, that last look he’d thrown you. The way his hand had casually rested against your thigh in class, as if it hadn’t left heat there that still lingered. You shoved it down quick, and huffed a laugh instead, tilting your head toward the dress. “Why do I even need to go to this particular one?”
Your mom’s brow arched like she’d been waiting for that exact line. “You always ask that, as if the answer is going to change…”
“Taehyung never has to go to these things,” you argued, fingers still picking at the fabric.
“He’s in New York,” your dad furrowed his brow.
“And? Correlation?”
“Well, I don’t know, sweetie—I’d say geography?” He looked genuinely baffled. “Your brother physically cannot be present—”
“Right, and how’s that my problem?” you shrugged. “He still gets to not be there.”
Your dad squinted. “You know, the other day I saw a video on tic tac—”
“TikTok,” you corrected immediately, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say.
“That’s what I said.” He waved a hand. “Anyways, I saw this video about… rage-baiting?” He said it like it was a foreign word on his tongue, glancing between you and your mom like one of you might correct him. “Whatever—is quite the trend amongst… you know.” He gestured at you with his cup. “People your age. Is that what you’re doing to me?”
You dropped your face into your hands and turned to your mother “Why do you let him have a phone?”
Your mom chuckled, squeezing your knee before she leaned back a little. “It’s not about this particular one… but more so that it’s important you show up with us, honey,” she said, her voice gentler now. “These are your circles too, and at your age, people expect to see you at our side. You don’t have to follow our path exactly as is—you know we’d never ask you that, but seeing as you want to yourself— it’s better if you’re there.”
For a second, your mind went to Jake, and the thought of telling him you couldn’t see him tonight made your stomach twist. Why was it that every time you tried to make plans with him, something got in the way? It was always something. Either the universe working against you, or—no. You cut yourself off before the thought could go further. Before it could circle back to him.
You chewed at your lip, dragging it between your teeth as if stalling would change anything. Finally, you let out a sigh and muttered, “You’re so lucky I love you two. And that I’m a well-behaved daughter.”
Your dad shook his head as he playfully laughed, “Oof—let’s not go throwing words like ‘well-behaved’ around—”
“Enough out of you,” your mom cut him off, sparing him a glance—to which he threw his hands up in surrender, and then she pulled you into a tight hug like you were still small enough to tuck under her arm. “Truly the loveliest daughter in the world,” she said warmly, kissing the top of your head before straightening again. “Now, go get ready cause I know you like to take your time. I’ll order us dinner—and don’t worry, I’ll have boxes of your banana milk sent over, and your favorite berries—Ooh! and maybe some of those little macarons you love… and obviously I’ll have someone restock the pantry, because what on earth were you even living on?”
You shot her a glare, and she only raised her brows at you. “What? your father was right, honey.” She was already digging in her bag for her phone. “Don’t tell him I said that though.”
Your father looked around and raised a brow. “I’m still here, y’know.”
You groaned, stretching as you got up from the couch. “You two are actually making me go to this thing like I don’t have a life outside of this house.”
“Do you?” your dad shot back instantly, one brow cocked like he already knew the answer. “Wonyoung alone doesn’t count.”
You opened your mouth to argue–
“Neither does Sunoo. Or the little tall kid always trailing him,” he added.
You gave him a look. “I refuse to speak without a lawyer present.”
He tapped his chest. “Well it’s a good thing your old man is the best in the country.”
“Second best,” You raised a finger matter-of-factly, “To mom—I’d rather have her represent me.”
“Ok. That’s cool. It’s no big deal.” He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d shot him where he stood, staggering back a little for dramatic effect. “Your brother is my favorite child anyway.”
Your laugh slipped out easy, but it softened into a smile when your eyes drifted to your mom. She was still on the phone, murmuring about restocks and a new chef she wanted to try and whatever else she had on her list, her hand flicking toward you now and then like she didn’t need words to let you know she was listening too. And for a moment you just watched her and your father, and it hit you all at once how much you’d missed this—the noise, the warmth, the way your dad filled every corner with his ridiculous theatrics just to make you laugh, the way your mom carried all the small details of you like they were second nature. You’d grown up in this, in love that was so steady it never had to be questioned, in a house where you and your brother could be loud and messy and still be met with nothing but care. That was the constant. That feeling was home, and only ever built a home where love came first.
You’d missed the ease of simply being their kid again, instead of someone who had to hold up the weight of the world on her own.
The smile on your face stayed, following you all the way down the hall to your dressing room.
As if it wasn’t enough that your head was still spinning since you’d slept at 4 and woken up at 7, your mom had insisted that her hairstylist twist your hair into a tight, though flawless updo, pinned into place with not a strand out of order. “It’ll be the best pop to your necklace, and it’ll frame the back of the dress,” she’d said. You’d groaned when she’d brought it up, because you hated anyone’s hands in your hair, but you couldn’t argue with her when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. The low, intricate back of the dress deserved its own separate moment.
And now, the ballroom stretched out in front of you as you settled into it, every single pair of eyes feeling heavier than the diamonds around your neck, and your dress clinging tight to your body as if it had been sewn into your skin—the scarf detailing trailing behind you with every step.
You were all immediately welcomed warmly by a man with a badge pinned to his chest, and before you’d even finished nodding politely, your father was swept off by another man you didn’t recognize. That left you and your mom to be ushered toward the seating plan projected on a big screen, surrounded by a ridiculous arrangement of hydrangeas.
“Ah! You’re table three,” he said with a small clap of his hands. “Follow me, please!” You watched the way his eyes flicked from the screen to your mother and then off toward the tables, but when your mother didn’t move, he shifted his weight awkwardly on his feet.
Your mother gave him one of her polished smiles and said lightly, “We’ll wait for my husband to accompany us,” and that was that. He nodded, politely hovering still.
And since you were painfully nosey—your mother just as bad—you both leaned in at the same time to read the chart for yourselves.
Your eyes skimmed over the names on your table. Your father’s partner and his wife. The Chois. Heeseung and his father. Another man. Another man and his wife. And—
Wait.
What?
You blinked, once, twice, and thought that surely you’d read it wrong. Surely it didn’t actually say what you thought it did.
Park Jaejoon.
Park Jiwoo.
And right there, clear as day, his name was placed directly beside your own.
Park Sunghoon.
Your face didn’t so much as twitch, even as every muscle in your body wanted to recoil. You forced a polite, practiced smile into place, and reread the list one more time, like maybe—just maybe—the letters might shuffle themselves around into something else.
They didn’t.
You turned to look at your mother, only to find her already staring back at you, and when she saw the horror in your expression, she pressed her lips together like she was fighting back a laugh, only for it to escape anyway—a tiny puff of amusement she immediately smothered with a forced, polite smile aimed at the poor man in front of you.
“Do you think this is funny, Mother?” you asked through your own smile, as the man visibly shifted under both your gazes and quickly looked away. “Is something funny?”
Your mother cleared her throat lightly. “Not at all.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I did no such thing.”
“You literally just laughed.”
“I most certainly did not,” she whispered, eyes locked forward now, the corners of her mouth twitching.
You leaned a little closer, your voice sharp but hushed. “This isn’t funny. Don’t laugh.”
“I said I’m not.”
“You won’t be laughing when I taint the family name by killing—”
Her hand came up to gently touch your arm, calm as ever, though you could see the corner of her mouth tugging in the slightest. “What did we talk about in the car, Darling?”
“The talk in the car never accounted for this,” you hissed back, a smile still plastered on your face for the man’s sake. “This is a joke.”
Her eyes flicked back to yours, somehow with all the warmth in the world but also heavy enough to make you straighten. “Sweetheart, behave.”
You squeezed her hand tight, huffing through your nose. “I’ll behave if that putrid prick—”
“Actually,” she cut in immediately, still smiling at the attendant as if you weren’t about to explode, “we’ll just go ahead to the table. It seems my husband has been stolen from us.”
The man practically sighed in relief, stepping forward to lead the way, and you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. You followed a step behind your mom and kept your chin lifted like you weren’t on the verge of grinding your teeth down to dust.
The Parks weren’t there yet.
Their names glared back at you from the little gold placards neatly arranged around the centerpiece, like someone had taken pleasure in planting them there on purpose—even though on paper, technically, Park Jaejoon and your father were on “good” terms. That’s what the press said, what the handshakes at gatherings like this pretended to prove.
But you knew better. You knew how badly that deal years ago had ended, how much your father hated the word ally when it was tied to the Parks.
You felt your thumb under your nails again. All day long, you’d done so well. You’d refused to think about him, shoved it down into the little box in your brain filled with things you avoided every time his face tried to crawl back into your mind. You’d even managed a whole morning without seeing him in the edges of everything.
And then this. Of course, the universe had other plans. Of course, the one time you almost made it through clean, he’d be thrown right in your face. Or rather, right at your side.
Then you felt your mother’s hands against your thumb, gentle but firm, pressing it flat against the linen. “That never did you any good,” she said softly.
Since the table was still empty, you let yourself speak freely. “You’ll have to sit in front of Jiwoo the entire night.”
“And?” Your mom’s brows lifted, but the glint in her eyes told you she knew exactly what you were getting at.
“And you know how she is. I don’t think that woman has ever formulated a single sentence toward you without the wrath of a thousand devils hanging off every word.”
“And what do I always tell you?” she hummed, tilting her head, and when you didn’t respond, she went on, “Hmm, sweetie?”
“Yes, but—”
“Tell me, Y/nnie.”
You let out a sigh, “You never know what people are going through at home.”
“Exactly,” she said softly, “Don’t think that that means you should ever allow someone to be unkind to you. If someone makes a habit of it, you simply don’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Ignore it. That is all.”
You pressed your lips together in a tight line. Right. Ignore it. As if you’d ever been good at that. Still, you nodded, brushing your thumb gently over her hand in reassurance.
“Besides,” she went on, lowering her voice so only you would hear, “the Parks are too…” she paused, as if searching for the right word, “Performative. Jiwoo only bares her teeth when no one’s looking.” Another quiet pause, her mouth curling ever so slightly. “Though I suppose even in public she can’t resist trying to cut me down when she thinks she can get away with it.”
Your mom went on, “I’m still holding onto the fact that we’ll be getting coffee tomorrow and talking about all this soon—but her son, Sunghoon,” you hated how you almost flinched at the sound of his name, “last you told me he was your partner for Dr. Kim’s class—is he still the same as he was?”
You tilted your head, blinking at her. “If by the same you mean an obnoxious, putrid, narcissistic, egotistical freak—”
She squeezed your hand, cutting you off with a knowing smile. “So I’ll just take that as a yes.”
You groaned quietly, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll save my words for your sake.”
“Honestly, sweetheart, it makes me sad to think about,” she hummed, thumb brushing over your knuckles like she could smooth the thought away. “He was such a respectful boy when he was younger. I don’t know what changed.”
Does anyone?
Your brows tugged together before you caught yourself, forcing them smooth again, shoving the thought down and tucking it neatly into that box in your mind of things you refused to touch tonight. “No one does,” you said, “And I certainly don’t care to find out.”
Your mom studied you for a moment, the kind of look that felt like she could see past every wall you built, but she didn’t press. Instead, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Well, with a father like Jaejoon and a mother like that, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Cruel men rarely raise kind sons.” She left it there, not bothering to add anything about his mother, because the two of you would be sitting at this table until morning if she had.
From the corner of your eye, you spotted the Lees approaching, and immediately your face lit up, smoothing your hands down in a silent little signal for your mother to look.
You rose just as they reached you—your father right behind them, his hand clasped warmly over Mr. Lee’s shoulder.
They all bowed politely. Heeseung wore a fitted suit that caught the light with subtle detailing, and his father stood there grinning, voice booming as he greeted your mom.
“Aesun!” he beamed, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. “How lovely to see you again—” he turned toward you, grin widening, “—and who might this young lady be?”
Your dad didn’t miss a beat. “We found her wandering outside, poor thing,” he said, straight-faced, “took pity and decided to let her tag along. You know, good deed of the day.”
You groaned immediately, swatting at his arm. “Dad.”
Mr. Lee barked out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “Always the saint, aren’t you? Truly, Seoul’s greatest philanthropist.” He turned to look at you again with a grin. “I kid, I kid. How have you been, Y/N? Yunah asks about you all the time. Are you still as sharp-tongued as your father tells me?”
You gave him a warm smile. “Depends on who’s asking.”
That made Heeseung laugh under his breath, quiet but clear, and when you glanced his way, he ducked his head just slightly, as if to hide it.
You felt a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth once more at the familiarity of seeing your dad with his arm slung over Mr. Lee’s shoulder, the two of them laughing loud enough to turn heads—though they never cared, and your mom shooting daggers with her eyes as if to remind him to behave. It was warm, familiar, the kind of noise you grew up with—
And then someone cleared their throat from behind them.
When your father and Mr. Lee broke apart, Park Jaejoon stood behind them perfectly composed, cold as ever, expression unreadable—though the faintest irritation lingered at the edges of his face. “Gentlemen.” He said with a tip of a bow.
Your father shifted just enough to face him, his hand already outstretched, “Chairman Park.”
“Chairman Y/L/N.” Their hands met, firm and measured, and Mr. Lee stepped forward next.
Everyone dipped their heads in unison, the kind of bow you’d done since you were old enough to stand at your parents’ side, and only when you lifted your head again did you see him.
His eyes were already on you like he’d been waiting for the exact second you lifted your head, and it felt like the weight of his eyes sank straight into you, burning holes into your skin.
Like he couldn’t help himself even if he wanted to.
Sunghoon wore black from head to toe, his suit tailored at the shoulders so it framed his figure with cruel precision, pulled in all too neatly at the waist—and his hair fell just right, dark strands falling delicately into place across his pale skin like spilled ink, and you hated the way your teeth clenched at the sight of him, and how easy it was to admit that he was beautiful—devastatingly so. In this light, he didn’t look like a person at all, but more like something carved and placed here on purpose, the kind of figure God and all his angels might dream up just to fill ballrooms like this.
But that kind of beauty only worked if you were unaware of the rotten parts crawling under his perfect composure, and you in particular for better and for worse, couldn’t bring yourself to ignore them, especially not when the memory of how he had you pressed against a wall days ago with his breath ghosting over your ear still threaded through your head when you tried to sleep.
And then, almost like he could feel the question hanging in the air, his father added, “My wife won’t be joining us tonight. She’s feeling under the weather.”
You caught the twitch in Sunghoon’s jaw at that. Barely there, so small anyone else might’ve missed it, but you didn’t.
Then it was gone, smoothed over like it hadn’t happened at all, and he stepped forward right after, shaking Mr. Lee’s hand, then your father’s, bowing to your mother with that easy, practiced grace, and offering Heeseung the kind of quiet smile you hadn’t seen from him in years.
It was all so neat, so well-rehearsed, the perfect image of the perfect son.
And then his eyes landed back on you, and your skin burned under something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.
“Good evening, Ms. Y/N.” His voice was low, polite, stripped clean of anything else, but the formality of your name on his tongue sounded heavier than it should have.
Your teeth pressed into the inside of your cheek to keep from scoffing. You dipped your head just low enough, lips curving into the kind of smile you’d perfected over years of nights like this. “Evening.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Heeseung tipping his head back, staring up at the ceiling with a sudden fascination that could only mean he was swallowing down a laugh.
It seems everyone found this humorous but you.
You followed behind as everyone finally moved toward the table, your seat waiting for you right beside his, the little gold nameplate shining up at you like it had been designed just to mock you.
You slid into your chair, smoothing the gown under you, and only then did it hit you just how tight and revealing the dress was. It clung to your ribs, the neckline was too low, it pulled against your waist, and the scarf detail suddenly seemed to drag every ounce of air from your lungs.
You pushed the thought down, lifted your chin, and fixed your gaze on your mother instead, who was already leaning toward your father’s partner’s wife, her hands moving gracefully as she spoke.
You almost lost yourself in watching her—how she filled every corner with ease—until a low whisper came from beside you.
“Mr. Park.”
It was so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined it, but when you turned, Sunghoon was leaning just the slightest bit closer, expression unreadable except for the faint crease between his brows.
You blinked at him, then glanced around the table, as if to make sure he hadn’t aimed that at someone else. When you looked back, your voice stayed low, and you bit down the urge to call him a schizophrenic prick, “Congratulations? You know your own name?”
“Your manners.” He said, even lower. “That’s how you should address me.”
You stared at him for a long moment, something bubbling in your chest that you forced down before it could come out as a sneer. Instead, you smiled sweetly enough that anyone glancing your way would think you were the poster child of grace.
Then you tilted your head just slightly and whispered back, “Why are you even talking to me?”
“Someone needs to teach you how to behave,” His gaze slid deliberately around the table before settling back on you. “In public.”
You let out the faintest laugh under your breath, “Surely I’m mistaken, and you aren’t the one saying that to me.”
“I addressed you properly.”
Your eyes narrowed, though your smile didn’t falter. “So what? You want me to get up and clap? Grab you an award from over there, maybe?”
He leaned in a fraction closer, “I want you to remember your place.”
Your nails absentmindedly pressed lightly into your cuticle, picking at the skin, “Trust me, I’m very aware of my place right now.”
He didn’t answer right away, and you finally flicked your gaze back to him—only to catch where his eyes had fallen. Down to your hand. You quickly shoved it under the table.
Mr. Lee had already leaned forward, his voice booming as always, though softened now for the sake of the setting. “So, Y/N,” he started, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon, “your father tells me you’re taking Dr. Kim this semester.”
You straightened a little in your seat, nodding. “Unfortunately, yes.”
That earned a laugh, deep and knowing. “Man hasn’t changed one bit then. Sadist through and through. Did you know he taught us back in our day? My first and only ever failure I’ve received. Same miserable bastard then as I’m guessing he is now.”
Your dad huffed a laugh beside him, shaking his head. “You’re forgetting he failed you twice.”
“Twice?” Mr. Lee clutched at his chest like it still hurt. “See? Sadist. I stand by my words.”
You smiled, unable to help it. They always stood out in rooms like this—so loud, so alive, refusing to shrink themselves into the stone masks everyone else wore. You’d grown up watching it, watching them laugh too hard and clap each other’s backs too loud, and sometimes it felt like the only proof that people in this world could actually breathe.
“I like his classes.” Sunghoon’s voice came low, steady, almost bored, but aimed squarely at you.
He shifted forward slightly in his seat as he spoke, and that was when his knee brushed against yours under the table. Just a fleeting touch, but enough to make you flinch in the slightest before you caught yourself and forced stillness back into your body. He didn’t so much as blink, carrying on like nothing happened as he looked in front of him.
Mr. Lee lifted a brow, “Oh? That so?”
Sunghoon gave the smallest shrug, the picture of composure. “He’s strict. Demands precision. I don’t mind it.” The faintest smile curved at his lips. “I say this with all due respect to you, Mr. Lee and Mr Y/L/N, of course, and mostly with our particular class in mind,” His gaze slid back to you, “Maybe the professor isn’t the issue.”
Your brow arched on instinct, but you didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, you turned your head slightly, the perfect picture of poise, and smiled sweetly at him. “Maybe that’s because he’s obsessed with you.”
Heeseung coughed into his fist, eyes flicking between the two of you, and you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he looked up at the ceiling once again as if to act oblivious.
And then he did it again. His knee slid back against yours, impossibly calm—almost bored—but you could feel his eyes burning into you the whole time.
Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t leave you as he spoke. “He’s not the only one.”
Your smile only deepened, though your chest tightened, and you forced your chin high like none of it reached you. Then you turned your head to find his father staring at the two of you.
He didn’t bother to hide the disgust in his eyes, as if even entertaining this exchange was beneath him.
Your father eyed him, too, and tried to pry the mood up a notch like he always did. “Chairman Park,” he said lightly, though you didn’t miss the faint edge under it. “Tell me, what do you make of Dr. Kim these days? Surely he hasn’t gotten any less merciless since our time.”
Jaejoon didn’t break his stare, not even to glance at your father, and his answer came almost like an afterthought. “Mercy doesn’t produce results.”
You told yourself not to, told yourself to look anywhere else, but your eyes slid toward Sunghoon anyway. He sat there perfectly composed, like the words hadn’t brushed him at all.
The table went heavy with silence, and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, fingers brushing at the edge of your napkin. You looked toward your mom to find that she was already watching you—warm as always, but her brows pulled in just enough to crease with a look of concern only you’d be able to recognize.
She leaned toward your father then, fingers fussing at the knot of his tie even though it was already perfectly in place. He let her, the two of them sharing a quiet smile that passed unnoticed by anyone else at the table but you, and it was warm, unspoken, the kind of intimacy that lived in the smallest gestures.
Your eyes drifted across the table again, to the empty chair beside Jaejoon. And he didn’t seem to care one bit about the absence of his wife, or maybe he did; you could never tell with him—but he was carrying on with his wine as though her absence wasn’t glaring in the space she should’ve filled.
Before anyone could fill the silence, the clink of trays broke through, and a waiter stepped in with a flourish, delicately laying out plates of appetizers one by one. The salads were dressed so beautifully they looked like they belonged in a painting: little arrangements of greens, bright slices of fruit, and thin curls of something pickled.
And then—under the table, Sunghoon’s knee found yours for a third time. A slow press. Nothing accidental about it. He held it there, steady, like he was waiting for you to react.
Fuck this. You kept your eyes down on the plate, on the neat circle of greens and the smear of sauce across the glass, and let your voice come out low enough that only he could hear.
“Move.”
He didn’t. “Address me properly, maybe I will.”
Your lips curved as you picked up your fork. “I told you we don’t need to talk outside of class.”
“Behave first.”
A quiet breath slipped through your nose. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Someone should.” He glanced at your father and pointed his fork at him, “Clearly, no one ever did.”
Your mouth dropped open, but you knew better than to give him a reaction. “Try behaving yourself first.” You shoved at his knee just enough to push him off, careful not to draw anyone’s attention.
He eased back half an inch, but then he came right back, brushing your knee again like he wanted you to know it was a choice.
You set your fork down, finally turned your head, and met his eyes head-on. “Stop.”
“Address me properly.”
Was he still on that? God, he was insufferable.
“There isn’t enough leg space for you to be doing this.“ You glanced around and smiled once, but everyone was too focused on their own conversations and plates to notice what was going on. “If you don’t move, I swear to God—”
“You’ll what?” His tone was smooth, steady, and baiting. “Make a scene? Right here, in front of everyone?”
You stabbed a piece of fruit with your fork harder than necessary. “I’ll break your fucking leg under this table.”
“Mmm. Say it louder.”
At that exact moment, a waiter arrived with another tray of porcelain plates steaming, and he moved between you and Sunghoon, and the two of you separated by measured politeness. The waiter set the plates down with a practiced smile and went on.
“Thank God,” Heeseung muttered under his breath and then, louder, a little slurred, “Praise the heavens. You two need help.”
The rest of it passed in pieces, with Sunghoon’s father occasionally uttering a few cold remarks as if this whole thing was beneath him, your father countering with a laugh that didn’t quite land, little patches of small talk blooming and withering, and the silences in between being heavy enough that you had to count your breaths to sit through them.
By the time you excused yourself, murmuring something about touching up your makeup, your chest already felt tight. No one stopped you. They just let you slip out, which is how you ended up at the bar tucked into the corner of the hall.
It wasn’t really an escape—not when every few steps someone stopped you, hand brushing your arm, smiling a little too wide. You heard it over and over again.
You look just like your mother. You’ve grown up so well. How is school going? What do you plan on doing next?
The words piled up like appetizers on a tray, shiny and empty, until all you could do was smile and nod, let them wash over you, thank them politely even when you didn’t know half their names.
By the time you finally reached the bar, you needed the cool edge of the counter under your palms just to steady yourself.
The bartender looked at you expectantly, but you only asked for water, fingers wrapping around the glass when he set it down like you needed something solid to hold onto. You didn’t drink, you didn’t even really want the water. You just needed to be anywhere but back at that table for a moment.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. “I’ve been looking for you.”
You turned, and your stomach flipped when you saw Jake standing there with that familiar grin tugging at his mouth.
He also wore a black suit, and where Sunghoon looked devastatingly carved, Jake looked like he’d brought light with him. His jacket was open at the collar so you could see the line of his throat, and his hair was pushed back but loose at the front, skin catching the light so beautifully it was almost unfair, and he was smiling at you like he already knew the effect he had.
“Jake?” you said, blinking like you weren’t sure if you were actually seeing him. “What are you doing here?”
“I put two and two together after what y’told me and pulled some strings,” he said, grin deepening as his eyes dragged over you slowly and shamelessly, “Told my father I could make it tonight after all.” A beat. “Worth it.”
He shifted a little closer, “You look… yeah. That’s—Wow.” His gaze flicked down and back up again. “You’re kidding me. This dress? You’re trying to kill me.”
“Blame my mother,” you said, trying and failing to sound bored.
“Remind me to thank her.” He let that sit, his smile going softer as his eyes found yours. “Hi.”
You felt yourself exhale, shoulders dropping the inch you hadn’t realized they’d climbed. “Hi,” you echoed.
“Missed you.”
Your smile grew wider. “It’s been a day.”
He shrugged. “Exactly. What have you done to me?” he dramatically clutched his chest and pointed at you mockingly. “You’ve got me under some kind of spell.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “You calling me a witch?” you asked, brows tugging up at him.
“No, ma’am.” He leaned in just a little, voice dropping, “Saying I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes darted around the room. Too many people, too many eyes—you weren’t about to be openly flirting in front of all of them. But when you looked back, he was still watching you, steady.
“Where are you seated, pretty?”
“Uh, table three. With—”
“Hee? And Sunghoon?”
You nodded once. “Yeah.” You bit back the word ‘unfortunately’ before it could leave your mouth.
Something in his expression shifted, the faintest twist, before he said, “I just talked to Hee, actually.” He turned slightly, “He’s right over there."
He glanced back fully and gave a small wave, and when you followed his line of sight, you saw Heeseung—and Sunghoon stood right beside him.
“Oh,” Jake added casually, “and Sunghoon.”
Heeseung's attention was elsewhere, but Sunghoon’s gaze was fixated on you like maybe he’d been watching longer than you wanted to know.
He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, that faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his gaze flicked once to Jake. Then he raised his glass in a slow, deliberate toast, eyes locked back on you.
Your eyes were still on him when Jake leaned in even closer. “Can I steal you for five?” he asked, “Or ten? I’m flexible. Or,” he added, “I can just stand here and tell you how beautiful you look until you get bored and kick me back to the diplomats. Though they’ll bore me to death, and I’d much rather be with you.”
“Flatterer,” you said, but you were smiling now.
“Accurate reporter,” he corrected, eyes dipping once more to the neckline of your dress before he caught himself, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Sorry. Not sorry. You’re… yeah. Distracting.”
Here, it was just him, the clean heat of his cologne, and that open, flirty focus that always made you feel like the rest of the room had been turned down.
“Five minutes,” you said.
“Deal.” He offered his hand like a dare, palm warm, the corner of his mouth lifting when you took it. “Lead the way, pretty.”
You looked down at his hand, then back up at him again, arching a brow. “Are you crazy? Someone could see us. Just… follow me. Stay behind.”
“Shit,” he murmured with a low whistle, “I like it when you tell me what to do.”
You didn’t dignify that with a response, just turned and started walking, heels clicking softly and even against the marble, keeping your chin high and every single movement practiced.
For a second, you almost thought to look back to see if Sunghoon was still watching the two of you.
You slipped past a server balancing a tray of champagne and turned down one of the narrower corridors, quieter, tucked away. You knew your way around here to know that at the very end sat a bathroom most people would pass by without a second glance. You didn’t hesitate.
You pushed the door open and stepped in alone, shutting it behind you just long enough to breathe. Your reflection stared back from the mirror—hair pinned perfectly in place, dress clinging to your skin beautifully. You smoothed your hands down the sides of the gown, like that could calm the way your nerves.
The door opened again, and Jake slipped in without hesitation, shutting it behind him with a quiet click.
“Fuck, needed you to myself the second I saw you,” he started immediately, “You have any idea what you look like right now?”
“Jake—“
“Remember the last thing you texted me? And then you show up here looking like…” His gaze trailed down, lingering on the neckline, the bare sides of the dress, the way it hugged your waist. “…that.” His jaw flexed. “You really are cruel for doing this to me.”
“Well, I do remember.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold his stare in the mirror. “M’just Making you work harder for it.”
“Oh, I plan on it.” he stepped right up behind you. “Question is, sweetheart…” he dipped his head, “…how quiet can you be?”
“Who said I wanna be quiet?”
That made him groan. “Shit.”
His hands found your waist, thumbs riding the dip. “Say the word and I’ll stop,” he murmured, breath warm at the base of your neck. “You want me to touch you?”
You hated how fast it came out. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
His eyes caught yours in the mirror and held them as his hand slid lower, following the seam of your dress to where the slit began, knuckles grazing your inner thigh.
Your breath stuttered. “That’s it… Look at me,” he whispered, dragging his fingers a little higher. “Keep looking at me.”
You couldn’t. Your lashes fluttered, breath breaking out of you in a shaky sound as he pushed up against you just the slightest.
“Eyes on me,” he said again, softer this time, almost coaxing. “Let me see how bad you want it.” He paused just shy of where you were already hot and aching. “Say it again. Tell me what to do.”
“Please—touch me,” you whispered, breath shaking.
“Louder, baby.” His voice tightened, almost a whine. “Say my name. Need to hear it.”
“Okay—fuck—Jake.”
That was all it took. He finally slid his fingers up, pushing the thin fabric aside with a slow drag of his knuckles until he found your clit, bare and slick. He circled it once, just enough to make you jerk, then pressed a little harder, rubbing slow, tight circles right where you ached.
A small sound slipped out of you, caught between a whine and a moan, and Jake let out one of his own, head tipping forward like the sound alone had undone him. “Ohhh, fuckkk—You’re fucking soaked. Tell me you’re wet for me.”
You forced your eyes open, holding his gaze in the mirror even as your lips parted. “Always.”
He groaned, “Jesus Christ. You’re gonna kill me.”
His mouth found your jaw, then your neck, teeth scraping lightly before he soothed it with his tongue. His other hand came up to cup your breast through the dress, thumb dragging over your nipple until you gasped and your head tipped back against his shoulder.
“Mm, no—eyes, baby. Watch.” His hand left your breast for your jaw, firm enough to turn your face forward again, making you watch yourself in the mirror while his fingers pressed harder against your clit, rubbing slowly and deliberately.
“Jake…” your voice broke on his name, lips falling open.
“That’s it.” He kissed the side of your mouth, open and messy, not caring about the lipstick smearing across both your mouths. “You sound so fucking good. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Maybe if you had half the mind left, you’d tell him to stop marking you, to stop sucking so hard at the side of your neck that you knew it would bloom purple by morning, to not fuck up the makeup your mom’s makeup artist spent so long fixing. You’d tell him you couldn’t afford to walk back out into that ballroom with proof of him on your skin. But the second his finger finally slid past your folds and pressed into your heat, all you could manage was a filthy, broken moan.
“Fuuuck—” you gasped, nails scraping lightly against the porcelain sink as your thighs instinctively tried to close around his hand. He stopped them easily, his knee sliding between yours to keep you open, the sound of your wetness filling the room as he started moving his finger inside you.
“God, listen to that,” he groaned against your ear. “So fucking wet already—” he pulled back almost all the way and then sank his finger in again, slower this time, “I’ve thought about this so much, baby. Thought about your pretty pink pussy while I had my fist wrapped around my cock. All those nights you teased me and left me hanging—you fucking tease.”
“Not a... Not a tease.”
He pulled back just enough to force your face forward again, hand gripping your chin until your glassy eyes met the mirror. “I said watch—Yeah, just like that.”
Then the sudden emptiness made your hips twitch forward, clenching around nothing for a moment, “Wh—” you started, but he turned you around and gripped your thighs and hauled you up like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the edge of the sink.
“Spread for me,” he breathed, crowding in between your knees, his forehead pressing to yours for just a second before pulling back to look at you properly
You spread for him slowly, the slit of your dress falling open with every inch, and he just stood there for a second, drinking you in like a starved man.
“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, “God—I wanna fuck you so bad. You don’t even know. This is fucking mine.”
Your head tipped back against the glass, the heat of his words flooding you more than his fingers had. You should’ve laughed at how insane he sounded, at how desperate he looked, but your brain was mush. You wanted to say something sharp, tease him for whining, but all that left you was a shaky, “Jake…”
He leaned in, nose brushing yours, his breath frantic. “Yeah, baby. Say it again. Say my name when I’m inside you.” His fingers slid back up your thigh, slow and claiming, and then pressed over your slick. His whole body shuddered. “Look at this pussy. All this for me. While everyone’s out there.”
Your hips jerked, and he grabbed your jaw with his free hand. “Open. Tongue out.”
You blinked, dazed, but did it anyway. He pushed the finger he’d had inside you past your lips, and the taste of yourself hit your tongue, and you whined, eyes half-shutting.
“That’s it,” he rasped, watching like he’d never seen anything so obscene. “Suck it for me.”
You hollowed your cheeks, slow just to tease him, and his whole body jolted. “God, you’re perfect. You’re my perfect girl. Nobody gets this but me.”
Again, if you’d had half the mind, you’d argue, tell him he was insane. But you were too far gone, too hot, too wet, and had spent nights thinking about him having you like this far too long to argue. You just wanted him to keep going, to keep saying all of it, even if you didn’t believe a word.
Jake’s hand left your jaw only to tug at the neckline of your dress, pulling until the fabric slipped low enough for your breasts to spill free. His breath hitched, a ragged groan falling out of him before his mouth latched onto one of them, sucking until your nipple pebbled against his tongue.
“Mmmphhh—” he moaned into your skin, squeezing the other with his free hand. “So round, so full, so fucking—Been thinking about these every night, baby. Shit—If he—anyone—saw you like this—” His teeth grazed lightly before he soothed it with a wet kiss, sucking hard again until you gasped and arched into him.
He pulled back just long enough to look at you and clicked his tongue, “This won’t do,” he panted, “Talk to me, baby. I need to hear you.”
Your lips parted, but all that came was a shaky whimper, and he kissed you before you could even try again, catching your mouth in his, hot, open, desperate, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to swallow every sound you made.
You made a muffled noise against his mouth, pushing at his chest weakly. “Jake—My makeup—” you breathed, lips already smudged pink against his.
“Don’t care,” he muttered, biting at your bottom lip before sucking it between his own, “Don’t fucking care. Just want you.”
“You’re being so needy—God, you’re obsessed—”
“Fucking am,” His hand slid back down between your legs, spreading you open wider, his thumb brushing slick circles over your clit while his mouth stayed locked to yours. He grabbed your wrist, dragging your hand down between you, “Fuck, feel me,” he hissed against your mouth and pressed your palm against his thick bulge, grinding into it like he couldn’t help himself.
You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers twitching against him. He was so hard and big you couldn’t think straight, and when you squeezed a little, he groaned right against your lips, forehead falling against yours.
“Yeah,” he rasped, hips jerking once into your hand. “Shit—fuck, tell me where you want it.” His hand covered yours, forcing you to rub him harder, dragging your palm along the length of his cock until you felt the thick head through the fabric.
“Here, baby? In my pants? Fuck—You want me to ruin my suit for you right here? Let everyone out there see me walk back dripping because of you?” he curled his finger inside you at the same time, pressing up into that spot that made your thighs tremble, then dragged it back out slowly just to shove it in again. “Or do you want me buried in this tight fucking pussy, fucking you stupid while you watch yourself come apart in that mirror?”
“You—Aaah—you talk too much,” you gasped, hips rocking down on his fingers shamelessly. “Just fuck me—please, J..Jake—just fuck me—”
“Holy shit—Y/N—don’t say that to me right now, I’ll lose it—” his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers picked up a filthy rhythm inside you. Curl, drag, curl again—each thrust hitting that spot so perfectly you swore the sink under you rattled. His thumb circled your clit, faster now, slick sounds and moans filling the small bathroom you were sure anyone passing by would have heard. “Shit— You want everyone out there to hear?”
“I thought… I said I don’t give a shit—let them.”
He growled, actually fucking growled, before sucking at your throat so hard you knew it’d bruise.
Your thighs trembled around his arm, your breath coming out ragged. “Jake—oh my god—I’m—fuck—”
“That’s it,” he groaned, kissing at your open mouth, your jaw, anywhere he could reach, all too sloppy. “Shit, you’re squeezing me. Come for me, pretty, let me feel it, let me fucking feel this pussy—fuck—I need it—”
Your whole body tightened and then snapped, a moan ripping out of your throat before you could stop it, louder than it should’ve been, your cunt clenching so hard around his fingers you almost saw white.
“Good girl—so good—my perfect fucking girl—” He kept fucking you through it, his thumb never leaving your clit until your thighs squeezed his wrist tight and your whole body sagged against him—
And then, your phone started ringing inside your purse on the counter.
It was so cliché it almost made you laugh, except the sound of your ringtone—the one you’d picked out for your mother—physically yanked you back into your body, back into the reality of where you were. Your heart jumped, panic threading through the haze as you smacked at his chest weakly, “Oh my god—Jake—what time is it?”
He just kissed you again, hard, like he could shove the question right back down your throat.
Then his jaw flexed, and he muttered against your mouth, “Ignore it.”
“Mmpph—” You managed against his lips, “Jake—my mother—“ he kissed you again, “what time—” he kept planting kisses on your mouth.
For a second, you gave in, letting yourself sink back into it, into the heat of his cock in your hand, squeezing him harder just to hear the groan it tore out of him.
And then his phone started ringing inside his pocket.
He tore away from your mouth with a guttural groan, head dropping into the crook of your neck. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His hips still rocked into your fist like he couldn’t stop, “Swear the whole goddamn universe doesn’t want me inside you.”
You let out what sounded like a giggle, “Maybe it’s a sign,” you whispered, though your hand betrayed you, tugging at his belt until the buckle clinked loose, and then toyed with his zipper, “Answer it.”
Jake raised a brow, but his gaze dropped instantly to where your hands were brushing the band of his boxers, and the corner of his mouth twitched, before he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out with a sigh.
The second you pushed his briefs down, your lips parted around a quiet, shaky sound. He was so thick your fingers barely wrapped around him, precum glistened at the flushed tip, and you couldn’t stop yourself when your tongue darted out to wet your lips.
You were smoothing your thumb over the bead of precum at his tip, spreading it slowly across the velvety skin, when he answered the phone.
Jake’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, phone pressed to his ear, his eyes locked on you like he’d come undone if you so much as squeezed. “Y—yeah,” he stammered when you dragged your fist down the length of his cock, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten as he tried to keep his composure. “I’m here, Father. No, no– I’m with Sunghoon.”
Your breath hitched at the mention of his name, but you shoved it down. Jake was barely listening to whatever his father was saying, his knuckles white around the phone, his other hand braced on the counter like it was the only thing keeping him steady. You dragged his boxers down enough to free him, and fuck—up close he looked even thicker, and your mouth watered, pressing a kiss just under the head. His whole body twitched, and he muttered something into the phone that wasn’t an answer at all.
His hips jerked, a hiss slipping between his teeth, guiding you closer, desperate, needy, cock twitching in your hand as he pulled his phone away. “Pretty little mouth—God, I’m gonna—”
You licked your lips anyway, dragging your tongue over the tip. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Hold on—" His free hand shot down, tangling in your hair—careful enough not to mess up your updo, but just enough to hold you back just before you could take him into your mouth. “Y-yes, father, I’ll be there for the announcement. I’ll come back now.”
“Wait—” you started, but then your phone rang again.
Maybe it truly was a sign, you thought.
Jake hung up fast and looked at you. “Shit—we gotta go.”
“Yeah,” you muttered, followed by a curse under your breath, and stood quickly, turning around to take your reflection in—and you immediately panicked. You looked insane—lipstick smudged, skin flushed and damp, dress wrinkled around the edges. You dug into your bag with trembling hands, powdering over the blooming marks on your throat, grabbing your scarf from the counter, and tugging it up high to cover what wouldn’t fade.
Jake was still muttering under his breath, buttoning his jacket crookedly. “Shit, I can’t fucking walk out there like this. My fucking dick’s throbbing—fuck—I need to cum.”
You smoothed your dress one last time, tugged the straps back into place, and glanced at him through the mirror, “You’ll live.”
He cocked a brow. “Oh, so now my pretty little thing’s got a mouth on her?”
The way he said my so casually made your heart stutter. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly thinking straight enough to speak while you fuck my brains out with your fingers.”
Jake let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face like you were actually killing him. “I’ll throw you back on that sink and fuck you stupid right now.”
You brush past him, fingers flat against his chest, and click your tongue, “Aren’t you all talk? Duty calls, Ambassador’s son.”
“Such a brat,” he breathes, but he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he cups your jaw and drags you in for one last hard kiss—smudging the makeup you’d just fixed, earning him a swat to the chest. He only grinned against your mouth, and you kissed him back anyway.
“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m not stopping for anything.”
By the time you slipped back into the ballroom, the crowd had thinned toward the stage, your father and the others nowhere in sight. When you’d finally answered your mom, she’d said Dinner’s starting, where are you—come sit, but when you reached your table, she wasn’t there either.
Only two figures remained, half-sunk into their chairs. Heeseung lounged back, collar loosened, his hand draped lazily over his wine glass. Beside him, Sunghoon sat straighter but not quite steady, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular until you slid quietly into your seat again.
Heeseung grinned. ears red, “Oh, great heavens above,” he drawled, leaning forward on one elbow, “I’mm so happy to see you. He was about to mill me—kill me to death—talking about—”
“Shut your stupid mouth.” Sunghoon groaned, his cheeks looked flushed.
You hissed under your breath, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them, and to how you kept fidgeting to fix your scarf. “Oh my god. Are you two drunk?”
Heeseung blinked at you, then grinned again. “Nooo. Just a little. Little drunk. Very little.” He tilted his head like he was considering something deeply important. “Oh… wait. Did you say two? As in plural. Meaning me and…” He jerked his chin toward Sunghoon. “Oooh. Yeah. He’s drunk two. too.”
“You two are actually—“ you narrowed your eyes, “Here of all places? Heeseung, your dad is going to kill you two.” The irony of you policing them about being in public was not lost upon you.
“Too? Was that plural or no? Wait—My dad has killed someone before?”
You shot Sunghoon a look. “Why would you let him—How many drinks have you had?”
“None of your business.” Sunghoon shot back lowly, “I’m fine.”
Heeseung snorted loud enough to earn a glance from the next table. “He’s not fine.”
“He’s so not fine,” Heeseung sang, tipping the last of his glass into his mouth before pointing a finger across the table. “He started drinking the second Jake—OW! Mother of God—help me—”
You blinked as Sunghoon lowered his hand back to the table, face smooth like he hadn’t just smacked Heeseung across the shoulder hard enough to make him jolt.
“What the hell?” Heeseung whined, rubbing at the spot dramatically. "In front of a lady? Have some shame.”
“Anything but a lady,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath.
Your head snapped toward him. “What did you say?”
He turned then, and the weight of his gaze made your stomach lurch. He didn’t blink, just let it burn through you until he flicked his fingers lazily towards his own neck. “Missed a spot.”
Heat shot up your throat so fast it almost made you dizzy. Your hand flew up on instinct, tugging the fabric higher, cheeks blazing. “You—” you didn’t have the right words.
Heeseung, oblivious, tipped his head back and groaned, “What is happening right now? Someone explain to me. Hello.” he mumbled, half to himself, half to the ceiling, “I’m surrounded by ungrateful bastards. I provide entertainment, I provide warmth, I provide charm—what do I get? Abuse.” He jabbed a finger at Sunghoon. “You don’t even laugh at my jokes.
“Because they’re not funny,” Sunghoon said flatly, still looking at you.
Heeseung gasped like he’d just been stabbed. “Not funny? Not—” He pressed a hand to his chest, swaying a little. “Y/N, tell him. Tell him I’m hilarious. I can’t breathe.”
You forced your eyes away from Sunghoon, “You’re hilarious, Hee. Drink some water,” you said dryly, hoping the weight in your chest would ease if you just didn’t look back.
Heeseung brightened immediately, his grin stretching ear to ear. “See? She loves me. I knew it. My little mister—sister. You’re just a stone wall, Hoon—cold, heartless. Meanwhile, me?” He thumped his chest, “Full of life. Warmth. Generosity.”
Sunghoon finally leaned back, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. “Full of shit,” he muttered.
For a second, you almost laughed because the whole thing was stupidly familiar, but you pressed your mouth into a flat line and let your gaze drift off instead to scan the room.
And then your eyes caught on Jake across the ballroom. He was standing near men who looked all too important, his smile charming enough to earn soft laughter from the older man beside him. His hand gestured once, smooth, and your stomach clenched so hard it hurt because all you could see was those same fingers buried inside you not ten minutes ago. The heat hit your cheeks before you could stop it.
You swallowed and dropped your gaze quickly, only to find Sunghoon watching you still, like he hadn’t looked away once. His eyes weren’t… dark the way they usually were. Softer, but heavier somehow, like he could see straight through the scarf at your throat, straight through the flush in your cheeks, straight through to the memory you were trying not to choke on.
“What?” you hissed.
Sunghoon shifted beside you, leaning just a little too close to the point where you smelled the alcohol in his breath. “You’re doing it again,” he slurred, chin tipping toward your lap, and when you followed his gesture, you realized you’d picked your skin bloody. “S’gonna hurt if you keep picking like that.”
“Excuse me?”
He blinked, slow, his gaze dragging from your hands back up to your face. “You always do that.” There was no bite to his words — only a strange softness. “When you’re nervous. You used to…” He trailed off, lips twitching, “Bad habit.”
It was ridiculous how fast your mind betrayed you.
One second, you were sitting in this glittering room with its chandeliers and beautiful silverware; the next, it flicked back to a different version of you, a younger girl sitting cross-legged on a polished wooden floor, stinging thumbs tucked into her palms while a boy a little older than her swatted at her hands for the fifth time that hour. You could almost feel the brush of his knuckles again, and how in the end he’d always give up and bring out a pack of crumpled bandages from his pocket he always kept in there instead, for this exact reason, kneeling awkwardly in front of you to cover the raw skin with careful fingers, and not saying anything about it while you stared at the top of his bent head.
It was a small, traitorous memory, and it hit you hard enough to make you pull your hands back into your lap, curling them tight like maybe you could hide them from him, from yourself, from how your brain kept creeping up the past on you.
“You’re drunk,” you muttered, forcing your eyes forward, anywhere but him.
“M’not blind.”
At that, you looked. “Don’t pretend to care, Sunghoon.”
He studied you for a moment, then muttered, “I know you too well to pretend.”
Heeseung suddenly leaned forward, squinting between the two of you, “What’s going on here?” he demanded, blinking slow. “Hello? Are we fighting again? I don’t want t’fight… I miss you guys… No more. I swear to god, you two have been fighting for like—four years? I have a better F… suggestion.. Just… just fuck already. Or something.”
You snapped your head towards him. “Heeseung—”
Sunghoon let out a laugh—he actually laughed, soft around the corners, and shook his head,
“You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, looking at them both.
“I’m a visionary,” Heeseung said proudly, sitting back with a flourish that nearly tipped his chair. He pointed between you and Sunghoon again. “What? Don’t look at me like that; I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
“We’re not all thinking that,” you hissed, heat crawling all the way up your neck.
He brought his fingers up to count. “Speak for yourself. Me, Jungwon, Y-Yunjin, Yunah, Jay, Jake—“ he shook his head, blinking hard. “Wait, I counted wrong… Shungwon—”
“You’re drunk out of your mind.” You reached forward to steady the base of his wine glass before he could knock it over. But when you turned back, Sunghoon was already tipping sideways in his chair, elbow slipping off the armrest.
“Shit—” you caught his arm before he could slide further, his weight heavier than you expected as he leaned into you.
He blinked at you, slow, unfocused. “M’fine.”
“You’re not fine,” you muttered, trying to straighten him back up, but he didn’t budge, shoulders slack against your side. His head tilted just enough that you could feel the brush of his hair against your arm. “Since when do you drink this much?”
Heeseung pointed at the two of you, “See? Look at that. She’s already taking care of you. My work here is done.” He raised his empty glass and looked up to the sky. “God? Am I a prophet? Give me a sign.”
You glared at him over your shoulder. “Drink your water before I shove it up your asshole.”
Heeseung gasped, and grabbed his ass where he sat, “My— freak.” He drank his water carefully, “No touching my ass.. No..”
You ignored him, “Sunghoon, sit up.”
But he only hummed, low and almost content, and let more of his weight settle into your shoulder.
“Y’keep calling me—that.” His reply was muffled, lips barely moving near your shoulder.
“Your name? Well, no shit—“
“Still not addressing me properly.” He hummed, then clicked his tongue. “Brat. I’m older than you.”
For a second, you just stared at the chandelier above the table like maybe it could swallow you whole. “You’re so fucking drunk, Jesus, you reek.”
“I said m’fine,” he slurred, trying to brace himself with his hand, elbow on the table, but it slipped, sending him pitching forward until his head practically landed in your lap.
His cheek hovered dangerously close to your thigh, and the panic clawed up your throat before you wrestled him upright again.
“Sunghoon,” you hissed, shoving him, “Get your shit together. People are going to see.”
“M’tryin’,” he mumbled, his hair fell across his forehead as he blinked up at you.
You shoved at his shoulder again, hissing under your breath, “Sunghoon, get up, your tie’s—” you tugged where the silk had caught on your bracelet, “—it’s stuck.”
He let out a low laugh, breath warm against your neck. “Mmm. Least my old man’s not here to see…”
You frowned, trying to pry him off. “Shut up—“
“Knotted my tie wrong once.” His voice slurred, dipping lower, like he was talking more to himself than you. “He—he didn’t like that. Said a Park’s only as good as his presentation. Couldn’t move m’neck for days.”
You stilled. “What did you say?”
But Sunghoon only blinked at you, unfocused, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d just said. “You smell nice.”
Your head was spinning. “Sunghoon—What—Oh will you just get up.”
He only tilted his head, “Address me properly.”
You stared, jaw tight, heat rising up your neck. “You’re out of your mind.”
“M’not getting up until you say it.”
Across the table Heeseung said something—probably another dumb comment—but you didn’t catch it, your focus was on Sunghoon’s weight against you, the way his head lolled dangerously close again.
You shoved lightly at his shoulder, trying to pry him off. “Sunghoon,” you hissed through your teeth, the smile you forced on your face practiced when you glanced up—because people were already watching.
“Say it,” Sunghoon muttered again, heavier this time, like he actually meant it.
You clenched your jaw. “For fuck’s sake—”
“No. Try again.” he pushed.
Your cheeks were hot, your smile still plastered on for the few people glancing your way. “Fine. Mr. Park,” you hissed under your breath, “get the fucking fuck up.”
That finally made him move.
“Was that so hard?”
“Shut up.”
But then the scrape of wood made your stomach drop. His chair tipped too far back, his balance completely gone, and before you could catch him, Sunghoon slid right off, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
“Fuck—” you shot up from your seat immediately, heat rushing to your face as a few heads turned your way. “Heeseung, help me,” you hissed, already crouching down to grab at Sunghoon’s arm.
Heeseung just blinked at the sight, wide-eyed for a second before letting out a laugh that made you want to strangle him. “Oh, this is so bad. So, so bad.” He half-spilled out of his chair anyway, reaching down with both hands. “Ohhhhhh. The Weeknd, if you can hear me... Save me the weekend. The Weeknd, if you can hear me—”
“Shut the fuck up and help me,” you snapped, looping your arm under Sunghoon’s to haul him upright. He came up heavier than expected, all lean muscle gone slack, and before you could adjust, he was already clinging to you, face pressed into the curve of your neck like he belonged there.
“You’re so heavy,” you hissed, trying to peel him back, but his breath was warm against your skin, hair brushing your jaw.
“Mmm.” His voice was muffled, thick with alcohol. “Why’d you wear this dress…” His lips grazed the edge of your scarf, and he blinked up at you slowly. “You look… s’good.”
Your pulse hammered in your throat. “You need air.”
“Need you,” he slurred, and you froze so hard that Heeseung nearly toppled into both of you.
“Here he goes again,” Heeseung muttered, his laugh turning wheezy as he pried at Sunghoon’s other arm. “M’gonna need five more drinks after this.”
Sunghoon shifted against you, his words tumbling out, “Don’t… don’t letm— go. Please.”
His weight was heavy, but the words were heavier. They dug into you, confusing, traitorous, something you weren’t ready to pick apart—not here, not now.
“Stop talking.” But you tightened your grip on him without thinking, your hand curling at his wrist, steadying him like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t even question why. Didn’t stop to wonder why you cared, or why you weren’t embarrassed, or why it felt more instinct than choice to keep him upright, ignoring the way it made your chest burn hotter than it had than when you were in the bathroom.
And if you’d bothered to look around—if you hadn’t been entirely too focused on him—you would have noticed how Jake was watching you from across the room.
But you didn’t.
REBLOGS ALWAYS APPRECIATED ( ˘⌣˘)♡(˘⌣˘ )
𝓝 ⟢ AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH SHE’S FINALLY HERE !!!!!!!! ꒰ᐢ>⩊<ᐢ꒱ so, lots of things to unpack… read between the lines, yall. ALSO MEET DA PARENTS!!!!!!!! do you understand why she is the way she is now… heol…
also hello smut debut… sunghoon girlies please do not waver… you will be fed beyond words when the time comes. this? this was nothing. fr.
and yes… also taehyung as her brother... yall done made the wrong bitch an author why is taehyung the bus driver all of a sudden?
i'm picturing song hyekyo as her mother and gong yoo as her father… obviously you’re free to picture whoever but that’s my silly little casting. and her mother’s name is aesun because of when life gives you tangerines 🍊 yes, i’m normal about my interests!
TELL ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AS ALWAYS, MY ANGELS !!!!!!!! thank youuuu for reading, i love you endlessly mwah mwah mwah mwah (｡>﹏<｡)♡
201111 weareoneEXO: 'World-class performer’ KAI to debut solo! 1st Mini Album ‘KAI (开)’ out on 11/30! To open new world of musicXperformanceXstyle! 6 tracks of various genres! Pre-orders available from today!
