>>> ❝ SYNOPSIS : winning people over was easy, just shape yourself to the perfect sweet girl and they will be fooled immediately, shame sunghoon picks up on your act immediately, and you’ll let nothing slip through. ❞
ᛝ ꒰ pairing : p.sh x fem!reader
ᛝ ꒰ ... word / count : 12k+
ᛝ ꒰ ⁉ warnings — dubcon , profanity , oral f receiving , oral m receiving , unprotected sex , rough sex , alcohol , mc is EVIL (manipulative and steals her bff boyfriend type) !!! , smut , degradation , noncon filming , spanking , idk the smut is filthy … , dom & sub dynamics
a/n : i do not condone any of this behaviour irl & this isn’t representative of sunghoon !! also might cross post this into jjk ~ this isn’t proof read either!! might write part 2 if it does well idk ..
The first thing people noticed about you was your voice— soft, gentle, beckoning you to stay. It's like words you uttered were alike to honey, sweet, but dissolves into a mellow taste.
It's gentle enough that people lean in when you speak, calming, or so you've been told. Reassuring is what they'd say, but they wouldn't know the meticulous crafting behind your words, your tone, your actions. Like a theatrical performance, parading for others to enjoy. People only heard what they wanted to, so you gave into that, telling those who searched for comfort any twisted truth that would give them some mindless reassurance.
There's steps to comfort, anyone would know if they weren't such a dimwitted fool, or so you thought. It's a rhythm. Let them finish speaking, hold eye contact for a fraction of a second— enough for them to feel seen, to feel heard. You tilt your head, only slightly. Tilting your head too far feels predatory, there's a fine line between them, mockery and concern. It's easy for you to distinguish.
It's easy being so sweet for others. You could be as convenient as others wanted, because when it truly came, you'd never be suspected. No one would realise the sickeningly sweet, albeit obvious truth. Lies are fabricated from words, and words were truth, if people wanted them to be. It was like an art, a form of alchemy — your own display of ego, playing in the faces of those who trusted you the most, who regarded you as the "innocent and sweet" friend who'd always be there to comfort and help you.
It's important that you don't acknowledge that, acting bashful and flustered— you don't accept compliments easily, because sweet girls don't know they're sweet. You don't get tempted by the sweetness of your honey, because that's when you get caught, like a bunny in a trap, a rope tied around your leg, that's when you become limited, when people see you for what you are, but most importantly, what you do.
"I'm sorry, Yunjin, you don't deserve that," you mumble, touching her wrist, grasping her hand gently. You can only wear a warm expression outright, silently cringing at her wails, her obnoxious sobs over her boyfriend for the 3rd time this month.
A routine— Rinse, repeat.
You were accustomed to it, of course. Providing silent security for her was like second nature, completely unaware of your true intentions, or the fact that you were disgusted at her sheer, utter stupidity. It was almost embarrassing how predictable she— anyone, could be.
It was completely satirical to you, knowing if anything that Heeseung did inevitably care for her, a lot, actually— but you could always paint the picture in the colours you wanted. After all, that's really no fun seeing something so nice and beautiful.
Yunjin's hand carefully steers around yours, hiccuping, her fingers curling onto you like she's afraid you'll disappear.
You had noticed that about Yunjin, easily enough, she didn't want to be left behind, abandoned, so she would settle down in the storm if it meant someone could see her. It made you cringe, as if you two were completely separate entities, a harsh, foreboding barrier that would loom around you. Not like she'd realise, anyways.
"That's why I have you, [Y/N]," she whispers, looking at you with glossy eyes. You could feel bad.
The words settle in your chest, not warmly, but like a fact, a scientific piece of information that establishes, not comforts. That was your game to play, and this was your move to make. It felt steady, earned, and elicited a smile from you— sweet, caring, loving, your expression softening at her, brushing your thumb over her hand in absent strokes, timed, measured, every 3 seconds apart. You've learned the system.
"Do you think I'm too much?" She hiccups, looking at you again.
You stay silent. Experimentally, intentionally, or almost strategically. It's the moment of hesitation you've calculated that forces her to doubt. Letting the silence stretch — letting her mind wander, and the thoughts to linger.
Her fingers tighten, and you exhale softly. There it is.
"Too much.." you start, softly, attentively, "for who?"
The question makes her pause. To you? To him? It's the kind of attentive question that can be perceived as care, but to you, it feels calculating, and you're almost embarrassed at the way her eyes flicker with gratitude, as if you were understanding her. Well, you understood her for sure, you'd be her support system if she wanted.
Everyone wanted something, everyone needed something — craved it, and you'd simply shape yourself to that.
"I don't think you're too much," you add, smiling, as if it's a great exclamation — or a declaration, tightening your hand around hers gently.
Stimulus, response, reinforcement.
Your voice slowly drifted, the sweet, honey tone still trickling off your tongue, laced with care and concern.
"But.. Heeseung.." you murmur, eyes flicking away, which Yunjin picks up on, quickly, her eyes moving with you, "I saw him out with Ahyeon the other day."
"She's refined. Delicate, isn't she? The opposite of you," you murmured, not outright belittling— that would be bait, but even so, even the most bold and basic laughing in her face could still be excused.
Because if Yunjin didn't have you, who would she have?
It wasn't a lie— well, completely, of course. Maybe you had seen them together, maybe it was only for a moment, but it was enough to elicit ideas in Yunjin's head, especially with their past, it was enough to make her crumble.
"Ahyeon?" She repeats, immediately, eyes darting to you, searching for answers— there's nothing to infer from your demeanour, you're defensive, and there's a barrier that she will never cross. No one could cross, none of them would know.
You soften, "Oh — it's probably nothing. They could've just run into each other."
You let it sit, she swallows, her voice silent trembling, as you caress her hand lovingly, looking at her.
"They were laughing together," you add gently, "but that doesn't mean anything."
But it means everything to her. You witness the exact second her thoughts start spiralling.
"Ahyeon has always been his type, hasn't she?" She whimpers, and you hesitate.
Not because you're unsure — in fact, you're certain, but that's meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Moreover, it's the hesitation that settles deep, burrows inside of her that hurts more. That makes her value you more, listen to you more.. trust you more than anyone else. Because you listen, you care, more than anyone else.
"But really— don't think anything of it, I'm sure. You know him better than I do, right?" You smile again, and even you feel amazed at your audacity sometimes, triumphant, the feeling of control tightening around her, and it feels like pure joy for you.
Yunjin buries her head against your shoulder, and you're almost certain her mascara is staining your shirt, and you grimace in return.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," she murmurs on your skin, and you look over her shoulder — expression dulling into something of boredom.
You do, and that's why you wouldn't let her find out. Not anyone.
You can only feign innocence in the midst of the chaotic party, playing it like a game, to conquer, accepting drinks with shy reluctance, fluster delicate and deliberately, letting embarrassment bloom into a flower before you, watching bored as idiots drunk up the nectar you offered like a dessert. Everyone was so easy to please, you could deliver a performance with just the right amount of flustered and feigned hesitation that you’d believe without a second thought.
And so when Heeseung comes to you, bewildered by how abruptly everything ended, you arrange your expression into something gentle, offering him a practiced smile that gives him the sympathy he wants to receive, like a birthday gift, neatly wrapped with a pink, silk ribbon. He’s holding a drink in his hand, clumsily, and he looks almost pitiful.
You almost marvel in delight at the sheer expression he has, painted on his handsome face. He’s always been so handsome, and it was seriously a shame he was only limited to Yunjin – where was the fun in that? Things that weren’t yours should be shared. Best friends share everything, Yunjin would be selfish to keep to him all for herself.
Well, regardless of the direction of your objective, or how you’d achieve it – you were always right about one thing. You would always get there in the end.
The music is too loud for conversation, offering an almost too easy steer. After all, how could you provide the comfort he wanted without a comfortable, intimate atmosphere. That’s where you worked best, in a domestic, small circle. With a false sense of attentiveness, you guide him somewhere quieter – a random bedroom, quiet, albeit for the pair of you, faces slightly reddened with the tint of alcohol. You don’t force him, that’s not the game you like to play, you like when they come to you, when they completely surrender themself, trusting only the sweetened facade you display. You don’t elucidate yourself further than necessary, as that’s the job of everyone else, to overexplain, overshare, to the point where they no longer have a choice but to keep you inside their circle – eternally.
You choose how to shape their future. You don’t let them leave, only you choose when you’re no longer entertained and find yourself a new, shiny toy to play and orchestrate.
He follows you, naturally, because he trusts you, or simply because they all follow. They like the image you have, the sweet, innocent girl, who would give a taste of ruin if cornered, it made them feel powerful, in control, like they had a grasp of control in something in their life, unknowing of the fact that they were playing right into your hand, offering themself up as a pawn.
The room is still, and he’s wavering, you can tell, he’s intoxicated with sweet, unforgiving liquor, as are you, but you don’t let that play into your mind, immovable. You close the door softly behind you, attentively, not missing a beat to lock it behind you.
There’s always countermeasures to questions. Why did you lock the door, he may ask, and you could quickly deliver – safety, comfort, privacy. He doesn’t ask though, he doesn’t question, because that is what you’ve built yourself up to. Trust the sweet, innocent girl.
“Hee, take a seat,” you murmur, not commanding, offering, in fact, whilst you take your own seat on the grey duvet of the bed, and he exhales a small laugh, taking a seat beside you.
“She won’t answer me,” he says, quietly, not casually, like there’s a deep hurt within him. It’s unsettling for you. There was nothing that extraordinary about Yunjin. What even caused him to feel hurt about it? Did it really mean that much to the both of them? Your eyes narrow slightly at the shifting of his posture, and you mirror his action, shifting your body to face him completely – opening up yourself to him. It’s what makes them feel comfortable. It’s a false sense of security, carefully fabricated, studying his actions and his body language.
He wants to be vulnerable. He just feels unsure at the moment. That was no challenge, you would steer the direction until he felt like he could take control again. You let the silence settle first, for a mere moment, your eyes softening, meeting his own.
“I don’t think I should involve myself in this,” you murmur, almost vulnerably, innocently, like you’re protecting Yunjin, furrowing your eyebrows carefully, letting out a small breath, searching in his eyes, almost bashfully. Hesitation looks good on good girls.
“I just want to understand,” he replies, carefully distant, “she mentioned that you saw something.”
You glance away, as if you’re cornered, challenged by the sheer weight of his request, your lips parting, then closing again – a theatrical performance of conflict, a silent, dangerous battle that he believes he’s witnessing. You make sure he plays into the part, watching your flustered nature, innocently staring up at him with sweet, big, doe eyes.
“She was already hurting – you see,” you reply, at last, voice lowered, “I wanted to be honest with her.”
His eyebrows tightened – not denial, merely concern.
“What did she think she saw?” he asks, eyes flickering onto you.
You could almost kiss your tongue in annoyance, as he steers the conversation back onto that point, no matter, you could play it perfectly. After all, how would you be yourself if you couldn’t divert a more challenging opponent right to where you wanted.
Not what you say, but what she believed.
You fold your hands together, thumb pressing rhythmically against your knuckle, controlled to tell of discomfort, just for a second, before releasing, your hand gently resting on his knee, it’s not intrusive, and it just appears as sweet, for the moment, at least.
“She worries that she isn’t what you want,” you reply gently, “I told her she was overthinking.”
It’s not an outright lie, it just shifts things into place.
“Here.. have the rest of my drink. It might help,” you mumble softly, a facade of attentiveness depicted in your eyes, leaning over and gently pushing it against his lips – he doesn’t refuse, he instills it within him as a mere act of kindness.
“How are you taking things?” You added your body closer now, noticeably enough for him to feel a slight embarrassment, but not enough for him to push you away or claim that things are going north in the way he wanted.
“It’s.. I don’t know how to feel,” he exhales, swinging the drink in his hand, and you smile softly, nodding.
“I know,” you reply, softly, lowering your voice carefully, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Relief moves through him, and you can instantly see the flicker of his demeanour, and you know you’ve hit the mark, your hand lightly brushing up from his knee to his thigh, caressing it softly, looking up at him with those sickeningly honey filled eyes that have gifted you anything you’ve ever wanted in life.
His eyes meet yours, delicately, his mind blurry in all the right ways, and you take the cup from his hand, finishing the rest of the drink off, letting the alcohol enter your system with open arms, gracefully, enough to numb and dull your senses in the right ways.
“Why are you so sweet, [Y/N]?” He asks, softly, quietly, and you let out a small giggle.
Calibrated, of course– your gaze meeting him in a way that feels too intimate. It’s a charade that everyone accepts as truth, and you couldn’t love it more than anything else, the feeling of acceptance and everyone writing you off as the sweet, caring girl that prioritises everyone else but herself, when in reality you could shift the narrative however you chose. You always got what you wanted, and you buried those who crossed you. No one doubted you.
“Sweet?” You echo softly, as if the very idea surprises you, shaking your head dismissively, smiling, “I just don’t like seeing people alone when they’re hurting.”
Your thumb traces a slow pattern on his thigh, and he studies you as if the permission is a gift. In this moment, you can calculate when he measures his options up, feeling so seen, and he pushes his lips against yours, and it comes smooth, smiling softly, like a win.
You let out a small mewl against his lips, enough to entice him, enough to keep him wanting more, your hands delicately meet his chest, lightly pushing him away.
“H-Hee.. We shouldn’t do this,” you murmur, softly.
It’s a lie, it’s exactly what you want, and you know he’ll play into it when he's vulnerable and the only security he feels is with you. He needs someone, and you’re right here.
“It’s okay.. I got you,” he replies, gently, as if he’s never been so assured of anything else, and you let him take control, to finally steer himself in the direction he wanted, and you give in – deliberately. You act hesitant, but it’s exactly what you want.
Everything just seems to simply fall into place for you, and it makes the game so easy, conquering and dividing, you felt powerful, a subtle authority that no one could challenge, after all— how could they challenge it if they had no idea it even existed?
You could only shift the guilt of the situation onto the alcohol that you were both intoxicated by, despite the orchestrated vulnerability and intimacy. Perhaps he felt guilty, you certainly didn’t.
“Yunjin, I saw him with another girl.. at the party,” you murmur, softly, as if you’re treading on eggshells, caressing her back softly, comforting— maybe even protectively.
Yunjin stiffens in your arms, glancing at you.
“What?” She laughs, but it’s thin, “no, you must’ve seen wrong—”
You shake your head quickly, dismissively, enough to make her feel like a fool in front of you. It’s enough to make her doubt. Except you leave the most important detail regarding your statement, that the girl he slept with was you.
You feign sympathy, pouting, staring at her innocently.
“I’m so sorry, Yunjin. You deserve better, I don’t think he’s right for you..” You whisper, as if it’s something that fills you with nerves to state, resigning to the dignity and shielding of the innocent facade you’ve painted, sweetly comforting her despite being the reason for the thorn in her side. Well, not like she knew anyways.
It was simple like this, it was how you always got your way.
Even as a child, you taught yourself to never snatch the toy you desperately wanted from the other girl in your sandbox. You learned that wanting too loudly made you small, not respected, and denied.
You learned how to politely ask, or well, shift the rules. Words were the easiest tool, and it came even easier when you portrayed yourself exactly how the other person wanted. You would play by their rules so you could play by yours. Snatching would never get you anywhere, you would wait until it was handed to you, a habit you never really outgrew.
It’s how you sweetly explained yourself out of trouble anytime, like that time you started seeing that one cute boy, Jake, and left without a second glance under the pretense of school filling your schedule the moment you felt bored.
It wasn’t difficult. You listened when they spoke. You remembered their little quirks, their small insecurities. You tilted your head just slightly enough when you apologised, as if the world might crumble under the weight of disappointing them.
You made them feel chosen, made them feel heard, you made them feel seen for who they were. When they began to choose you back, you never reached too quickly— you’d let them lean first.
Jake cried the night you told him you were “overwhelmed.” He said he understood. He always understood. He thanked you for being honest.
You almost laughed at that.
Honesty had nothing to do with it— what’s the problem with a broken heart if you take accountability, or so he believed. No one would question your sudden departure because of your carefully crafted lies — to them, all it was you being busy and overwhelmed, maybe even the victim of an unfortunate situation amidst it all?
It was enough for him to forgive you completely, assimilating into his friend group easily, security in numbers.
You just knew the exact moment affection started to feel like an obligation. The exact moment someone started believing they had you for themselves. That was when you loosened your grip, just enough for them to panic. People tried harder when they thought they were losing something.
Even now, as Yunjin rests her head against your shoulder, fragile and trusting, you smooth her hair the same way you used to smooth Jake’s doubts, patiently, softly.
You don’t snatch— you never have. You just wait until what you want begins to reach for you, and it always does.
You’re sitting on the couch when he first arrives. It was originally a small hang out with you and your friends— Yunjin, Daniela, Jake, Jay, Heeseung, Soobin, and Giselle. Tensions are still rising between Yunjin and Heeseung, it’s unmissable, yet you completely feign ignorance, smiling at him sweetly as if you weren’t the catalyst for all the pandemonium.
Yunjin is beside you when the door opens halfway, you don’t look up immediately, a deliberate decision you make. It’s better when the greetings come from them, after they take a moment to notice you, they don’t analyse, it’s quick, a momentary glimpse that decides their opinions.
“Yo! Hoon, you made it!” Jake grins, standing up from his seat, from somewhere behind you and greets him instinctively.
So that’s him. Park Sunghoon.
You finally glance at him, scanning his cold demeanour. He’s handsome, his appearance is striking, his features dark, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. You smile, sweetly, you mind working overtime to categorise him, and you suddenly felt like a new plaything had been dropped into your hands, delicately. He’s tall, his eyes are sharp, and his quiet, unnervingly so, scanning the room, almost studying it.
Maybe you could give him more credit than due, he seemed to be more attentive than those around you. Nothing of the sort of your caliber, he would quickly fall under the daunting radar of your charm, like a snake seizing its prey.
You’re quick to make the first move — those who strike first have the upper hand after all, standing up and standing before him, smiling gently, sickeningly sweet.
It’s soft, measured, the way you speak, a degree warmer and gentler than usual, starkly contrasting his cool aura.
“Hi,” you smile gently, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Most people respond in one of three ways, you had calculated. Always a friendly smile, or a small laugh, a short, momentary softening.
He doesn’t do either. That’s no wonder, of course there are exceptions to the rule, like anything, but that isn’t enough to throw you off.
His gaze flickers over you, analysing, not lingering in admiration or anything of the sort, just assessing you.
“Have you?” He questions evenly, his voice deep, affirming, questioning you.
There’s no subtle gratification.
You tilt your head — slightly, deliberately, the same calculated angle and direction you always chose to do, the calibrated one that’s been perfected to complete and utter precise execution, nodding.
“Jake speaks about you a lot,” you laugh, softly, sweetly— almost bashfully.
His eyes narrow slightly, before cutting the short silence that follows.
“Let’s speak in private,” he says, unprovoked, unprompted, and you’re a little taken aback. Heeseung can only watch, his mouth opening as if he was about to say something. You nodded, feigning confusion.
“Hey, don’t be too long Hoon, [Y/N]’s soft around the edges, she’s real sweet so don’t be mean to her like you always are,” Jake teased, patting his shoulder, and Sunghoon nods, merely observing.
“I’m sure she is,” he replies, gesturing to you to follow him to a quieter, more private atmosphere. No big deal, you could simply work your magic more intimately now. They always follow, one way or another— and he’s no different.
You’re greeted by the cold, gentle night wind outside as you step out onto the balcony, watching as he slides the door shut behind him, leaning against the railing, and you glance at him, smiling bashfully.
“Is there something you need?” You murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your voice shifting to a slow, steady, and reassuring register, and his expression shifts — but only barely.
“There it is,” he replies, curtly, quietly.
You blink, softly, innocently. He wasn’t registering in your head, he wasn’t calibrated like others, but that was no issue, it’s not like he even knew. People always feel some sort of suspicion when a girl is too perfect — when she’s too sweet, or too pretty, there’s always a catch, well, except for you. You were undetectable, like a mutation refined so precisely that it blends right into the genetic material of your being.
“There.. what is?” You reply, confused, almost flustered.
“That voice. You use it on purpose.”
There’s a beat of silence that follows onwards, and you can only let out a small laugh of confusion, not letting your perfect facade crumble now.
His words aren’t accusatory, they’re observational. That’s what concerns you the most. When someone realises a point of exploitation, they’ll dangle it above your head like bait— except he isn’t. That’s what makes him feel dangerous to you.
Your smile doesn’t falter.
For the first time, someone isn’t reacting in the way you have measured in your head, your predictions are off key, and it’s dangerous. He isn’t leaning in, he isn’t opening up, he isn’t admiring— he’s studying you.
And it feels even worse when it looks like he’s enjoying it.
The silence stretches between you. There’s nothing wrong with silence. People feel the need to fill it, regardless of what they share, it fills the gaps, they reveal a little too much when they feel awkward.
He doesn’t. He just looks at you, and it’s not mocking, nor is it deprecating. Just.. watching.
The night air is colder than you expected.
“I think you’re just overthinking..” you reply softly, smiling playfully, “this is just how I speak.”
A harmless, sweet smile. His jaw shifts slightly, like he's suppressing a laugh.
It’s not harsh, and maybe even alike to admiration, but not in the way you wish to receive. Your fingers still, and he steps closer, not enough to completely invade your personal space, but enough to force you to look up — at him.
“Your voice softens when you’re reassuring, but when it’s neutral you take that sweet tone,” he continues, “the way you tilt your head, the mirroring of body language.”
“You make them feel like they’re leading.”
Your heartbeat doesn’t change, but your mind quickly stifles. You smile again — carefully, almost wounded in his words.
“You think?” You reply, softly, dismissing him, “I just pay attention to people.”
“You’re not attentive. Attentive people care. You don’t,” he replies.
“That’s a strange way to describe someone being kind,” you reply, quietly. He’s beginning to tick you off, when he acts so self assured, and it’s starting to piss you off. You can feel your grip tighten around the railing, your eyes shutting slightly, as if you’re mirroring a smile rather than the unbridled disgust and disdain you’re experiencing currently.
He doesn’t bite, in fact, he looks amused.
“That’s a strange way to describe someone who plays with people like they’re chess pieces.”
Your eyes flicker, just for a mere second. He recognises the glint immediately.
Sunghoon straightens, tilting his head back to look at Yunjin, through the glass door where you see her letting out a small laugh at Jake, his gaze drifting onto her.
“You couldn’t care less about her, could you?”
For the first time in so long, irritation prickles at your skin.
“She’s my best friend," you reply, or almost state— your voice is straightlaced, and the smile has dropped from your face. Even the most genuine person would feel slightly irritated by his personality right now, and you were no stranger to that.
You tilt your head again — automatically, like a second nature, and he hums at the movement, instantly noticing.
You step closer now, invading his space.
“What exactly do you think I am?” Your voice is warning, and he meets your gaze without hesitation, smirking.
“Do you really think you’re the only one who watches people?” He adds, calmly, “though, you’re good. Really good. No one else would notice.”
A beat — a moment, and the wind shifts.
And those words are deeply unsettling, like a declaration. He isn’t exposing you, nor threatening, just simply alarming you that he sees you, and he isn’t impressed. Not like anyone could before. His motive is unknown even now, which makes him more dangerous, a threat to you — the crack that could destroy everything you’ve carefully curated to this day.
He pushes off the balcony railing, glancing at you one final time.
“You don’t have to perform with me,” he says lightly, “it’s boring.”
Then, he slides the door open and steps back inside, leaving you outside, furrowing your eyebrows, turning out of sight and biting your thumb furiously.
You don’t chase. You’d never chase.
But he is your fatal flaw, he’s like an input error, a scratch that never seems to be soothed. It has you restless, much to your dismay. You can’t figure him out, and it sickens you. You don’t know what he wants. He could out you tomorrow for all he wanted.
Or — you were thinking too extremely. Who would believe him? You had refined this image. Maybe that was your checkmate over him, even if he exposed you, he elucidated you for the true thing you were, who would really believe him. You were carefully constructed, with years and years of building up precisely. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Regardless, you couldn’t let any cracks be left, he had to be destroyed, removed, and replaced.
It bothers you more than you’d like to admit.
You find him alone, a few days later, in the library. He’s resting in a quiet corner, headphones resting around his neck. He’s handsome so effortlessly that it almost annoys you.
You approach him softly, smiling sweetly. No one is immune to everything.
“Studying?” You ask, murmuring almost.
He doesn’t look up immediately, almost as if you’re some sort of nuisance.
No warmth behind his voice. You step closer regardless, letting your waist brush his shoulder, leaning against the table, close enough to test him.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” you say, gently, “you seem to misunderstand me.”
Deliberate. You divert the blame onto him, misunderstanding implies depth. Like a misread of character, a wrong judgement to be testified. He closes his book, looking at you, finally.
“I don’t misunderstand you.”
You smile sweetly — tilting your head slightly, “then.. What is it?”
He studied you for a moment, before sighing.
“You’re trying too hard again,” he scoffs, “I told you to drop the performance around me, doll.”
Doll? The sheer audacity.. Who did HE think he was?
“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, smiling softly.
“This will get us nowhere,” he adds, shutting his book and collecting his bag, leaving you in the dust again. It has you biting your cheek, masking the irritation at his rejection, refusing to even engage or acknowledge you practically.
The next time you encounter him is when you’re left with him and Yunjin. Jake left prior, and now you’re sitting beside her, watching as she begins to spiral unknowingly.
You notice it as soon as her fingers tremble around her phone, soft and attentively glancing at her.
“Hee didn’t reply?” You question, tilting your head only slightly.
She shakes her head in dismissal, and you let the pause settle, absentmindedly following your similar procedure you always followed.
“Maybe he’s distracted,” you offer, gently adding, “you know how he gets around certain people. Ahyeon..”
“He’s at practice,” Sunghoon says from afar, interrupting the growth. Your gaze flickers up, and at him. He’s manspreading on a couch, scrolling on his phone.
“Really?” Yunjin asks— quietly, her eyes lighting up slightly.
“Yeah. Jay swung by earlier too,” he shrugged, “his phone is in his bag. He always keeps it there.”
Yunjin relaxes instantly. Simple, direct, enough to stall the spiralling completely.
You smile lightly, “Mm.. that’s good then.”
It doesn’t meet your eyes. He could’ve confronted you, embarrassed you, but instead he just chose to neutralise you, and maybe that sickened you more. He derails your plans with a quick sentence, and it’s enough to reassure Yunjin entirely.
“See?” He adds, quietly, scrolling on his phone, “you overthink.”
It strikes a nerve. There’s ambiguity to his sentence that has you questioning his intent. He never rules you out of it, he says it plural. You watch him for a moment too long, and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You lean back, slowly, recalculating. There was no point in being reckless now, it was a momentary setback, nothing more. It was needless to concern yourself. You don’t strike back, because that’s not how you play, painting yourself as the villain in the situation isn’t enough, it’ll make people question, make them doubt.
“Sunghoon,” you say, softly, sweetly again — less honey, but more air, testing the waters. He finally glances up, looking at you.
You hold his gaze forcefully.
Silly Yunjin doesn’t register the shift in your tone, mindlessly typing on her phone. It irritates you. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, you didn’t calculate it like this.
He recognises it instantly.
“You two are so funny! I’m gonna head out for a bit, Heeseung just messaged me,” Yunjin beams, standing up.
You barely acknowledge her presence, only until you feel the correct social cue that would initiate an interaction, nodding and smiling at her, telling her some words of encouragement before she disappears off.
The mask is unnecessary now, you’re alone with him. Silence settles in almost immediately, provoking you. Neither of you concede, it’s a battle that doesn’t require a winner at the moment. You don’t rush to fill it, neither does he.
When you finally break the silence, you don’t reach for the same sweetness you always do, letting your expression flatten into neutrality.
“Why interfere?” It’s a short question you ask, it requires no negotiation or excess words, it’s finalising, perhaps a challenge in its own form, and you can only construct an idea, analysing his presence.
“I don’t like watching people get pushed,” he replies, “and I can’t agree with treating people like pawns.”
“She pushes herself,” you reply, your lips curving faintly, and he tilts his head— mirroring you this time.
You could deny it, and administer your role as the perfect, sweet little girl who bashfully rejects compliments. You could perform for him, but something shifts within you, and you acknowledge it regardless, under a pretense of falsehood and denial, but it’s truthful. He isn’t one to conquer, he plays by his rules, and he has no qualms on whether he wins or loses. He likes control.
That makes you think he’s nearly as corrupted and sickening as you.
You step closer, slowly, stopping in front of him.
“Careful,” you murmur, tone low, challenging, “people may seem to misunderstand you.”
“I don’t care about that.”
You study his face, and it ticks you, because you see he isn’t seeking anything much. He doesn’t require validation, nor security, or admiration. Nothing. You can’t bait someone who isn’t hungry. He has no desire that you can read, and it makes him a wild card.
“Interesting,” you murmur. You step back, not escalating, or threatening him this time. If you can’t control him, the easiest next solution is to control how those perceive him. This alarms him more than retaliation could.
You can always starve them socially.
The opportunity presents itself to you approximately two days later, and you can only marvel at the beauty of potential opportunities that arise. Jake finds you alone in the library, swinging a seat beside you. He’s always been caring. Jake is the epitome of sweet, and nice, maybe if you weren’t how you were you could’ve fallen for him. But that doesn’t change things because you are like this, and there was no point dwindling on useless or boring things.
“You and Hoon good?” He asks, casually, smiling at you like a puppy, “he says you two talked about something.”
You blink up at him, registering the idea for a mere second before transcripting it into a potential future, shifting into a sweet demeanour, with a slightly pitiful expression.
“Of course,” you reply, gently, dangling the bait before him. You let the silence creep, let it slip between you and settle. You let him lean, and forcefully fill the silence.
“He didn’t say anything weird, right? He can be kinda intense,” Jake adds, frowning.
You let out a small laugh, timed.
“Nothing weird. It’s just..”
You look down at your hands, and Jake notices, reeling in immediately.
“What?” He presses, gently, concerned.
You shake your head lightly, pitifully, enough for him to sucker up some form of sympathy for you. Poor, poor girl.
“It’s nothing, really. I just.. I don’t think he likes me very much.”
It’s not accusatory, or solidifying, it leaves an air of uncertainty, one that strikes with a simpleminded person like Jake. You frame yourself as confused.
“What do you mean?” He asks, straightening, pouting slightly.
“It’s just me overthinking,” you reply, calculating. You hesitate for a short moment, before continuing, “he just.. watches me sometimes, like I’ve done something wrong.”
Jake’s expression hardens slightly, stiffening up.
“He does that sometimes. He’s just blunt.”
“I know,” you say, quickly. Defending him was important, if you depicted yourself entirely as a victim it can be off putting, resign sympathy, recognise doubt and utilise it to your gain, “I’m sure he means nothing by it.”
You swallow gently. Silently.
“He said something, didn’t he?”
It’s this protective instinct that Jake has that makes you internally grin like a Cheshire Cat, swallowing your devilish joy, and looking up at him almost pitifully.
“He just said that I was performing. I’m not sure. I must’ve come off wrong, I don’t blame him.”
Jake scoffs, laughing in disbelief and shaking his head.
“That’s just how you are. I tell you, the guy misinterprets everything. You’re a sweet girl, [Y/N], he just has trust issues,” Jake comforts, tapping your arm.
You shrug lightly, “maybe I am too much.”
You let your eyes gloss over, not in an extreme amount, but enough that makes him notice. You don’t overdo things, they can fall apart like that, just enough to let them notice.
“Don’t let him get into your head, he’s just rough around the edges, he’s a good guy, seriously,” Jake reassures, and you let him lean closer.
You never insulted Sunghoon, or accused, or lied. You just framed the reality in a narrative that helps you more. You don’t destroy something you’ve built in a day, you create doubt before it destroys itself. That’s the most pleasing outcome, the most satisfying and beautiful for you.
Around a week later, Jake lightly confronts Sunghoon. Not enough to cause or stir anything.
“Yo, Hoon, what’s up with you and [Y/N]?”
Sunghoon goes still, staring at Jake, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.
“She thinks you don’t like her.”
Sunghoon exhales, slowly, shrugging almost, the silence lingers for a moment. It’s not for control, or dominance. Sunghoon has no greedy desires of control and victory like you do, he treats Jake like a friend. He enjoys Jake’s company, except it’s moments like this when he wishes he could knock some sense into the unassuming boy.
“Why?” He questions, and it’s twisted in the way he asks so confused, so genuinely.
Sunghoon doesn’t reply, because anything he says comes off as sheer paranoia, delusion almost, and it was unnecessary for him to think like that. Jake and everyone else have already registered you as the sweet, caring girl who always offers a shoulder to lean on, and disrespecting the major leads to ostracising.
Sunghoon never really cared for drama like that, especially unnecessary drama, so he would let you win this one, especially when it came to your perfectly poised reputation, you never liked to play too much.
Sunghoon glanced across the room, laughing softly at something Yunjin said. You don’t look at him— you don’t have to, because you know. You always do.
He doesn’t bring it up again, not for a while, and it has your mind reeling. You could always read people, analyse their body language and alter yourself to their preference, albeit for this one anomaly, Park Sunghoon.
He withdraws, and you’re unsure if he’s backing out the game entirely or rather rearranging his tools. It’s almost worse, in your opinion, the ambiguity that follows. You almost want to confront him, to break him down.
He corrects your trajectory when you attempt to lead Yunjin astray, always him, and it’s debilitating, to consistently have your plans foiled. The real shift in dynamics soon starts to come, and you’re at a loss.
Yunjin begins messaging him more, over you, over Heeseung. Sunghoon. He always responds, he’s always there, looming in the shadows behind, and you can’t seem to get rid of him no matter how much you try.
He’s reliable, steady— exactly what Yunjin seeks.
It’s subtle, the change. She begins going to him more often, it’s barely noticeable to anyone else but you, but you feel it, and deeply. It’s like a toy being nudged out your hand, and you don’t snatch it back, you never have. But for the first time, you want to.
The next time arises when you’re walking back after a lecture, in the hallway, along Jake and Yunjin. Sunghoon lingers shortly behind the three of you. You’ve zoned out slightly, like a passenger in your own body. Yunjin mentions something about Heeseung cancelling last minute again that has you instinctively replying.
“Maybe he needs space,” you murmur softly, “sometimes people pull away when they want to be chased.”
You don’t think about it too hard, it's a habit for you, practically.
“He's been busy recently,” Sunghoons cuts in, slicing the air around you. You smile lightly, nodding. Of course.
Yunjin hesitates for a mere moment, looking at him.
“Should I message him again?”
It’s an opening — like a gate opening before yourself, and you jump at the opportunity.
“Yes, keep him interested.”
Sunghoon scoffs, lightly, calmly.
You freeze, looking at him slightly. It’s the first time he’s directly confronted or challenged you, in front of anyone else. It’s subtle to them, they’d barely pick up on it, but you do. You notice immediately, and it almost makes you feel cornered.
“Dude, chill,” Jake laughs, almost awkwardly, placing a hand on the small of your back, like a form of reassurance.
“That wasn’t advice. More like a strategy,” Sunghoon continues, and the word lands wrong. It tastes savoury to you, subverting the sweetness on your tongue.
“What do you mean?” Yunjin asks, genuinely confused and seeking answers.
Except you don’t have an answer.
Nothing calculated comes out, because you’ve never accounted for this. You’ve never checked out the possibility of being acknowledged.
“I’m just trying to help,” you reply— it’s too sharp, you notice, it’s more than intended, enough for Jake and Yunjin to blink at you. You, the one who constantly replies in only sweet, calming gentle replies with an almost bitter tone. Defensive, your tone, your posture, the inevitable cracking of your demeanour.
Sunghoon notices plain and simple.
“You’re overthinking again.”
He isn’t completely wrong, he has your mind going into overdrive, trying to assess the situation and account for this anomaly, it's like your program hasn't updated yet, and hasn’t uploaded this new variable. The silence that follows feels different– like you’re being judged.
You find him alone again. He’s leaning against the balcony while everyone drinks out of small shot glasses, pouring shot after shot, exams are over, that’s how they justify it. You had no qualms about justice and morality, you never cared what they did. This time, you don’t even bother to soften your voice. After all, he has your entirety already mapped out, there was no point performing if there was no audience.
“You’ve been speaking to Yunjin a lot.”
You lean against the railing beside him, staring at him, no sweet resignation in your tone, no gentle observation– just pure calculation and judgement.
“Why?” You ask. You cannot formulate a proper justification for this.
“She deserves someone who isn’t managing her.”
You step closer, staring at him dangerously.
“So you’re a justice warrior? You abide by moral rules to feel prestigious. Does it make you feel like a hero?” You question, bitterly, venomously, “I don’t manage her.”
He averts his gaze to you, meeting you directly.
“You’re scared of losing control, aren’t you?”
You laugh once, furrowing your eyebrows.
“That’s overly dramatic,” you reply, scoffing.
“You’re just covert about it. You don’t care about fixing her and Heeseung. In fact, I think you’re the very catalyst to their terrible dynamic,” he continues, stating precisely, “you only care about whether she needs you.”
You feel a heat rise in your chest.
“You really think you know me?” You reply sharply, challengingly.
“I don’t. Not at all,” he replies– calmer than ever, “but I recognise patterns. I see things that the others don’t. I don’t buy into your sweet, pretty personality at all, not one bit.”
He steps closer to you, not threatening, and not in a way to highlight the evident size difference between his towering figure and you, but it is an almost certain way that has you narrowing your gaze.
“You don’t want Yunjin happy. You could care less about their outcomes, as long as it benefits you positively.”
You hold eye contact– unblinking.
“And what do you want?” You question, perhaps this moment will truly unravel his unnatural patterns, his hidden intentions, maybe it could be a compromise– a pivoting moment that will allow you two to play on the same field, perhaps as equals, perhaps raising the white flags between enemies to allow for neutrality. But it doesn’t.
That’s the part that destabilizes you, that unnerves you. The very moment that reminds you that he’s an unaccounted variable. He doesn’t challenge you entirely, he doesn’t expose you completely. It’s uncanny. Everyone wants something, everyone desires something, even instinctively.
“You’re not my enemy,” he adds, striking your plans with a singular dart. You’re unsure how to respond, because being hated is usable, being desired is usable, being feared is shiftable– but being irrelevant? That leaves you in a deadlock.
You’re prepared for suspicion, jealousy, and confrontation. Not indifference. You can still faintly hear the music from inside, laughter, glass clinking, normal– unaware. Completely, and utterly unaffected.
“You don’t have to fight me, doll,” he says, evenly, certainly, “I’m not trying to win.”
He had already crossed you, and he would understand what it means when someone crosses you.
Your schemes are thrown off routine. Your timing used to be perfect, ideal, now it's hesitant, reactive. When Jake makes a joke, you miss your calibrated cue to laugh, when Yunjin asks something, you respond half a second too late, enough for Sunghoon to swoop in and direct her gently. She notices, and is quick to comment on it as soon as you two are together.
“You’ve been distant lately,” she says, gently, looking at you attentively. It's almost laughable, the paradoxical nature of the situation, you almost feel belittled.
You’ve always been distant, simply embedded, like a concept.
A new piece is added to your archive, and you can distinctly note her potential in shifting the game dynamic. Her name is Asa, she transfers mid-semester. Confident, observant, and social in a way that is acknowledged and admired. She’s pretty, she absorbs attention without reaching for it. You don’t feel threatened, not in the slightest at all.
She gravitates to Sunghoon. Perhaps she was interested in his icy cold personality, or the looks that complimented him. It’s consistent– she laughs at his dry comments, walks beside him after class, always chooses the seat beside him without hesitation. It’s enough for Yunjin to notice conscious decisions that add up and leave assumptions.
A week later, Yunjin is quieter.
Two weeks later, she asks, casually almost, “Do you think Asa likes Hoon?”
And it's a blissful opening that has you plotting, but rather than initiating with words or leaving a conclusive answer that leaves Yunjin jealous, you lean back, and you tilt your head slightly, the same calculated posture that has people exposing themselves naturally.
“I don’t know, they’ve just been around each other a lot," Yunjin replies, shrugging, almost as if she was barely acknowledging it. You had seen it though, you knew that this was highly affecting her. You hum thoughtfully, then– you pivot completely.
“You’ve just been used to him being available,” you reply, sweetly, like second nature, “you don’t own him.”
You’re not isolating her again, or making her feel dependent on you. It doesn’t provoke any insecurities, if anything– you're planting independence. Perhaps this was one thing that Sunghoon never foresaw.
That you can always evolve.
Yunjin sighs, leaning against you.
“You can care. If you like someone, you go to them. If they like you, they stay. If not, you’ll survive.”
Yunjin smiles softly, burying her head against your shoulder, and you’ve never felt more pleased now, it feels liberating, creating a new playing field completely, if you cannot direct or steer her with a sentence, you wouldn’t calculate a strategy for her– this time, you let her take reigns, like a bird leaving its cage for the first time. You’d let her fly.
Asa begins to join the friend group, sitting opposite to you, Sunghoon sat calmly beside her. She’s warm, effortless, and she smiles at you first. You can read a certain genuinity to her, maybe she’s what you’d be like if you were genuine. Maybe you could’ve been like her in another world, except you don’t, you live in your twisted security, and you're perfectly content.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, [Y/N]. Jake says you're the sweetest girl he’s ever met, and also Yunjin’s therapist,” she laughs, nodding slightly, eliciting a gentle smile from you, timing your laugh perfectly, matching the group dynamic.
Yunjin looks slightly embarrassed, but Sunghoon is watching you carefully. He knows about your common courtesy– your gestures, your role as the jester, performing for those to see and enjoy, but it feels uncanny this time.
Your smile looks a bit more genuine than usual, and it’s throwing him off.
You could reclaim the role, but this time– you wanted to rewrite it. There’s a deliberate lightness to your tone.
“Retired now,” you laugh softly, “people grow out of needing a manager for themself.”
You don’t even glance at him, you know he’s staring, he understands almost immediately.
You’re no longer competing for reigns over Yunjin, you’re withdrawing, or stepping above the competition entirely, in a way that makes you completely unpredictable. The shift is subtle but seismic, and when Yunjin starts going to you again, regarding Sunghoon, you no longer steer decisions, you question her– and when she chooses messy decisions, you let the chaos unfold. After all, the blame cannot be directed on you when these decisions are her own accord.
Heeseung and Yunjin are ambiguous. They are enough to be dating, but not enough to stay consistent. It’s a routine that no one interrupts, except for you, of course. They are on and off, and it’s most elucidated at a gathering.
It’s Asa’s first time in a party like this, playing a game of truth or dare to break the mold, or such. Alcohol bottles litter the room, red cups are strewn beside people, and sat in a circle.
You’re sitting beside Jake and Jay, watching quietly, a small, pleasant smile plastered on your face. The bottle lands on Yunjin, and Jay immediately chirps in.
Yunjin replies instantly, maybe even safely, “Dare.”
“I dare you to kiss the person you would pick first in this room,” Jay replies, shockingly so, challenging her.
You’re not alarmed, you know she won’t pick you, and that’s what’ll make this game more fun. Instead, you’re almost excited to see the chaos unfold right before your very own eyes– and the most interesting part of it all? You did none of the work this time.
She laughs, under the influence of alcohol, slightly, enough for her to challenge the dare, leaning over and kissing Sunghoon. You watch carefully, for those most affected in this turn of events. Heeseung, Asa, and finally Sunghoon.
The room buzzes immediately.
“Wait, what about Heeseung?”
“I thought Asa liked him?”
Jake gulps, Jay whistles.
Heeseung looks humiliated, almost pitiful, and excuses himself immediately. Asa’s eyebrows furrow, and she looks far from pleased, almost offended, whilst Sunghoon sits, his eyes wide. The spotlight’s on him, and it's time he performs for you.
His eyes darted to you, smiling, aware of your triumphance.
Yunjin is half-laughing, half-realising the true gravity of her actions.
Everyone looks at him now, no eyes fall onto you, as he’s the main act of the show. He’s in a difficult position. He can choose to humiliate Heeseung, or embarrass Yunjin, or confirm– he’s in the spotlight. He wanted unpredictability, and here you were, serving it on a platter for him.
“Well,” you hum softly, tilting your head, “that answers a few questions, doesn’t it?”
“Isn’t that kind of messed up?” Asa murmurs, sitting awkwardly, shifting in her seat. Jake coughs– filling the awkward glances.
“I’m gonna check up on Heeseung,” Jake adds, quickly departing from the spectacle.
The group chat is quiet that night, not a single message has been uttered, no exclamation has been provided, and leaves questions with no answers. Both Yunjin and Sunghoon message you that night, but you don’t respond. You don’t feel the need to, especially when victory has manifested itself for you, rather than chasing after it, perfectly poised to you.
Sunghoon corners you at your own house, quietly, the following night.
“You changed your approach.”
You shrug, smiling pleasantly, looking at him, having the audacity to even invite him inside.
“You’re not interfering anymore,” he replies, watching you, and you simply sit beside him on your own couch, relaxing and lounging.
“I have no need anymore,” you shrugged, and he studied you, watching with uncertainty, “control isn’t always about holding or directing something, sometimes you have to let them think they’re free.”
He smiles slightly, and you furrow your eyebrows slightly, looking at him, analysing and constructing an idea.
“You’re not doing this for her,” he states, like a fact.
“No,” he replies, firmly, “you’re doing it for me, aren’t you?”
A beat – silence, you’re staring at him, almost in disbelief. What even made him think that? The very idea was prosperous to you, you’d never get caught up on anyone or anything. Your motive for control and power wasn’t anything noble, your intentions were never hung up on one particular thing, he just happened to be in the crossfire. You enjoyed watching people bring upon their own downfall, especially arrogant people like him. It wasn’t for him.
“You want to see if I’ll break first.”
“Do you really think you mean that much to me?” You laugh, in disbelief, looking at him.
“You didn’t respond last night because you wanted me to come to you,” he replies, standing before you, as he gestures lightly around the room, “and I did.”
You lean back, letting the edge of the couch press against your spine, casually observing him as he lingers in your living room. He steps a little closer, and the air surrounding shifts– his presence fills the space like gravity. It feels suffocating. Times like this allow you to appreciate the genuine attractiveness he displays, albeit you don’t play into his hand, time seems to pass inevitably.
His biceps peaked out from his grey sleeveless top, his face was sharp, staring down at you, confidently, his sharp canines peaking out– even arrogantly. It was almost a stark contrast from the icy aura he alludes usually, this demeanour coming off a lot more intense.
“You act more untouchable than you think you are, doll,” he adds, bitterly, “when you’re as human as the rest of us.”
His eyes darken, staring at you, his hand drifting towards you, hovering above you, studying your face with precision, one that made you feel too seen. It felt like he was playing in your face, and with your tactics moreover.
“The stunt you pulled the other night was my last fucking straw,” he scowled, grabbing your chin harshly, and forcing your face in his direction, “you don’t get to toy with me like that. I chose neutrality with you because I know you’re dangerous. I wasn’t underestimating you. You’re a sweet girl and that makes it hard to expose you for what you are.”
You scoffed– staring at him, “and what am I?”
“A fucking bitch that needs to be put in her place for once.”
Your mouth widened– agape, as if you were about to say something, only for his lips to crash against yours, painfully so. Then instinctively, hesitantly, you kissed him back– lips clashing against each other, obviously stricken with desire and pent up feelings and emotions.
The kiss deepened almost immediately, urgent and greedy, his hand moving to cup your cheek while the other pressed lightly against your waist, holding you in place.
You shivered, in disbelief and desire, your body betraying your attempts to resist. His hands wander down, to your hips, lifting you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist quickly after, stumbling through your house as if it belongs to him, throwing you onto the bed without a second thought.
“You wanna be a bitch? Then I’ll treat you like one.”
His touch was violent, harsh, thrashing your clothing off, and despite it all, you couldn’t bring yourself, not even your pride, could throw him off, reluctantly, desire clouded your thoughts. If you couldn’t control him, then control was always evident intimately, you’d just have him submit to you like this. His hands meet your hair, yanking you back against him, greedily, and you understand you’ve probably pushed his buttons more than anyone else.
“I should’ve known that you wanted me too, everyone wants something,” you mock, staring at his awfully handsome face, nails digging crescent shaped moons into his biceps.
“Yeah? You know what I want?” He continues through gritted teeth, breathing heavily, unclasping the white bra on your back swiftly, “to make you cry and beg, and ruin that fucking ego of yours.”
He took a sharp breath at the sight of you, groping at you, admiring the sight before him. You looked absolutely beautiful, face flushed, hair cascading onto the white sheets below, body bare for him– he felt his cock twitching in his pants, hardening against the cotton at the mere sight of your pretty body. Shame you had such a fucking mouth on you. You were going to end him.
His fingers dove down, hooking onto your waistband and dragging your cotton shorts down, met face to face with your core wet, dripping, just the way he imagined. He scoffed at the darkened fabric of your panties beside you on the sheets, almost mocking you.
“Slut,” he murmured quietly, enough for you to hear, enough to make you shake your head in dismissal.
“You’re hard as a rock, don’t act high and mighty,” you scowled, yanking his sweats down, eyeing up the very obvious bulge in his boxers, and you can slightly admire the sheer size of it, swallowing slightly.
“You’re salivating at the sight? I knew you were a whore– but not as much as this,” he replied, grabbing your ankles with brutal force, forcing your body to give out and be manhandled, as he dragged you onto your back.
His face wandered lower, his lips placing a single kiss against your core, before his tongue began to circle your clit, inhaling the sweet smell you exuded, and he licks and laps at you with such obscene greed, letting out small mewls in response to his expertise, groaning against your pussy at the sounds you let out. Your hips moved involuntarily, grinding against him, and he scowled, one hand grabbing your hip firmly– keeping you in place.
You wouldn’t run from him– not anymore, at least. He watched your expression with a half-lidded gaze, eating you with such greed. His other hand reached up and probed a finger against your hole, sliding in easily without much resistance, adding another soon after, stretching his fingers within you, before beginning to continue with a pumping motion, curling them against your g-spot as he lapped at your clit.
“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum– keep going,” you mewled, back arching off the bed, your bed, hands grasping at the sheets for leverage, before reaching his hair and pulling it painfully, leading him to grit his teeth in response. You felt the pleasure building up, and he quickly detached his mouth from you, his fingers exiting with a wet noise.
“Why’d you stop!” You hissed, staring at him, watching as his fingers parted your sweet folds, analysing the fluttering hole presented before him, feeling the ecstasy of your orgasm ridding itself from your abdomen, pathetically.
“Only good girls get to cum,” he responded, ignoring your venomous tone, “you’ve finally dropped the sweet act, huh?”
He leaned down, biting into your thigh with painful precision, leaving a mark for certain.
“You’re such a dick,” you replied, curtly, and he seemed to not take it well, wrapping his hand around your neck, forcing you off the bed and down onto your knees before him.
“Why are you always speaking?” He sighed, staring down at you, his thumb gliding across your perfectly pouty lips, in a manner that feels almost too sweet for it to be him, “I have to shut you up somehow, doll.”
“You’d be so pretty if you just kept that mouth shut. Or around my cock.”
He pushed his painfully tight boxers and sweats down, his cock hard, your eyes widening slightly. He was fucking big, much more than you expected. You hardly could take control, his hand fastening around the back of your head and fabricating a makeshift ponytail, shoving your mouth around him in one swift motion.
He finally gets a good look at your face, when you're kneeling before him, and shit, he had no idea you could make such a fucking slutty expression for him, your lips pouting, drool travelling down the corner of your lips as he thrusted into your face violently, and what gets him fucking harder is the way it looks like you enjoy being face fucked like some cheap whore or sex toy. It makes him think he should’ve just done the first moment he saw you rather than putting up with your attitude, instead of entertaining your brattiness, he should’ve just fucked some sense right into you.
It pisses him off– since the day he met you, he just couldn’t think about fucking any other women. He had no problem with it in the past, going out and meeting whatever pretty girl wanted him, but since he saw your fucking dangerous attitude, he felt hung up on you. It really pissed him off how he couldn't stop thinking about the fake, manipulative girl who puts on a sweet act for everyone.
He groaned at the delectable feeling of your throat wrapped around his cock, enjoying the tears that well up in your eyes from being deepthroated. Your hands meet his thighs, pushing against them, your nose pressing against his pelvis.
Your own hips grind at nothing, except for the floor below you, brushing your clit against it with desperation, probably leaving a pool right below you. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, scoffing at your sheer sluttiness, and with the way you looked so fucking feverish, he would’ve thought no one had ever fucked you before.
With a few more violent thrusts, your mouth fills up with his warm seed, his hand forces you completely onto him, with no chance to escape, nor to spit it out and laugh in his face, rather to swallow it. Your throat convulsed, swallowing as much as you could, before yanking your head back and painting your face with white, sticky ropes in a way that feels too degrading, and it drips down your chin, and onto your tits. The moment he pulls out from your mouth, you start coughing, and he watches you in amusement.
“There it is, pretty, taking it all like a good girl,” he hummed, releasing your hair.
“This is disgusting,” you can only murmur, trying to collect the remnants of dignity you could, despite the very obvious desire dripping from your thighs, glistening for him.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re rutting your hips against the floor like an animal?” He replies, and you’re silent, raising yourself up to stand before him, taunting him, he harshly pushes you against the bed, flipping you so your face is pressed into the cotton below, one hand clutching your hands together, another pushing your face down, before releasing the grasp on your hands, jerking himself off momentarily and placing his throbbing tip against your hole, yet it never enters, much to your dismay.
“Ask nicely for my cock,” he hums, keeping himself steady, and it irritates you how he’s much more composed than you expected, and you tilt your head back at him.
“I’m not begging for you to fuck me,” you scoff, “you’re lucky I’m even fucking you now.”
He sighs in response, pinning you down still, “then I’ll leave you here to deal with yourself.”
You laugh eagerly at the thought, challenging him.
“You wouldn’t. Not like I care, anyways.”
It’s silent again, and your hips involuntarily push back, greedily, and he’s almost offended at your audacity, striking your ass with a harsh, violent slap, enough to leave a painful, throbbing mark, yet you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips, loud enough to elicit a small smirk in amusement from him.
You scoff immediately, shaking your head in disapproval.
“Fucking ask already, I’m getting impatient,” he scowls, irritation rising in him. The personality he’s displaying now is a stark contrast to the icy demeanour from before, and it has you questioning if you ever really knew him at all.
“Ugh! Just fuck me, please?” You reply, sarcastically.
“Seruously? You call that beggin’? You can do better than that, doll,” he tutted, staring down at you– he had the power.
It pissed you off, but desire was clouding your vision, as if it was any other moment, you would’ve probably flipped and left, “I want you to fuck me, Hoon.. Need you inside of me, please?”
“Attagirl. Wasn’t so hard was it?” He nods, even praising you in a way that has your hole clenching at nothing, embarrassingly. He was satisfied despite your sarcastic tone, as he’d work his way up until you were completely submissive someday.
“Let’s see how smart you are when I’m ruining you,” he adds, pushing himself inside– with one swift, desperate movement, his hands finding a perch at your hips, holding you roughly, his movements immediately more erratic, greedy, pounding your sweet pussy with feverish intent, before one hand reaches up and shoves your head down again, forcing your moans to be swallowed by the duvet below you.
Your cunt clenched around him covetously, his hips slamming, whilst he drives into you– hitting a certain spot within you that has you seeing stars, biting your lip, to try and stifle some of the moans that left your lips.
“Fuck.. This is all you’re good for, just a pretty hole for me to fuck.”
You can only respond in broken sentences, each thrust winding you and eliciting a whimper or moan from your throat in a guttural form.
The erraticness of the rhythm he thrusts is filthy– desire clouding both of your minds, so much that you could care less that this was the person you detested most, not when he had you seeing stars, your back arching off the soft sheets, eagerly looking up at him– your eyes rolling back in pleasure.
Your pussy grips onto him like a vice, greedily taking more of him– starving for him, as you let your body get used by him. Humiliation filled you, and you knew as much as he did, that you were sickeningly enjoying this, basking in your own pleasure as he split you open on his length. It felt degrading, to be in a position with no control, something that completely fabricated the very being of yourself.
You’re like a pornstar, letting out the most loud, greedy moans as he rutted into you violently, and the room is disgusting. Fluids litter your and his body, and soak into your bed, only the noises of wet sex and loud moans fill the room, his cock bullying into you. His hand travels up your bare back, past your throat, shoving two fingers into your mouth.
“God, you’re such a fucking whore, I know people who have money, y’know– pay to put you in their place. How about it?” he grins, humiliatingly so, and you shake your head in disapproval, “you’re right, doll, only I wanna fuck you like this. Can’t let anyone see what you’re really like– a slut who likes being ruined.”
His eyes trail down, where you're dripping onto the sheets and onto his cock, marvelling at the sight, and he doesn’t even think twice before pulling out his phone and taking a video. It’ll be for his eyes only, after all, and he wanted this sight to forever be reminded. It also served as another form of control over you, it’d liberate him from the position of just a plaything.
“You know, doll, I like your secret, I like how twisted you are, I’ll keep it as long as I can keep fucking this hole– you’d like that, right?”
“Yes.. Fuck, yes! Gonna.. cum!”
It fills him with delight the way you submit, finally, and not act like such a fucking bitch, the way he has power finally against you. Your legs began to shake with desire, your lips parting– crashing down on you like a wave, climaxing, squeezing his cock tighter, convulsing as you dripped down him, letting out a loud moan with his name– as his movements become more animalistic, chasing his own thrill now, using you as a fleshlight for his own pleasure.
“You’re crying?” He taunts, feeling the wetness of your tears trickling down your face, “so pathetic, huh?”
“Just like all the rest of us, even though you act so high and mighty.”
His cock throbs as he lets out a large load with a final, delivering thrust, filling you up completely, reaching places beyond anyone should, bruising your cervix deliberately, slamming his hips against you.
“Like a cum dump, aren’t you?” He grits, thrusting for a few final times, savouring the aftershocks like they’ll disappear forever. He turns your body over, staring at your messy appearance.
“Open,” he murmurs, his thumb reaching over your glossy lips, and you reluctantly follow, only to be met with him spitting into your mouth forcefully, swallowing it instinctively, eliciting a nod of approval from him. His cock remains inside of you, his seed dripping out of you lewdly.
There are purple and red marks left all over your body, a little dried blood from where he was holding your hips a little too tight, and he thinks it might very well be the prettiest you’ve ever looked. He pulls out, immediately pulling his clothes back on, not even bothering to check up on you.
“You’re a big girl, hm? You’ll take care of yourself,” he mocks, and it has you scoffing in embarrassment, but you can't really combat his words, knowing that his cum was quite literally dripping out of your hole.
“You’re leaving?” You ask, defensively.
“Yeah,” he replies, conclusively, and it has you a little dumfounded at his audacity, watching closely, yet your pride refuses to acknowledge it. He’s already fully dressed, and about to leave through your bedroom door, before looking back at you, and showing his phone screen at you, and it has you scoff– your body below him, taking his cock brutally, your moans of his name vibrating from the speaker.
“Better be careful about your sweet, innocent act now, yeah?”
He’s as fucking evil as you are.
