I just wanna pamper riki with kisses all over his flushed face when he’s sick, blow little raspberries against his lips, rub his cheeks, pet his hurting belly, just pure fluff(but intimate rather than jokes and games) and sweet talk(babying..?)
This is a request ig!!😁😁😁
I mightve made it to be too corny idk😓
includes: 1,103 words of straight fluff I think that’s it
I luvvvv me some Ni-ki
♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱𓆩^._.^𓆪♱⋆ཐི˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱
It’s rare that Ni-ki will let you do anything cutesy to or with him.
He isn’t dull; being playful isn’t out of the question; but his version of that is play fighting or playful banter.
But if you want to tickle the most ticklish person you know, you’ll just end up with your wrists pinned down and a very unamused Ni-ki firmly telling you “no”.
Or, if he’s having one of those moments where he’s rambling about you and how much he loves and appreciates you, you can’t even aww in peace because he won’t let you cup his face, much less squish his cheeks.
That’s why you’re enjoying this so much.
Who knew he’d be so…soft…just because he’s sick?
“Don’t go…stay with me.” He whined, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter.
You’d already spent the entire morning with him, but you really need to leave now if you want to make it to work on time.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.” You assured, gently running your hand through his hair.
Speaking gibberish into your stomach from the medication he’s taken, ni-ki refuses to let you go and thinks to convince you by nuzzling his face into your shirt.
If he were a cat, his tail would be curled around whatever part of you he could get to if it meant you’d feel forced to stay.
You can’t be mad, even if you really want to be; when are you ever going to get the chance to do this again?
“Come on…let’s go back to bed…” you sigh, keeping one hand tangled in his hair while the other pulls your phone out to call in.
Ni-ki is quick to stand up and drag you back into your room, not caring to let you get out of your work uniform before he’s pulling you into bed with him.
He waits until after you’re off the phone to ask for anything; and even then, it’s the same thing he’s asked you for all day—the one thing you’ve denied him all day.
“I want kisses…” he says softly, laying on top of you so you can’t push him away or look away and prevent him from kissing you.
“No.” You say firmly, shaking your head.
“Just one…” he whines, leaning forward only for you to stop him.
“Don’t be mean…I’m sick, you need to take care of me…” he says softly, trying to guilt you into giving him kisses.
“I’m no good to you if I get sick, which is what will happen if I kiss you.” You explain, taking the chance to cup his face.
Oh my god, he’s really letting you.
Ni-ki sighs and leans into your palm, closing his eyes for a moment.
Poor thing, he’s so warm, and his flush still hasn’t calmed down even after all the cool towels you’ve put on his forehead.
“Why don’t you take your shirt off? Aren’t you hot?” You ask, slicking his hair back for him so it wasn’t bugging him.
“If you want to see me without my shirt, you can just say that, baby…” Ni-ki teases, but he can’t even sit upright without groaning in pain from the body aches.
You roll your eyes, sitting up with him to grab some of the medication off the nightstand.
“You just took the nausea meds, right?” You ask, reading the labels to find one that might help him now.
“Nausea and for the fever.” Ni-ki corrected gently, bunching his shirt up and letting it fall to the side.
“Liar, I just replaced the one for the fever, it still has the seal.” You sigh softly, breaking the seal to take the amount you need.
“I can’t keep taking it, the pill is too big,” he complains, but he still holds his hand out for you to drop the pills into his palm.
While he does that, you notice the shirt and pick it up without really thinking about it.
It’s clean; he took a shower not that long ago and had to change it, so it’s fair game.
“There-“ he begins, straightening up only to catch you mid-shirt change.
“Good job, baby” you coo, pulling your hair out of the collar and pulling the shirt down all the way.
“I hope you know how much you really suck.” He scoffs, letting himself fall back into the bed with a small thud.
“You’ll thank me when you wake up tomorrow and you feel brand new.” You say, reaching over to rub his stomach quickly.
It was more like a pet—you didn’t think anything of it, not even because he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
But you’re much colder than he is, and it felt good enough that he wanted you to do it some more.
So just before you can pull your hand back, Ni-ki grabs your wrist and brings it back towards him.
“Keep doing that…” he says, placing your palm flat against his side.
“What?” You ask, raising a brow at him.
“Rub my tummy.” He says, scooting closer towards you so he isn’t too far but still lying on his back.
“Your tummy?” You repeat, still not doing anything he wants you to.
“Stomach, belly, abdomen, whatever.” He shrugs, guiding your hand in a circle over his bellybutton.
“Why?” You ask, taking over but remaining a little skeptical.
“It hurts.” He says simply; it’s not a lie, he does feel nauseous again, but it’s not so bad, and he just wants your hands on him.
“And rubbing it is going to help?” You ask, a little more amused when you realize he’s just messing with you.
“Yeah…definitely.” He nods, scrunching his face a little as if he were dead serious.
“Let’s see…demands kisses…asks for tummy rubs…won’t let me leave the house in peace…” you list slowly, crawling closer towards him to lay beside him.
“Are you a kitty, Nishimura Riki?” You ask, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you lay on his arm.
“Shushhh…focus…” he says softly, putting your hand on his stomach again.
“I hope you wake up tomorrow, and you remember everything you’ve said and done these last few days, and you feel the worst kind of embarrassment.” You say, getting comfortable like this while continuing to rub his stomach.
“So mean…” he pouts, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
He falls asleep rather quickly soon after this; he’ll say it’s the rubs to get more, but it was definitely the fact that he took his shirt off.
That’s the only explanation as to why he slept so comfortably and for so long.
you thread your fingers through his blonde hair, laughing softly as tsukishima sucks on your neck. you’re positive there will be marks lingering for days, but you can’t bring yourself to care. if anything, it only makes you wetter.
“kei, what has gotten into you?” you ask, already knowing the answer. maybe you'd asked kuroo to be a little more flirty than usual - just to rile tsukki up, of course.
he pulls away, looking you directly in the eye. it's almost daunting, but with his pupils blown and his lips swollen, he looks absolutely delicious. “i just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says, reaching up to unbutton your jeans. he unceremoniously yanks them down, along with your panties, and presses a kiss to your hip before ridding himself of his own bottoms.
you hum. “yours, huh? what happened to no strings attached?” you ask, spreading your legs and reaching to take his dick in your hand. carefully, you usher him closer, showing him you don’t want to wait.
“fuck that. just want you and this pretty little pussy all to myself,” he says, letting you guide him to your entrance. as he sinks into you, he groans. "shit, you feel so good.”
the corridor smelled of soap and steel. levi was polishing his blades again, cloth moving in those infuriatingly perfect circles.
“you’re going to wear them down to nothing,” you snapped, leaning against the doorframe. “we ride at dawn. sleep, levi.”
he didn’t look up. “if you spent less time nagging and more time cleaning properly, maybe i wouldn’t have to redo everything.”
“redo? i scrubbed this floor twice. you’re just being an obsessive prick.”
“tch. bold words from someone who still leaves corners dusty.” be finally glanced at you, grey eyes sharp. “most people know better than to talk to me like that.”
you stepped closer, crossing your arms. “good thing i’m not most people. someone has to tell you when you’re being an idiot about rest and training and everything.”
levi set the blade down with a soft clink. he stood, shorter than you but somehow towering anyway. his hand caught your wrist before you could poke his chest. “you talk too much.”
“and you listen too little.” your voice dropped, the familiar heat crackling between you. “but you only let me talk to you like this.”
a faint smirk tugged at his lips. down the hall, someone whispered, “they’re bickering like an old married couple again.”
levi didn’t deny it. he just pulled you a fraction closer, thumb brushing your pulse. “get some sleep. that’s an order.”
you smiled, refusing to move. “only if you do too, captain.”
he clicked his tongue, but didn’t let go.
everyone heard the arguments.
only you two knew how much he needed them… and how you were the only one he let stay.
bestfriend!kei accidentally rats himself out for having a huge crush on you.
wc: 1.4k
usually, the air in tsukishima’s room smells like expensive laundry detergent and the faint, lingering scent of old books, but today it was saturated with something far more lethal: the scent of your shampoo. it was a tactical assault on his senses. he sat at his desk, pretending to care about a history textbook, but his brain was busy cataloging the exact frequency of the fabric of your hoodie rubbing against his bean bag chair.
he was currently enduring a very specific kind of torture, one where he had to pretend that your presence didn’t make his pulse do a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. it was exhausting. he deserved a medal, or perhaps a small kingdom, for the restraint he was showing by not simply collapsing at your feet and asking you to step on him.
“i’m heading out to the convenience store,” you announced, stretching your arms over your head. the movement caused your shirt to ride up a fraction of an inch, and tsukishima felt his soul temporarily leave his body through his tear ducts. “do you want anything?”
he didn’t even look up. if he looked up, he was compromised. the golden light of the afternoon was hitting your hair in a way that made him want to write a five-page thesis on the physics of light reflection.
“yeah,” he muttered, his voice a dry rasp that betrayed absolutely nothing—he hoped. “your affection. but whatever.”
the silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a small sedan. tsukishima froze. the words had slipped out like a rogue spy escaping a high-security prison. his heart was trying to punch its way through his sternum to find a more dignified owner.
“what?” you asked, tilting your head.
tsukishima finally turned, his face a masterpiece of practiced indifference, though his ears were glowing a shade of red usually reserved for emergency flares and fire trucks.
“what.” he repeated, deadpan.
“did you just ask for my affection?”
“i asked for strawberry shortcake,” he lied, the falsehood so blatant it practically grew a nose. “clearly, the lack of sugar is making you hallucinate. it’s a tragic symptom of your deteriorating mental faculties. go buy your snacks and leave me to die in peace.”
“kei,” you said, stepping closer. you didn’t call him ‘kei’ often. usually, it was nicknames or just a sharp poke to the ribs. when you said his name like that—soft, like something just shared between you two—it felt like a physical weight pressing against his lungs. “i heard you.”
tsukishima felt like a cornered animal, if that animal was six-foot-three, wore glasses, and was hopelessly in love with a girl who thought he was just a grumpy beanpole. he pushed his glasses up his nose, the plastic clicking against his skin. he wanted to vanish. he wanted to be a puddle. he wanted to be the very floorboards you were standing on so he could support the weight of your entire life.
“your hearing is as questionable as your taste in movies,” he snapped, though the bite was gone. his hands were shoved so deep into his pockets he might have been touching his kneecaps.
you didn’t back down. instead, you leaned into his space, your eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and something that made his knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles. “you’re blushing.”
“it’s the lighting.”
“it’s four in the afternoon and we’re in the shade.”
“the sun is reflecting off the neighbor’s roof,” he countered, his brain scrambling for any logical explanation that didn’t involve him admitting he would literally let you ruin his life if you asked nicely.
you reached out, your fingers grazing his forearm. the contact was electric. to tsukishima, it felt like being struck by lightning, except the lightning was warm and smelled like fruit. he felt a desperate, localized heat blooming wherever you touched him. he was a goner. he was a pathetic, shivering mess of a man disguised as a cynical middle blocker.
“if you wanted affection,” you whispered, moving even closer until he could see the tiny flecks of sparkles in your eyes, “you could have just asked. you don’t have to be a weirdo about it.”
“i’m not a weirdo,” he breathed, his height suddenly feeling like a disadvantage because he had to look down so far to see the person who held his entire cardiac rhythm in the palm of her hand. “i’m a person with standards. standards that you’re currently vibrating against.”
“shut up,” you laughed, and the sound was so bright it felt like a direct insult to every miserable thought he’d ever had.
before he could formulate a witty retort about your lack of decorum, you surged forward. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his waist.
tsukishima stopped breathing. his nervous system went into a full-scale lockdown. he felt the soft pressure of your chest against his, the puff of your breath against his skin, and the world simply ceased to exist. there was no volleyball, no exams, no annoying teammates—only the weight of you.
his hands hovered in the air for a second, trembling like a victorian orphan in a blizzard, before he finally broke. he collapsed into the embrace, his long arms winding around you with a ferocity that bordered on primal. he tucked his chin over your head, squeezing you so tight he was worried he might actually merge with your atoms.
“you’re so warm,” he murmured into your hair, his voice losing every ounce of its defensive edge. it was a vulnerable sound, a complete surrender. “it’s annoying. everything about you is an inconvenience to my peace of mind.”
“is that so?” you teased, muzzling into his sweater. “should i let go?”
“if you let go, i’m filing a police report for emotional battery,” he threatened, though he was currently stroking the back of your head with a tenderness that could have melted a glacier.
he was so far gone. he was wandering in the desert of your attention and he never wanted to find an exit. the way you fit perfectly under his chin felt like a cosmic joke, a puzzle piece designed by a deity who specifically wanted to see tsukishima kei lose his entire mind.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. his expression was no longer bored or smug; it was tender. he looked at you like you were the only source of oxygen in a vacuum.
“i don’t want anything from the store,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed register. “i was being literal. i want you to stay here and keep making me feel like my heart is going to explode. it’s a very interesting sensation for me. i’d like to study it for the next fifty to sixty years.”
you beamed at him, a smile so radiant it probably could have powered a small city for a month. “fifty years? that’s a long time, tsukki.”
“i’m a very thorough student,” he whispered, leaning down.
when his lips finally met yours, it was a bit clumsy at first—the height difference was a logistical nightmare—but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you upward, and everything clicked. it tasted like strawberry lip balm and the kind of quiet, domestic forever that tsukishima had spent his whole life pretending he didn’t want.
he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the texture of your soul. he kissed you with the bottled-up desperation of a thousand nights spent staring at his ceiling, wondering if you could hear his heart screaming through the walls.
when you finally broke for air, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed. his glasses were slightly crooked, and his hair was a disaster from your fingers running through it. he looked human. he looked happy.
“forget the store,” you breathed, clutching the front of his shirt. “i think i have everything i need right here.”
tsukishima let out a huff of a laugh, a genuine, throat-deep sound that vibrated through both of your chests. he pulled you back into the circle of his arms, burying his face in your shoulder once more, determined to never let another inch of space come between you again.
the history textbook remained forgotten on the desk, its pages fluttering in the breeze, utterly useless compared to the lesson he was currently learning about the gravity of a girl who finally loved him back.
n: this was supposed to be a crackfic but i somehow turned it into a sweet fic.
Summary : Recent Music Bank outfit of Ningning for WDA has sparked debate saying 'she showed too much of her breasts', so she decides to deal with it by herself
The fluorescent lights of the SM Entertainment conference room hummed with an electric tension that had nothing to do with the wiring. Ningning sat with her arms crossed, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, wearing a simple black turtleneck and jeans, about as far from the controversial Music Bank outfit as possible.
Her manager, Joon-hyuk, paced back and forth, his tablet clutched tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "The article has seventeen thousand comments now," he said, his voice tight. "Most are defending you, but the negative ones are getting traction. 'Inappropriate for family programming,' 'too revealing,' 'think of the children.' It's ridiculous."
The marketing director, Ms. Park, adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. "I've reviewed the footage frame by frame. The dress, It was elegant, artistic. The lighting during the wide shots may have created an illusion of more exposure than actually occurred, but Ningning, you were completely covered in all the essential areas."
"I know what I wore," Ningning said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of steel beneath its softness. She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her dark eyes sharp. "The dress had built-in support. Nothing moved, nothing showed. I've performed in more revealing outfits before without this level of scrutiny."
"Exactly," Joon-hyuk agreed, finally sitting down, collapsing into the chair like a deflated balloon. "This feels targeted. The article came out within an hour of the performance ending. Someone was waiting for this."
Ms. Park nodded, pulling up the article on the projection screen. "The byline says Kim Jae-won from K-Culture Daily. The writing style is... inflammatory. It focuses entirely on your body rather than the performance. The comments section is where the real damage is happening."
Ningning stared at the screen, her jaw tightening. "Find him."
"Ningning—" Joon-hyuk started.
"No," she cut him off, her voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous register. "Find out who wrote this and bring him to me. I don't want the PR team handling this. I don't want a statement. I want to look this person in the eye and understand why they decided to sexualize my performance and invite the public to do the same."
"That's not standard procedure," Ms. Park cautioned.
"I don't care about standard procedure," Ningning replied, standing up. She walked to the window, looking out at the Seoul skyline, her reflection ghostly against the glass. "This person wrote that I 'showed too much skin,' that my 'breasts were barely contained.' Those are lies. "
Ms. Park exchanged a look with Joon-hyuk. "What do you want to do?"
"Like I said," Ningning repeated, her eyes reflecting the city lights outside, "find the writer. Bring him here. I'll handle this personally. By the time I'm done, those comments will be the least of his concerns. He'll be begging to take that article down."
The offices of K-Culture Daily were cramped and smelled of stale coffee and anxiety. You sat across from your HR director, Mr. Choi, feeling your stomach twist into knots.
"I don't write entertainment news," you said, keeping your voice level despite the anger rising in your chest. "I'm on the tech beat. I cover startups and cryptocurrency. I don't know anything about fashion or K-pop performances."
Mr. Choi smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Jae-won, the entertainment writer, called in sick today. We have a quota to meet, and that Aespa performance is trending number one. We need content, and we need it now."
"So get someone who knows the industry. Get someone who actually watched the performance." You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "This isn't my area. I'll get something wrong, and it'll blow back on the company."
"Sit down," Mr. Choi said, his voice hardening. "I'm not asking. This is your assignment. Write about the Ningning controversy. Focus on the outfit. The more attention-grabbing, the better. We need clicks. We need engagement. Sensationalize it if you have to, that's what brings traffic."
"You want me to sensationalize a twenty-year-old idol's outfit?" you asked, incredulous. "That's how you want to get clicks? By sexualizing her?"
"I want you to write the article," Mr. Choi said, sliding a folder across the desk. "Here's the photo stills. Here's the angle, wardrobe malfunction, inappropriate for the time slot, pushing boundaries. Make it spicy. Make people angry. Angry people share articles."
You stared at the folder, your hands trembling. "This is wrong."
"It's your job. Do it, or start looking for a new one."
You wrote the article. You wrote it exactly as he wanted, hating yourself with every word, telling yourself you were just following orders, that you needed the paycheck, that someone else would write it if you didn't. You made it inflammatory. You made it sexual. You made it everything you despised about tabloid journalism.
And now, three days later, you stood in a private meeting room at SM Entertainment, waiting for Ningning.
The door opened, and she entered alone. No manager, no security, just her. She wore a long camel coat belted at the waist, black boots that added three inches to her height, and an expression that could freeze fire.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the couch.
You sat.
She remained standing, looking down at you with those dark, assessing eyes. "Kim Jae-won," she said, your name sounding like a verdict. "Or should I say, the tech reporter who suddenly became a fashion critic?"
"I can explain-" you started.
"Can you?" She unbelted her coat but didn't remove it. "Explain to me why you wrote that my breasts were barely contained. Explain why you wrote that I exposed myself to children. Explain why you turned a performance I worked six months preparing for into a discussion about my body."
You looked down at your hands. "My HR director forced me to write it. I'm not even an entertainment reporter. I cover blockchain and AI startups. Jae-won, the real Jae-won, was sick, and they needed the article. They told me to make it sensational. They told me clicks mattered more than truth."
"And you listened."
"I needed the job," you said, the excuse sounding hollow even to your own ears. "But that's not... that's not good enough. I know. I wrote it. I published it. I did this to you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. You expected her to call security, to threaten a lawsuit, to destroy you with the same public machinery that had amplified your article.
Instead, she laughed. It was a low sound, almost bitter, vibrating with something you couldn't quite identify.
"My manager," she said, taking a step closer. "My marketing director. They wanted to handle this with press releases and legal threats. But I wanted to meet you. I wanted to see the person who decided my body was public property."
She took another step. You could smell her perfume now, something warm, vanilla and something darker, muskier.
"Your HR director," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "he wanted to watch me expose myself, didn't he? He wanted to imagine me barely contained, spilling out of some costume. That's why he chose that angle. That's why he made you write those words."
You looked up, meeting her eyes. "Yes," you admitted. "That's exactly what he wanted."
"And you?" She was standing directly in front of you now, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to see her face. "What did you want when you wrote it? Did you imagine me? Did you picture me the way you described?"
"No," you said, and the truth of it rang clear. "I hated every word. I pictured you reading it. I pictured you humiliated. I didn't want... I didn't want to be that person."
She studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she reached up and slowly unbelted her coat, letting it fall open. Underneath, she wore a simple silk camisole, champagne-colored, loose-fitting.
"Your HR director doesn't get the opportunity," she said, her voice changing, becoming something else, lower, smokier, challenging. "But you do. You wrote about my body without permission. You described what you thought you saw. So now..." She let the coat slide off her shoulders, catching it in one hand and draping it over a chair. "Now you're going to see what you actually wrote about. You're going to look at what you described."
"Ningning-" you started, uncertain, off-balance.
"Don't," she said sharply. Then, softer: "Don't say my name like you're still sorry. I'm giving you permission now. Look at me."
She reached down and grasped the hem of her camisole, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Her breasts were full, heavy, with dark nipples that tightened slightly as the cool air hit her skin. The slope of them was gentle, falling slightly to the sides, the skin flawless and unblemished. She let the camisole drop to the floor.
"Is this what you imagined?" she asked, her voice steady despite her nakedness from the waist up. "When you wrote 'barely contained,' is this what you pictured?"
You couldn't speak. Your throat had gone dry. She was beautiful, more than beautiful, she was devastating. The curve of her waist, the softness of her stomach, the way her ribs showed faintly beneath her skin when she raised her arms.
"Stand up," she commanded.
You stood, your legs unsteady.
She reached for the button of her jeans, undoing them slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact with you. She pushed them down over her hips, taking her underwear with them, simple black lace that pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside along with her boots, until she stood completely naked before you.
Her body was a masterpiece of soft curves and subtle strength. Her thighs were toned from years of dance practice, her hips flaring gently from her narrow waist. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, and as she shifted her weight, you could see the pink folds peeking through.
"Now you," she said.
You undressed with trembling hands, fumbling with your shirt buttons, nearly tripping as you removed your trousers. When you were down to your underwear, she shook her head.
"Everything," she said. "You don't get to hide."
You removed your underwear, your erection springing free, heavy and aching. You were painfully aware of how exposed you were, how vulnerable, while she seemed to grow more powerful with each layer she shed.
She walked to you, her hips swaying, her breasts moving slightly with each step. When she reached you, she placed her hand on your chest, her palm warm against your thundering heartbeat.
"You wrote that I showed too much," she whispered, leaning in so her breath ghosted over your ear. "But I've never shown anyone this. Not like this. Not completely."
She pushed you backward until your legs hit the couch, and you sat down hard. She straddled you, her knees on either side of your hips, her breasts level with your face. You could feel the heat radiating from her, could smell her arousal mixing with her perfume.
"Touch me," she said. "Since you were so interested."
You brought your hands up, cupping her breasts, feeling their weight, the softness of her skin. Her nipples hardened against your palms as you brushed your thumbs over them. She arched into your touch, a small sound escaping her lips.
"Is this what you wanted?" she asked, her voice breathy now, losing its edge of control. "To know how soft I am? To know what I feel like?"
"Yes," you admitted, the word torn from you. "God, yes."
She leaned down and kissed you, her mouth hot and demanding. Her tongue swept inside, tasting like mint and something sweeter. You groaned, your hands sliding down her back to grip her waist, pulling her closer until her body was flush against yours, skin to skin.
She broke the kiss and stood, pulling you up with her. She led you to the large executive desk, pushing aside papers and a laptop with one sweep of her arm. She sat on the edge, spreading her legs, showing you how wet she was, how ready.
"Now you take what you wrote about," she said, lying back, her hair fanning out across the polished wood. "Show me you understand what you did."
You positioned yourself between her thighs, guiding yourself to her entrance. You pushed inside slowly, feeling her tight heat envelop you, watching her face as she took you in. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth opening on a silent gasp. You sank deeper, inch by inch, until you were fully seated inside her.
She was burning hot, slick and perfect around you. You could feel her pulse, her internal muscles fluttering as she adjusted to your size.
"Move," she whispered, opening her eyes to look at you. Her gaze was hazy now, drunk with pleasure. "Make me feel it."
You withdrew slowly, almost completely, before thrusting back in. She cried out, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her back arching off the surface. You set a steady rhythm, watching her breasts move with each thrust, watching her face transform with pleasure.
"Harder," she demanded, her legs wrapping around your waist, her heels digging into your lower back. "Don't hold back. I want to feel this tomorrow."
You increased your pace, slamming into her, the desk creaking beneath you. Her cries grew louder, less controlled, echoing in the empty room. You leaned down, capturing a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, and she screamed, her fingers tangling in your hair.
"Yes," she panted. "Yes, like that. Don't stop."
You didn't stop. You drove into her again and again, losing yourself in the heat and pressure of her, in the sounds she made, in the way she met each thrust with her own. You could feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine, a tightening coil of electricity.
"Wait," she gasped, pushing at your chest. "Not yet. I want more."
She slid off the desk, turning around and bending over it, presenting herself to you. Her back was arched, her ass raised, her sex glistening and swollen. You could see every detai, the pink folds, the darker entrance, the way she opened for you.
"Again," she said, looking back at you over her shoulder, her hair falling across her face. "From behind."
You entered her in one smooth thrust, sheathing yourself completely. She moaned, long and low, pushing back against you. This angle was tighter, deeper, and you could feel every ridge inside her, every flutter of her muscles.
You gripped her hips, your fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and began to move. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, wet, rhythmic, primal. Her breasts swung with each thrust, her nipples brushing against the cool wood of the desk, making her gasp.
"Touch me," she begged. "Please, touch me."
You reached around her, finding her clit with your fingers, rubbing circles around it as you continued to thrust. She went wild beneath you, bucking back, meeting you stroke for stroke, her cries becoming wordless, animal sounds of pleasure.
"Close," she gasped. "I'm so close. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
You didn't stop. You rubbed her harder, faster, matching the pace of your thrusts. You could feel her tightening around you, fluttering, pulsing, and then she was coming, screaming your name, her body convulsing, her internal muscles clamping down on you so hard you saw stars.
You pulled out, your whole body shaking with the effort of holding back your own release. She turned around, her face flushed, her chest heaving, sweat glistening on her skin.
"On the couch," she said, her voice rough. "I want to ride you."
You moved to the couch, sitting down, your erection standing proud and aching against your stomach. She climbed over you, her movements slower now, languid with the aftermath of her orgasm. She positioned herself above you, holding you steady, and lowered herself down.
You both groaned as she took you in, her heat enveloping you once more. She was even tighter like this, and you could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling around you.
She began to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles. Her hands rested on your shoulders for balance, her breasts swaying inches from your face. You leaned forward, capturing one nipple in your mouth again, and she gasped, her movements faltering.
"Yes," she whispered. "Suck them. Mark me."
You obliged, sucking harder, leaving red marks on her pale skin. She rode you faster, her thighs trembling with effort, her skin growing slick with sweat. You could smell it now, the clean, sharp scent of her exertion, mixing with her perfume and arousal.
She leaned back slightly, changing the angle, and you both groaned as you hit a new spot inside her. Her head fell back, her throat exposed, her hair tickling your thighs. She looked like a goddess like this, powerful, undone, transcendent.
"One more," she panted. "One more position. Standing."
She lifted herself off you, her legs unsteady, and you stood with her. She turned to face the wall, bracing her hands against it, spreading her legs. Her back was to you, the elegant line of her spine leading down to the curve of her ass, still marked faintly from where your fingers had gripped her.
You entered her from behind, sliding in easily, both of you slick with sweat and arousal. You wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against your chest, your other hand finding her breast, kneading it, pinching the nipple.
"Yes," she moaned, pushing back against you. "Just like that. Make me feel you."
You thrust into her, your movements becoming erratic, desperate. You could feel your orgasm building again, unstoppable this time. She was so tight, so hot, so perfect around you.
"Come inside me," she gasped, feeling you swell, feeling your rhythm falter. "I want to feel it. I want to know you mean it."
That was all it took. You buried yourself deep and let go, pulsing inside her, your release seeming to go on forever. She came with you, clenching around you, milking you, her own cry drowning out your groan.
You both collapsed onto the couch, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your chests heaving. You could feel her heartbeat against your own, rapid and slowing gradually. Your skin stuck together wherever it touched, your thigh against hers, your chest against her back, your hand still cupping her breast.
She was covered in a sheen of perspiration, her hair plastered to her forehead and neck, her skin flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest. You could see the marks you'd left, red spots on her breasts, faint bruises forming on her hips, love bites on her neck and shoulder.
You were equally marked, you realized. Scratches on your back from her heels, which she'd somehow lost during the third position, bite marks on your shoulder where she'd cried out and lost control.
The room smelled of sex and sweat and something uniquely her. Your bodies were cooling now, the sweat beginning to dry, making you both shiver slightly.
She turned in your arms, facing you, her eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. She traced a finger down your chest, following the trail of sweat that ran between your pecs, down your stomach.
"So," she said, her voice hoarse, "do you still want to write articles about my body?"
"Never again," you promised, capturing her hand and bringing it to your lips. "I'll do everything it takes for that article to go down. I'll retract it, I'll write an apology, I'll resign from the paper. Whatever you want."
She smiled, a real smile this time, soft and genuine. "I believe you," she said. "But you're not resigning. You're going to keep writing. Just... write the truth from now on. Write about the music. Write about the work. Leave my body out of it unless I invite you in."
"I will," you said, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "I promise."
She settled against you, her head on your chest, her leg thrown over yours. You could feel her heartbeat slowing, matching yours, two rhythms synchronizing in the aftermath.
"Stay for a while," she whispered, her eyes closing. "Just until I fall asleep."
You held her, watching the city lights play across her skin, memorizing the way she looked in this moment, completely undone, completely yours, completely powerful. You thought about the article, about the comments, about the controversy, and realized none of it mattered anymore.
What mattered was her heartbeat under your hand. What mattered was the trust she'd given you, however strangely earned. What mattered was that you would spend every day from now on making sure no one ever wrote about her that way again, least of all yourself.
Outside, Seoul glittered and pulsed, millions of people living their lives, unaware that in this room, on this couch, something had shifted. A wrong had been... not righted, exactly, but transformed. Transmuted into something else entirely.
You pressed a kiss to her forehead, tasting the salt of her sweat, and held her as her breathing deepened and evened out into sleep.
The article would come down. The comments would be buried. And you would never, ever forget what she had given you, what she had taken, and what she had offered in return.
Not just her body, but her forgiveness. And somehow, impossibly, her desire.
You closed your eyes, still holding her, and let yourself drift into darkness beside her.
The next morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the SM Entertainment private lounge, casting pale gold stripes across the tangled sheets of the pull-out sofa bed where you'd eventually migrated sometime after midnight. You woke to the sensation of fingers tracing idle patterns across your chest, and opened your eyes to find Ningning propped up on one elbow, watching you with an expression that was half amusement, half something softer.
"You're still here," she said, her voice husky from sleep. She was wearing one of your dress shirts, unbuttoned to reveal the valley between her breasts, the fabric sliding off one shoulder. Her hair was a wild dark cloud around her face, and she smelled like sleep and sex and the faint remnants of her vanilla perfume.
"Where else would I go?" you asked, your own voice rough.
She smiled, her finger trailing down your stomach, making your muscles jump. "Most men would have run by now. Written their tell-all exposé. Taken photos for blackmail."
"I'm not most men," you said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I think you know exactly what kind of man I am."
She leaned down, her hair creating a curtain around your faces as she kissed you, slow, deep, unhurried. You could taste the mint of early morning toothpaste, the warmth of her mouth. When she pulled back, she was straddling you, the shirt falling open completely, her nakedness pressing against your rapidly hardening length.
"I talked to my manager at six AM," she said, grinding down slightly, making you groan. "The article is being retracted. Your editor-in-chief called personally to apologize. It seems someone leaked internal emails showing your HR director specifically requesting sensationalized content about female idols' bodies."
You stared up at her, your hands finding her hips automatically. "You did that?"
"I have resources," she said, a smirk playing at her lips. She rocked her hips again, teasing, her wetness sliding against you without taking you inside. "Your HR director is being investigated for creating a hostile work environment. Several female employees came forward. It seems you weren't the first he pressured to write inappropriate content."
"Jesus," you breathed, your hands tightening on her waist. "Ningning..."
"Don't thank me yet," she said, her eyes darkening. She reached down, guiding you to her entrance, and sank down slowly, her head falling back with a moan. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because I was angry. Because no one gets to use my body for their clicks without consequences."
She began to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles. The shirt hung open on her shoulders, framing her breasts as they swayed with her movements. She was taking her time this morning, setting a languid pace that was somehow more torturous than the frantic energy of last night.
"But you," she continued, her breath hitching as she took you deeper, "you get to use my body. Because you asked. Because you were sorry. Because..." She paused, her rhythm faltering as she found a particularly sensitive angle, "...because I want you to."
You sat up, wrapping your arms around her, burying your face in her neck. She wrapped her legs around your waist, allowing you to thrust up into her from below. The position brought you impossibly close, your chests pressed together, her nipples dragging against your skin with every movement.
"Look at me," she commanded, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. "I want to see your face when you come."
You met her eyes, dark, endless, holding galaxies of meaning you couldn't quite decipher. You moved faster, your hips snapping up to meet her downward rolls, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room.
She was already close, you could feel it in the way she tightened around you, the way her movements became less controlled, more desperate. Her nails dug into your shoulders, leaving crescent marks that you knew would bruise.
"Now," she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut despite her command. "Come with me. Now."
You couldn't have stopped if you'd wanted to. You spilled inside her with a groan that felt torn from your soul, feeling her own orgasm rippling around you, her body going rigid in your arms before going limp, her head falling onto your shoulder.
You held her like that, still joined, your hearts hammering against each other, your sweat mingling, your breaths synchronizing. The morning light grew stronger, turning her skin to honey and gold, making her look almost ethereal.
After a long moment, she lifted her head, her expression vulnerable in a way it hadn't been before. "I have a photoshoot this afternoon," she said quietly. "For the album. Lemonade."
"I know," you said, brushing her hair back. "I saw the concept photos. They're beautiful."
She smiled, something shy in it that seemed impossible after everything you'd done together. "You should come. As... I don't know. As my guest. As the writer who's going to do a real article about the music, not the outfits."
"Is that allowed?" you asked, half-joking. "A tabloid tech reporter at an Aespa exclusive?"
"I make the rules," she said, her confidence returning, her smirk returning. She lifted herself off you slowly, both of you hissing at the sensation, and stood, letting the shirt fall completely off her shoulders. She was magnificent in the morning light, naked, unashamed, marked by your hands and mouth. "And I say you're coming. You owe me a proper write-up, don't you? One that talks about the artistry. The vocals. The message."
She walked toward the bathroom, her hips swaying, looking back at you over her shoulder. "Besides," she added, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that made your blood heat, "if you behave yourself during the shoot, I might let you help me out of the wardrobe afterwards. The concept involves... quite a lot of latex. It's hard to get out of alone."
You watched her disappear into the bathroom, heard the shower start, and lay back against the pillows, your body humming with satisfaction, your mind clearer than it had been in months.
The article was down. Your HR director was being held accountable. And somehow, impossibly, you were here, in Ningning's bed, in her life, in her confidence.
You got up and followed her into the shower, where she welcomed you with open arms and streaming water, and you spent the next hour learning every inch of her all over again, the way she liked to be touched in the morning, softer, slower; the way she gasped when you knelt before her under the spray; the way she returned the favor, her mouth hot and insistent, her eyes looking up at you through wet lashes.
When you finally emerged, prune-fingered and laughing, she handed you a towel and said, "My manager will have clothes for you downstairs. And then... then we go to work. Together."
You nodded, catching her hand and bringing it to your lips. "Together," you agreed.
And as you dressed in the clothes she'd provided, designer, perfectly fitted, nothing like your usual off-the-rack journalism wardrobe, you realized that this was only the beginning. The article that had started as your greatest mistake had led you here, to her, to this, to a story worth telling that had nothing to do with scandal and everything to do with redemption.
Ningning caught your eye in the mirror as she applied her lipstick, dark and bold, and smiled. "Ready?" she asked.
"Ready," you said, and followed her out into the day.
𓊆西村力 x fem reader𓊇 💌 scent kink, panty sniffing, riki jerks off to your scent and panties and bra, sunshine gf x grumpy bf troupe kinda, he's NASTY and disgusting
𓆩♡𓆪 i cannot resist it U guys. nishimura riki i fucking love u. ure so fun to write with and your girlfriend will always be the contrast of u. if u <3 it pls give it lots of love and feedbacks!!
“sooo… how do i look?”
your boyfriend was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, wearing nothing but black sweatpants and a sleeveless white tee. his phone slipped from his hand the second he looked up. his eyes dragged slowly down your body, then back up.
“whoa… hot stuff,” he breathed, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “you’re looking way too good. c’mere,”
you walked closer until you were standing between his knees. riki leaned back slightly on his hands, tilting his head as he took you in again.
“turn for me.”
you gave him a slow swirl. the second your back was to him, you heard him curse under his breath.
“fuck. again. slower.”
you obeyed, turning even slower this time. when you faced him again, riki’s hands were already reaching out. he grabbed the side of your skirt and tugged you forward sharply, making you stumble into him with a small gasp and a giggle.
“damn,” he murmured, voice lower now. his gave went straight to your waist, nose brushing the fabric of your top before he inhaled deeply. “god… what is that perfume? you smell insane.”
you giggled, hands coming up to brush his blonde locks. “it’s very good girl, baby. you bought it for me, remember?”
riki let out a low groan, like the name itself turned him on.
yeah… you’re a very good girl. his very good girl.
he tugged you forward, bringing you down to sit on his lap with your back pressed against his chest. the moment you were settled between his legs, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“yeah… fuck, i chose too well, didn’t i?” he whispered right against your ear.
you let out a bright, giggly laugh as his nose immediately buried into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. the warm scent of your perfume (that he bought)—sweet, flirty, a little sinful for his sanity—drove him crazy.
he dragged his nose slowly along your skin, breathing you in.
“mmmhm,” he hummed, the sound vibrating against you. his hands started roaming—one sliding up your thigh under the hem of your skirt, the other resting possessively on your tummy, fingers stroking that sliver of bare skin.
you squirmed and chuckled, that contrasting sunshine energy bubbling through you. “ki, that tickles—”
but he only smiled against your neck and pressed a slow, open–mouthed kiss right under your ear. then another. and another. above the marks he left just a few days ago. his lips trailed lower, sucking softly on your pulse point while his hand squeezed your thigh.
“you smell so fucking addictive,” he muttered between kisses. he turned his head and kissed your other cheek, then nibbled softly on your earlobe, making you squeal with laughter.
“ki!” you whined, tilting your head away instinctively out of tickledness, but he just followed, chasing your skin.
“can’t help it. my girl smells too sweet.” his hands kept moving—one slipping under your top to caress your waist, the other stroking up and down your thigh like he was feeling you up.
riki kissed along the curve of your neck, then moved up to your jaw, cheek, and back down again, leaving wet little marks everywhere. everytime you giggled and tried to wriggle away, he only tightened his arms around you and pulled you closer.
“you’re really gonna walk out smelling like this?” he mumbled between kisses, voice muffled against your skin. “gonna make other people lose their minds too?”
he sucked a little harder on one spot, trying to leave a more obvious boyfriend territory mark before you left later—if he even allowed you still. when you shivered, he smiled against your neck.
“‘m gonna be late, kiiii,” you whined playfully, body leaning slightly forward.
riki hooked one arm around your waist and pulled you right back against his chest, nose burying deeper into the crook of your neck as he inhaled again. his free hand slid up your thigh under your skirt, hiking the denim up while he pressed more kisses along the side of your throat.
“mmm… i don’t think i wanna let you go today,” he murmured, voice teasy against your ear. he gently nippled at your lobe before kissing the sensitive spot right underneath. “you look way too pretty—just stay with me?”
he hugged you tighter, lips never leaving your neck.
you let out a soft “nooo,” dragging the word in that sweet, whiny way that always, always made his heart doing somersaults.
your boyfriend laughed, the sound low vibrated against your lips. he gave up (for now) but he still kept his arms wrapped tightly around you, refusing to loosen his hold.
“fine, fine,” he chuckled, sucking the spot beneath your ear. “you can go… but, wait.”
he reached over to the bedside and grabbed his own bottle of perfume and with a playful grin, he held it up in front of you.
“let me spray you with mine real quick.”
you giggled and tilted your head up against his shoulder so he could spray a light mist along the side of your neck and collarbone—and riki, being riki, sprayed a mist between your cleavage too.
that pervert.
he leaned in instantly, nose brushing your freshly scented soft skin.
“mm… yeah, that’s better.” he hummed happily, clearly satisfied. “now you smell like me too.”
——
fap. fap. fap. fap. fap.
“shit…” he groaned, eyes rolling back. his fist started moving fast, slick and desperate from the precum already dripping down his length. he buried his nose deeper into the crotch of your panties, breathing you in while your bra rested against his cheek and mouth.
he could smell your everywhere.
“fuck, you smell so good,” he moaned into the lace, voice muffled. his tongue darted out, licking the fabric where your pussy had been just this morning. the taste made his cock throb violently in his fist.
riki stroked harder, hips bucking up into his hand, messy and frantic. the wet clicky sounds filled the room as he pressed your panties tighter against his face, inhaling over and over like he was trying to consume you.
he was completely lost in it…
these were the panties you’d worn all night long—slept in, curled up beside him. the ones that had been pressed against your pussy for hours while you were soft and warm. this was your most natural scent—sweet, intimate, you. the best fucking perfume in the world.
“so warm… fuck, you wore this all night, baby,” he groaned to himself, voice wrecked. “little pussy was rubbing against them for hours… so fucking good.”
he took another long, greedy inhale, nose buried deep in the crotch. his fist moved faster along his big, curvy cock, slick and noisy and annoying.
fap. fap. fap. fap. fap.
then, he grabbed your bra and wrapped the lace strap around his throbbing cock, right under the head, and squeezed. the feeling of your bra tightening around his length made him moan aloud.
“shit—fuck—”
he started stroking again, using the bra strap like a cock ring, the lace rubbing against his sensitive skin with every frantic pump. riki started sucking on your panties—smashed against his face, breathing you in.
he thrust up into his fist, hips stuttering, eyes rolling back as he moaned into the soaked lace.
“gonna cum so fucking hard… because of you—fuck, baby—”
his strokes turned brutal, the wet clicky sounds getting louder and messier as precum dripped all over your strap. sucking on the fabric of your panties and inhaling deep—riki cums.
thick ropes of semen shot across his abs and chest, some of it landing on the cups of your bra. his whole body jerked hard with every pulse, hips still weakly fucking his fist while he kept your panties pressed to his nose, riding out the high on nothing but your scent.
even after he finished, he stayed like that for a long minute—chest heaving, your used panties still covering half of his face, your bra strap loosely around his throbbing cock.
୨ৎ Summary : known across the hospital as the woman who hates men, you built your name in trauma surgery with skill, sharp words, and zero patience for male ego. Then Dr. Jake Sim—beloved anesthesiologist, annoyingly competent, and impossible to ignore—starts appearing everywhere in your life with coffee, lunch invitations, and a smile you can’t stand. You hate men. So why is Jake Sim becoming the exception?
୨ৎ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 3.6K
୨ৎ Song : Heart2Heart : Rude
୨ৎ Warning : SLOW FUCKING BURN BABY!! Jake lowkey down-bad, y/n is certified men hater (me too btw), FLUFF!!, comedic (if you squint), co-worker to.... (idk)
part II
You openly disliked men, especially arrogant, entitled ones who moved through the world as if it had been built solely for them. Every man in your life has given you a reason to. A father who dismissed every achievement unless it benefited him. An ex who cheated, then somehow made betrayal sound like your failure. Colleagues whose eyes lingered too long, whose jokes crossed lines, whose confidence was mistaken for competence far too often. You never understood why society bent itself around them as though they were the natural center of everything. As if possessing a dick automatically granted authority, importance, the right to be heard first, and doubted last. Truly, what was so revolutionary about having a third leg that made them act like first-class citizen??
The trauma pager screamed before dawn. Sharp enough to cut through the thirty minutes of sleep you had managed to steal in the on-call room. By the time you pushed through the emergency doors, scrub top half-buttoned and hair still damp from a rushed sink wash. The paramedics were already rolling in a young man slick with blood and road dust—multiple collisions, hypotensive, barely conscious. Nurses moved around you in practiced chaos, monitors shrieking, metal trays clattering, everyone waiting for your first order.
“Or now!” you snapped, gloving your hands as you walked. “Crossmatch six units, call radiology, someone page anesthesia.”
Then, from just behind your shoulder, calm as if the room wasn’t drowning in panic, came a familiar voice.
“Already here, doctor.”
You turned, and there was Jake Sim, leaning into the storm with an easy expression.
Seeing his smile makes your blood boil. Of course, it was him. Even with alarms blaring, blood on the floor, and a man hovering between life and death, Jake Sim still looked unbearably composed, like this was all mildly inconvenient rather than catastrophic.
“Try looking useful for once,” you said sharply, already moving beside the gurney as the nurses rushed the patient down the corridor.
Jake fell into step beside you without missing a beat, one hand adjusting the oxygen mask over the patient’s face while the other checked the monitor leads. “Good morning to you, too, doctor,”
“It was good until I saw you.”
“Then I’ll try standing behind you next time.”
You ignored him. Flipping through the paramedic report clipped to the patient’s chest. Male, twenty-three, motorbike collision, hypotensive on arrival, suspected abdominal bleed, decreasing consciousness.
“BP?” you asked.
“Eighty over palp,” a nurse answered.
Jake glanced at the monitor—expression sharpening despite the teasing tone still lingering in his voice.
“Airway’s deteriorating. I’m tubing now.”
“Do it while moving.”
“Bossy.”
The elevator doors opened, and the team flooded inside with the bed. You stood at the patient’s side, hands pressed firmly over the soaked dressing at his abdomen. Jake positioned himself at the head of the bed, drawing up medication with practiced speed.
“Etomidate. Rocuronium,” he said.
The nurse passed them over instantly. You looked up just in time to catch him glancing at you.
“What?” you snapped.
“You’ve got blood on your cheek.”
“I’m aware.”
“You wear it well.”
Jake laughed under his breath and pushed the medications. Within seconds, he intubated smoothly, securing the tube as the elevator dinged open onto the surgical floor. The door parted.
“Move.”
The gurney surged forward again, wheels rattling across polished floors as the operating room doors were thrown open. Inside, the scrub team was already waiting. You scrubbed at the sink with aggressive efficiency, barking orders over your shoulder.
“Prep for exploratory laparotomy. Massive transfusion protocol. I want vascular on standby.”
Jake entered the room behind you, tying his mask in place.
“Demanding as always,” he said.
“Shut up.”
Jake only chuckled and stepped closer to the scrub counter.
“You look hot when you’re angry.”
You shot him a flat look over your shoulder.
“Maybe seek psychiatric help.”
Jake only smiled again, the same maddening, effortless smile as he moved to the head of the operating table and began preparing to keep your patient alive while you open him up.
By your second year in trauma surgery, the hospital had already given you a reputation you never asked for. Some called you difficult, others called you cold, but most settled on the nickname whispered through hallways and break rooms with equal parts amusement and caution–the men-hater.
It was easier for them to say that than admit how many times male residents had tried to explain their own cases back to you, how attendings praised the same ideas only after a man repeated them louder, how patients searched the room for a ‘real doctor’ after you introduced yourself.
Every sharp reply you gave, every boundary you enforced, every refusal to smile through disrespect became proof of your bitterness in their eyes. Fine. Let them think you hated men. It was simpler than explaining that you only hated what they kept getting away with.
Then there was Jake Sim.
The hospital effortlessly adored him; people adored men who were handsome, competent, and just charming enough to never be threatening. Nurses smiled when he entered a room. Residents straightened when he spoke. Even attendings, people who looked unimpressed by default, seemed to soften around him. Dr. Jake Sim, anesthesiology’s golden boy.
You disliked him on principle.
Men like Jake moved through life cushioned by a grace rarely afforded to women. If he was blunt, he was confident. If he was playful, he was charismatic. If he challenged authority, he was bold. You had done the same things and been called difficult, abrasive, and emotional.
Worse, Jake seemed entirely aware of the effect he had on people, yet wore it lightly enough to seem innocent. He joked with scrub nurses, remembered everyone’s coffee orders, charmed frightened patients before surgery, and still somehow managed to perform flawlessly once the stakes were real. It would have been easier if he were incompetent. Easier if he were arrogant. Easier if he gave you a clean reason to hate him.
Instead, Jake Sim was annoyingly good at his job. He’s kind when no one is watching, and most annoyingly of all, far too interested in you.
You never smiled at his jokes. Never thank him for favors that you hadn’t asked for. Never looked impressed when others did. If anything, you treated him with the same clipped indifference you reserved for men who thought too highly of themselves.
For some reason, that only seemed to make him come closer.
The nurses filtered out one by one, murmuring good afternoon, leaving the two of you alone in the oversized room. You reached for the strings of your gown, fingers slower now that the adrenaline had drained away.
Before you could undo them, Jake stepped behind you.
You stiffened immediately. “What are you doing?”
“Relax,” he said, voice low and annoyingly calm. “You’re taking forever.”
His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he untied the knot. Even through layers of fabric and fatigue, the touch felt far too noticeable.
“I can do it myself.”
“I know.”
The gown loosened, slipping from your shoulders. He stepped away if nothing had happened. You turned sharply.
“Then why didn’t you let me?”
Jake was peeling off his gloves, expression unreadable now that the teasing had softened.
“Because your hands are shaking.”
You froze. You hadn’t even noticed. When you looked down, there it was, the fine tremors running through your fingers, the aftermath of hours spent forcing steadiness into chaos. Humiliating.
You curled your hands into fists. “I’m tired, that’s all.”
“Mm…”
That sound alone made irritation flare again. He tossed the gloves aside and walked toward you, stopping close enough that the scent of antiseptic clung to him.
“You don’t have to act invincible every second of the day.”
Your jaw tightened.
“Don’t act as if you know me.”
“I know enough.”
Jake studied you for a moment, eyes dropping briefly to your clenched hands before meeting your gaze again.
“I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday,” he said quietly. “I know you took over suturing because the resident was panicking. I know you blamed yourself when his pressure crashed, even though it wasn’t your fault.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I know you’re about two minutes away from collapsing.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
You hated him.
Hated the calm certainty in his voice. Hated how he said those things without pity, without mockery, without trying to make himself look noble for noticing. Most of all, you hated that after everything—every clipped response, every glare, every deliberate attempt to keep him at arm’s length, yet he still insisted on treating you gently.
It was infuriating.
Why couldn’t he just dislike you properly?
Why couldn’t he return the coldness you handed him so generously? Why couldn’t he be offended, dismissive, petty? Anything easier to understand than this steady, maddening kindness?
Men were predictable when they were angry. Predictable when their pride was bruised. They snapped, sulked, withdrew. You knew how to handle that version of them. But Jake Sim only kept showing up with a warm smile, calm eyes, and observations you never invited.
You wanted to push him into becoming the kind of man you already knew how to hate. Instead, he kept refusing the role.
The next morning began badly.
You had slept for three hours on a call-room mattress thin enough that your bones were screaming in agony. Woken twice by pagers that turned out not to be yours, and spilled half of your coffee down the front of your scrubs while trying to read overnight labs. By the time you stepped into the trauma conference room, patience had already abandoned you.
A cluster of residents fell silent when you entered.
Good.
You dropped into your seat at the end of the table, flipping open the chart for morning rounds.
“If anyone presents nonsense today, I’m sending them back to medical school personally.”
No one laughed.
Also good.
The door opened, and Jake Sim walked in carrying two coffees and looking offensively well-rested. Fresh shower. Crisp navy scrubs. Hair still slightly damp. Not a trace of the sixteen-hour shift he had also worked. You narrowed your eyes immediately.
He noticed, smiled, and changed direction from the empty seat across the room to the chair beside you. Of course he did.
“You look radiant,” he said quietly as he sat down.
“Shut up.”
“Mean already? We haven’t even started rounds.”
“Dr Sim,” honestly, you almost lost it.
He set one coffee beside your folder. You stared at it.
“Take it back.”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know. You rarely ask for anything. It’s one of your more exhausting traits.”
You pushed the cup back toward him without looking. “Try poisoning someone else.”
Jake slid it neatly back into place. “Oat milk. No sugar. Extra shot.”
Your hand paused halfway to the chart. Annoying.
“You need hobbies,” you muttered.
“I have one.”
You glanced at him despite yourself. “What?”
He met your eyes, expression perfectly innocent. “Getting under your skin.”
Before you could reply, the attending entered, and the room straightened instantly. Rounds began in a blur of scans, bloodwork, complications, and clipped presentations. You corrected three residents, questioned one medication order, and dismantled a surgical pan so flawed it nearly offended you personally.
Jake said little. He simply sat there, reviewing anesthesia notes, occasionally leaning over to slide relevant vitals or postoperative concerns onto your side of the table before you had to ask. You hated how useful he was.
Halfway through the meeting, the attendees discussed a difficult abdominal trauma case from the previous night.
“Post-op hypotension likely due to fluid shifts,” one senior resident offered.
You opened your mouth.
Jake spoke first.
“Or missed retroperitoneal bleed.”
The room turned. The attending frowned thoughtfully. “Reasoning?”
You felt your irritation sharpen. Because he was right. The attending nodded slowly.
“Good catch. We’ll re-image.”
Then his gaze shifted to you. “Thoughts, doctor?”
“I think anesthesia got lucky.”
You crossed your arms. A few residents choked back smiles. Jake didn’t even blink.
“And I think surgery should buy me breakfast.”
The room laughed. You did not. But when you reached for your coffee a moment later, it was still warm.
.
.
.
.
A few weeks after the surgery, Jake Sim was still impossible to avoid.
Not because he chased you through corridors like some desperate intern with no dignity–though you suspected he was capable of it, but because he had somehow woven himself into the rhythm of your days. In trauma calls, he was there before you finished giving orders. In the OR, he stood behind the drapes with that infuriatingly calm voice. In the break room, there would already be a coffee waiting where you liked to sit, as if the cup itself had developed poor judgment.
You told yourself it meant nothing.
Jake was friendly with everyone. Helpful to everyone. Annoyingly competent with everyone.
So why should it matter that he remembered your orders before you gave them, or noticed when you skipped meals, or somehow knew exactly how you took your coffee without ever asking?
It didn’t.
That was what you were telling yourself when he cornered you outside the staff elevators after a fourteen-hour shift. The corridor was nearly empty, lights dimmed to evening mode, your pager blessedly silent for once. You were too tired for conversation and too hungry for patience.
Jake stepped in front of the elevator doors just as they opened.
You stared at him. “Move.”
“Dinner.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a statement.”
“It sounded like one.”
“It was an invitation.”
You jabbed the closed-door button repeatedly. “Declined.”
He reached past you and caught the elevator door before it could shut, entirely too close for your liking.
“Tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“Tonight, then.”
“No.”
“Coffee after shift.”
“No.”
Jake tilted his head, studying your face with that same maddening calm he wore in operating rooms and arguments alike.
“Are you rejecting me,” he asked, “or just enjoying saying no?”
Your jaw tightened. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re stupid or joking.”
“Neither.”
“Then what is this?”
“A date.”
You gave a short, humorless laugh. “Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s the stupid option.”
Something like amusement flickered across his face, but he didn’t step back.
“You really think I’ve been asking because I’m bored?”
“I think men like attention.”
“And you think I’d go through weeks of being insulted for fun?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fair,” he admitted. “But wrong.”
The answer annoyed you more than if he had argued.
You crossed your arms. “You flirt with everyone.”
“I’m polite to everyone.”
“You’re smug with everyone.”
“Only with you.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
“It’s not a case.” His voice lowered slightly. “I like you.”
You blinked once, more out of irritation than surprise.
“No, you like provoking me.”
“I like that too.”
“Jake.”
It was the first time you had said his name without adding an insult after it. His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“Dinner,” he repeated softly. “One hour. If you hate it, I’ll stop asking.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You promise?”
“No.”
“Unbelievable.”
“But I’ll stop asking for a week.”
“That’s not tempting.”
“It should be. You look tired.”
“I look like I regret speaking to you.”
“You always look like that.”
The elevator chimed impatiently behind you.
You stepped inside, forcing him to move back.
“Goodnight, Dr. Sim.”
He smiled, hands in his pockets, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Think about it.”
The doors slid shut between you. You exhaled sharply, pulse annoyingly uneven. Then looked down and realized he had slipped a protein bar into your coat pocket sometime during the conversation.
You hated him.
.
.
.
.
Three days later, you made a mistake.
It happened at 12.40 p.m. After back-to-back consults, a trauma activation that turned out to be alcohol and poor decisions, and a resident who asked whether the spleen was ‘strictly necessary’. You were hungry, irritated, and too tired to defend yourself properly. And the last thing you want to happen the next day is Jake still asking you to date.
After all, luck was never on your side.
Jake found you outside the imaging suite, leaning against the wall with two coffees and the expression of a man who had never once suffered inconvenience.
“Lunch,” he said.
“No.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I meant it yesterday, too.”
“How about today?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Why are you like this?”
“Persistent? Handsome? Deeply committed?”
“Unbearable.”
He grinned. “Still available for lunch.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then at the clock, then at the hallway stretching endlessly back toward more work. You were starving.
The cafeteria was five minutes away.
And if agreeing to one meal made him stop asking for at least a day, it counted as strategic surrender.
“Fine,” you said flatly. “Lunch.”
Jake blinked. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked genuinely caught off guard. Then his entire face changed. Not smug satisfaction. Not teasing triumph. He looked happy.
Ridiculously, openly happy.
“Seriously?” he asked.
You immediately regretted everything. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird, you just said yes.”
“To lunch.”
“With me.”
“To food.”
He laughed under his breath, then straightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing. “Right. Yes. Of course. Food.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you look like you won something?”
“Because I did.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
You turned and started walking before he could say anything worse. He fell into step beside you, annoyingly energetic for someone who had also worked all morning.
“Do you want noodles or rice?” he asked.
“I want silence.”
“Cafeteria might not have that.”
“You’re very close to losing lunch privileges.”
“You’ve already given me privileges?”
You shot him a look sharp enough to cut skin. He only smiled wider.
The entire walk there, Jake was insufferably cheerful. He held doors open, moved people aside with polite excuses, and somehow looked proud simply carrying your coffee beside you. Two nurses passed and exchanged startled glances.
One of them mouthed finally. You nearly turned around.
By the time you reached the cafeteria, Jake was practically glowing.
“Explain.”
“What?”
“Why do you look like a golden retriever that just got told he’s going to the park?”
He laughed loud enough to earn stares. “That’s specific.”
“It’s accurate.”
Jake looked at you for a second, smile softening into something less playful.
“Because you said yes.” he said simply.
Your chest tightened in a way you deeply resented.
“It’s lunch,” you said coldly.
“I know.”
“Not a date.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“Good.”
He nodded once, still smiling. “Then let’s have lunch.”
You hated that your pulse was uneven over something so stupid. You hated more that when he reached for a tray, he grabbed one for you automatically.
The cafeteria was louder than usual, packed with staff escaping their departments for the brief illusion of rest. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, pagers went off in every corner. You chose a table near the back out of habit. Jake sat across from you like he had been invited there his entire life.
You set your tray down and immediately noticed he hadn’t touched his food. He is just looking at you. Not casually, not absentmindedly. Looking at you with an expression so openly pleased, it made irritation rise on instinct.
You frowned and unwrapped your utensils with more force than necessary. “That’s unsettling.”
Jake only leaned back slightly in his chair, still watching you with the same warm, maddening gaze. As if sitting across from you in a mediocre hospital cafeteria was somehow the best part of his week. You hated that.
“Eat your food,” you said.
“In a minute.”
“Why not now?”
“Busy.”
“With what?”
His eyes moved over your face slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Memorizing this.”
Your chopstick paused midair. “Memorizing what?”
“You're agreeing to have lunch with me. You look annoyed, but less than usual.”
“I look annoyed because I am.”
“Still came.”
“I came for carbohydrates.”
Jake smiled softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
You looked down at your plate, refusing to acknowledge the sudden warmth crawling up your neck. He laughed quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his gaze softened again in a way that made your chest feel annoyingly tight.
“I like seeing you like this,” he said.
“Hungry?”
“Relaxed.”
You almost scoffed. “I’m not relaxed.”
“You’re not working. That’s close enough.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the cafeteria blurred around the table. Jake looked at you as if there were no one in the room. No urgency, no performance, just quiet, uncomplicated fondness. It was deeply unfair.
“If you keep staring, I’m leaving.”
He picked up his chopstick at last. He only smiled into his food, still far too happy for a man who had simply gotten lunch.
You told yourself the attention should have irritated you more than it did.
It should have felt invasive, performative, another version of the same male habit of taking up space wherever they pleased. You had spent years sharpening yourself against men like that. But this didn’t feel like that.
Jake wasn’t trying to corner you, impress an audience, or collect gratitude for basic decency. He wasn’t asking for anything in return. He simply sat across from you with that stupid soft expression.
You didn’t hate it. That was the problem.
Youd idn’t love it either. It made you restless, suspicious, vaguely off-balance in a way you disliked. There was no clear angle to defend against, no obvious flaw to dissect, no cruelty beneath the surface waiting to reveal itself. Just Jake Sim.
You didn’t understand him. You didn’t understand why a man like Jake Sim, liked by everyone and wanted by easier women, kept choosing resistance. Why did he return after every sharp word? Why did kindness from you seem optional, but your presence somehow mattered? And perhaps most unsettling of all—
You didn’t understand why part of you had started letting him.
💬 ── in which you want them but they want her? | ⚠︎ ── just oblivious boys being oblivious, sunghoon is kind of arrogant, slow burn, angst, are we gonna have a happy ending? l
pairing ── hyung line (individually) x afab reader
nene’s note ── i know i have a thousand wips right now but you guys know i will spontaneously combust and explode if i have an idea and i don’t execute it immediately!
dilf!psh x reader, dads bsf!psh, age gap, virginity loss, toxic parental relationship, alcoholism, daddy issues, fingering, mutual masturbation, recording, unprotected sex, hyung line mentioned, smoking, illit moka & minju mentioned, not proofread 6.8k wc
when your father's disgustingly good-looking best friend drops off your drunk dad, only to stay behind and distract you from the pain.
don't like? don't read.
you loved school.
not because you were some overly studious nerd who couldn't get enough of textbooks and homework, but because school felt freeing. it was the only place where your lungs didn’t burn with the suffocating scent of alcohol.
home was different.
you dreaded walking back every afternoon, fingers tightening around your bag as you stood outside the front door, already knowing what waited on the other side.
the smell hit first.
sharp. bitter. stale.
it clung to the walls, the furniture and your clothes like it had permanently seeped into every corner of your life.
you hated it. you hated what caused it even more.
your dad.
ever since your mom died from a brutal car accident, your life had never been the same.
what was once a warm, happy family slowly fell apart piece by piece. your dad changed after her death. at first it was only a drink or two after work, small enough for you to pretend it wasn’t becoming a problem.
but as the days turned into months, and the months into years, his grief only grew heavier.
and so did the drinking.
he drowned himself in alcohol so often that eventually, it felt like he stopped being your father altogether. the man who used to laugh with your mom in the kitchen and drive you to school every morning became nothing more than a stranger passing through the house.
now, you couldn’t even remember the last proper conversation the two of you had without it turning into some sort of argument.
it had probably been almost two years.
you kept your bag slung over one shoulder as you sat in class, staring at your notebook without really seeing it.
you blinked slowly, forcing yourself to write a few words down just so it looked like you were listening.
around you, everyone else seemed more awake than you felt.
moka was somewhere nearby, probably already done copying notes and now quietly kicking your chair just to get your attention.
“psst,” she whispered. “you’re literally spacing out again.”
you turned your head slightly, forcing a small hum of acknowledgment.
“i’m not,” you mumbled.
instead of turning back to her work, she leaned forward a little.
“hey,” she whispered again. “random question.”
“do you think minju likes anyone?” that got your attention.
you glanced at her. “what?”
moka tried (and failed) to look casual.
“nothing. i was just wondering.”
you stared at her for a second, “you like her.”
“shh!” moka immediately hissed, looking around even though nobody was paying attention. “keep your voice down.”
you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips, “wow.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
for the first time all lesson, moka looked more distracted than you did.
the bell eventually came like a relief you didn’t realize you were waiting for.
chairs pushed back, the room filled with noise again, and people started packing up faster than the teacher could even finish speaking.
you moved a little slower, slipping your notebook into your bag while everyone else rushed out.
moka waited for you by the door, rocking back on her heels.
the hallway was crowded, loud with students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping everywhere.
you kept your gaze forward, letting moka talk beside you about something random—someone’s drama, a test she barely studied for, a teacher she didn’t like.
you responded here and there, but your answers were short, half there.
at one point, minju passed by with a few friends and moka's sentence immediately cut off.
you watched her eyes follow minju for a second before she quickly looked away.
“you are so obvious,” you said.
“i literally didn't do anything.”
“right.”
“i didn't!”
by the time you reached the school gates, the air outside felt slightly better.
you slowed down without realizing it as you began to focus on what moka had to say.
“come on, y/n!” moka whined, dramatically tugging on your arm as the two of you walked out of school. “it’s been forever, and we’re always hanging out at my place. i wanna go to yours for once too.”
you let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“maybe another time.”
“that’s what you said last time,” she pouted, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. “and the time before that. are you secretly hiding something in your house or something?”
if only she knew.
your grip tightened slightly around your bag. “it’s just messy.”
“messy?” moka scoffed. “y/n, my room literally looks like a tornado hit it every other day. i don’t care.”
you forced out a small laugh, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
moka slowed her steps, her expression softening almost immediately. “hey,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder. “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
the words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
because something was wrong.
something had been wrong for years now.
but no matter how many times moka asked, you could never bring yourself to say it out loud. admitting it would make everything feel too real.
so instead, you smiled. "nothing’s wrong,” you lied.
moka stared at you for a moment longer before sighing dramatically again. “fineee. but one day i’m showing up at your house uninvited.”
your heart nearly stops. "don't do that," you give her a playful smile to cover up the anxiousness that filled your heart.
"there’s a convenience store near your house, right? we can just go there.” she suggests.
you paused for a second. “…okay,” you said quietly.
moka immediately lit up and the two of you started walking. her chatter filling the space as she talked about random things you barely registered. your steps slowed slightly the closer you got to your neighborhood, that familiar weight settling in your chest again.
same streets. same air. same feeling you always tried to escape after school.
moka, however, didn’t notice. she was too busy skipping ahead a few steps, pointing at random things like she always did.
inside the convenience store, everything felt almost normal again.
the soft buzz of the fridge, the quiet beeping at the register, the crinkle of snack bags as you and moka wandered the aisles like you had all the time in the world.
moka had already claimed half the store in her arms again. “this is for later,” she said, dropping a pack of chips into her basket. “and this is for now. and this is just… because i feel like it.”
you shook your head slightly, picking out a drink and tossing it into your own hand-held basket. for a moment, it almost felt easy.
then the door slammed open, the bell above it rang too loudly.
you both paused.
a man stumbled inside, slightly off balance, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. his breath was heavy, his eyes unfocused, and he walked straight to the alcohol section without even looking around.
he grabbed a few cans of beer then stopped at the counter.
the cashier greeted him politely, but the man didn’t respond properly. he just stared for a second too long, like he was trying to understand something that wasn’t making sense.
and then his voice suddenly snapped through the store.
“why are you charging me this much? are you trying to rob me or something?”
you stiffened a bit.
the cashier blinked, clearly startled. “sir, that’s the price—”
“don’t lie to me,” the man barked, slamming the cans down harder than necessary. “you think i don’t know what you people do?”
the entire store felt like it had gone quiet.
a few customers glanced over. someone near the entrance stepped back. moka slowly lowered her basket.
you weren’t looking at the cashier anymore.
you were looking at the man.
and something in your chest tightened, cold and familiar, before you could stop it. the moment you realized who it was, everything in your body went still.
the voice. the posture.
no.
no, no, no.
your basket slipped slightly in your hand.
“y/n?” moka whispered, noticing your sudden change. “hey… what’s wrong?”
you couldn’t answer, your throat felt tight like something had wrapped around it and pulled.
your dad’s voice cut through the store again, louder now, more unsteady.
“what are you staring at?”
he turned and his eyes landed on you.
for a split second, there was nothing there. no recognition, just confusion. then it hit him.
“oh,” he said, voice sharpening instantly. “so you’re here.”
moka frowned, looking between you and him. “wait… you know him?”
you still couldn’t speak.
your dad stepped away from the counter, unsteady but suddenly focused on you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, pointing vaguely. “why are you even out? what, you think you can just—”
his voice rose, drawing attention again.
you took a small step back without realizing it.
your breathing was wrong now. too fast. too shallow. like your body didn’t know how to stay inside itself properly.
moka grabbed your arm, panicked. “y/n, hey—hey, look at me.”
his face twisted as he noticed your reaction.
“oh, don’t start with that,” he barked suddenly, louder. “don’t do that, you guilt tripping bitch.”
his words blurred together after that.
all you could feel was the noise. the store. the breathing. the weight of being seen like this. and moka, beside you, suddenly very, very unsure of what she was watching.
your dad’s eyes stayed on you, unfocused and unsteady, like he was seeing you through something warped.
“stop standing there like that,” he snapped suddenly. “you always do this. you always show up at the worst times and make everything—”
he cut himself off, jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face.
“you don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, fraying at the edges. “the way you look at me.. it's just like her.”
your chest tightened.
he pointed vaguely in your direction, not even fully steady on his feet.
“i wish i never had you.” he said sharply.
it wasn’t a big sentence but it landed like one.
something in you cracked open, too loud in your head. your vision blurred before you could stop it.
moka said your name again, more urgent this time, but it barely reached you. you took a step back before you ran out of the store. vision blurred which completely blind sighted you.
it didn’t matter, you kept moving anyway.
the park had gone quiet by the time midnight rolled in, leaving only the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of trees moving in the cold air.
you had stayed there for hours without really meaning to, just sitting through the weight of your thoughts until everything blurred.
eventually, your legs carried you home on their own. the closer you got, the heavier everything felt, the familiar streets and dim streetlights doing nothing to ease the tight feeling in your chest.
when you finally reached your building, you paused in front of the door longer than you should have. for a moment, you just stood there, staring at it, as if waiting for something to change if you delayed it long enough.
but nothing did, so you went inside.
the smell hit you the second you stepped in.
stale alcohol, thick and sour, already filling the air like it had nowhere else to go. it clung to everything instantlu, slipping into your lungs before you even had time to brace yourself for it.
then, slowly, you stepped in and let the door close behind you.
you paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes instinctively moving to the living room, expecting to see your dad like usual—slumped on the couch, tv on, bottle in hand.
but the couch was empty, no tv, no movement, no sign of him at all.
your chest tightened slightly as you stepped inside, realizing pretty quickly what that meant. he wasn’t home. he had gone out again.
you did enjoy these moments when he was out, when the apartment didn’t feel as suffocating and you could move around freely without the fear of running into him.
you made your way to your room, closing the door behind you a little too softly, like even sound felt dangerous tonight.
once you were inside, you sat on the edge of your bed and finally reached for your phone. the screen lit up immediately, a few notifications already waiting for you.
there were multiple messages, all sent not long after you ran out of the store.
where are you??
please answer me
im so sorry about him, i didnt know your dad was like that
are you okay??
you stared at moka’s messages for a moment longer, your thumb hovering before you finally typed back.
im okay
you didn’t wait for a reply.
instead, you locked your phone and set it aside, like that alone could shut the world out for a while. then you got up and headed to the bathroom, moving on autopilot.
the shower helped a little, but not enough to really fix anything. just enough to blur your thoughts at the edges, to make the day feel slightly farther away than it was before.
when you were done, you changed into something comfortable—an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame, soft shorts, and a pair of socks that made your steps quieter against the floor.
you didn’t feel better.
but at least you felt a little less like you were holding everything together.
you eventually made your way downstairs, more out of habit than hunger, opening the fridge and staring at it for a moment before grabbing whatever was easiest to make.
a classic nutella sandwich.
the quiet of the apartment helped a little while you moved around the kitchen, focused on the small task in front of you.
suddenly, you hear from the front door a soft click, followed by it opening.
your hands froze mid-motion.
for a second you didn’t even breathe, just standing there as the sound of footsteps reached the entryway.
your mind immediately filled in the worst possibility.
him.
without thinking, you crouched down quickly and slid under the kitchen counter, pulling your legs in close and pressing yourself into the small space as quietly as you could.
your heart was already racing.
a heavier sound, like someone struggling slightly with weight, something being shifted carefully rather than dropped or thrown. the kind of sound that made your stomach tighten all over again because it didn’t fit the scenario your brain had already prepared for.
you hesitantly shifted just enough to peek out from your hiding spot.
what you saw made you freeze completely.
a man you didn’t recognize was inside your apartment, steadying your dad’s unconscious body with a firm grip as he guided him toward the couch. your dad looked completely out of it, barely supported, his weight slumped against the stranger’s shoulder.
the man set him down carefully, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t fall off, before straightening up and finally glancing around the room.
that was when you really saw him properly.
he was really good-looking. like genuinely breath taking. sharp jawline, straight nose that gave his face a clean, structured look.
holy shit.
you slowly rose from under the counter, the man hadn’t noticed you yet, his attention still on your dad as he adjusted him slightly on the couch, making sure he was stable.
carefully, you stepped out into the open, each movement slow and hesitant. only when your footsteps lightly brushed against the floor did he pause.
he turned.
his eyes landed on you, and for a brief second his expression shifted—subtle surprise flickering across his face, like he genuinely hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer before he spoke, voice calm but curious.
“oh? i didn't know he had a daughter.”
of course that fucker wouldn’t have told anyone about you.
you stepped a little closer, your eyes drifting past the stranger to where your father now lay on the couch, completely out of it. the sight made something in your stomach twist. slumped, unresponsive, the reality of it settling in all over again in a way you didn’t want to look at for too long.
you forced your gaze away.
the man noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. without saying anything else, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen. a silent cue to go with him.
after a brief hesitation, you followed him.
the apartment felt quieter the farther you moved from the living room, like the tension there stayed behind with your father. the kitchen light was softer, warmer somehow, and he leaned slightly against the counter as he waited, glancing at you once you stepped in behind him.
“sorry, should’ve introduced myself,” he said, glancing at you properly. “i’m sunghoon.”
you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your face for a moment, like he was quietly trying to place you in the picture he already had in his head.
“i’m y/n,” you said softly, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.
there was a brief pause after that.
you found yourself looking back at him properly too, the thick brows that gave him a naturally composed look. the moles on his face, one sitting close to the bridge of his nose, another a little lower on his cheek.
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers for a second before lighting it. the small spark briefly lit his face, then faded as he took a slow drag, his eyes still resting on you like he hadn’t missed a single thing you’d said or done.
the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy in a way you couldn’t quite name.
“sorry about your dad,” he said after a moment, exhaling faintly to the side so the smoke didn’t drift toward you. his tone stayed calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was something softer underneath it. “i know he’s… not easy to deal with.”
you weren’t sure what to say to that.
“it’s okay… i’m used to it,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze to the floor instead of looking at him.
sunghoon watched you for a moment, his cigarette still between his fingers as he took another slow drag. there was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, just faintly amused in a way that made him look even more unreadable.
“we were out having drinks and he passed out like usual,” he said casually, exhaling smoke to the side. his eyes never really left you. “normally i wouldn’t see anyone home. this is the first time i’ve seen you.”
his tone made it sound simple, like he was just stating a fact, but the way he looked at you suggested he was taking in more than just the situation. the way his eyes roamed from your face, down to your chest and legs.
was he checking you out?
he tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his fingers as he held it out a little in your direction, like it was an offer that didn’t require much thought.
“want one?”
your eyes dropped to it for a second before flicking back up to him, “actually, are you even old enough to?” he asked, tone flat but with a hint of amusement under it.
you scoffed under your breath, the smallest bit of defiance slipping through. “i’m 18. of course i can.”
then your gaze dropped again, voice quieter this time.
“i’ve done it before...”
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away.
he studied you for a moment longer, like he was weighing your words instead of just hearing them. then, without much ceremony, he pulled another cigarette from the pack and offered it anyway.
“then take one, little girl,” he said simply.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname. cheeks flushing before you hesitantly grabbed it.
a lighter flicked between his fingers a second later, and soon enough the quiet of your kitchen was filled with that faint, drifting smoke curling into the air between you.
the kitchen stayed quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the slow burn of the cigarette filling the space between you.
sunghoon leaned against the counter like he had nowhere else to be, eyes drifting over you for a moment before settling again. not intense, but observant in a way that made it hard to ignore.
you shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure what to say or do with the silence.
a small exhale left him, almost like a quiet laugh.
“not much of a talker, are we?” he said, voice low and calm, like he was commenting on the weather rather than you.
your eyes flicked up to him briefly before dropping again. “i just don’t know what to say.”
that seemed to amuse him a little more. he took another slow drag, watching you through the smoke as if he was figuring you out.
sunghoon’s gaze drifted away from you, slowly scanning the room like he was taking it in properly for the first time instead of just standing in it.
that’s when he stopped and his eyes settled on the wall behind you.
there was an old framed photo hanging slightly off-center, like it had been put there a long time ago and never adjusted since.
you followed his gaze.
it was a picture from years ago, before everything changed. you were thirteen, caught in a moment you barely felt like belonged to you anymore. smiling too brightly, arms wrapped around your mom and dad in a way that looked so easy, so normal, it almost didn’t feel real now.
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. his expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as he looked at it longer than expected.
then he glanced back at you, like he was comparing the photo to the person standing in front of him now.
“you look so happy in that,” he said after a pause.
your throat tightened immediately.
“i was,” you said, then quickly added, softer, “i guess.”
the words hung in the air longer than you meant them to. sunghoon’s expression shifted slightly, something quieter settling in his eyes as he looked at you instead of the photo now.
“he's been like this since your mom died?” he asked. “that man always complains and goes on and on about his dead wife, especially moments before he passes out.”
you chuckled lightly, the words hitting a little too close. “yeah,” you managed.
sunghoon glanced back at the photo “he must've loved her a lot.”
the smile on your face faltered.
“i guess.”
a quiet silence settled between you. your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“sometimes i think he forgets he still has someone here.”
the words left his mouth so casually that he probably didn't realize what he'd just said. but you felt them.
all at once.
because he was right.
your father talked about your mother constantly. missed your mother constantly. drank because of your mother constantly.
and somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being his daughter and started becoming just another thing in the house.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down because you couldn’t really look at either him or the photo anymore.
you couldn't even give a response back and that alone was enough to make your chest feel worse.
then sunghoon moved closer. he put down the cigarette before his hand lifted slightly, hesitating for a second like he was deciding whether or not to cross that line, before gently resting on your shoulder and pulling you in.
safe in a way you weren’t used to.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your face pressed into his shoulder, the tears coming out quieter at first before you couldn’t hold them back anymore.
sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. he just stayed there, one hand lightly at your back, the other at the back of your waist, rubbing a small circle with his thumb.
“i'm sorry baby,” he said eventually, low and close enough that only you could hear it.
his words suddenly crash all over you. reminding you of the times of when your father would comfort you like this in his arms.
he exhales once, small, like he’s pulling himself back.
“it must be hard,” he says. you nod faintly, but don’t move away.
you cried pathetically into his shoulder as he embraced you even tighter, before pulling his head back.
“how about we go to your room?” he said quietly. “we wouldn’t want your father waking up and seeing you like this.”
you blinked, still trying to steady your breathing, and gave a slow nod.
sunghoon knows he shouldn't.
especially not with one of his friends daughter.
he knows he shouldn't be doing this, yet he can't help but continue placing small hickeys across your neck, spreading them down till your collarbone.
youre resting on top of his lap, hands cramped up against his chest as you nervously grasp onto his shirt, feeling confused how you even ended up here.
"i- i don't know if we should be d-doing this..." your voice shakes as he licks over one of the many spots he marked on you.
he chuckles at your words, "shh.. baby, let daddy take care of you alright?"
his hands grip firmly at your waist before he goes back in for another kiss. it's gentle and slow, almost like as if he's savouring the taste of your lips.
you try matching back the rhythm and movement of his lips, but fail miserably as you accidentally bite too hard on your own tongue. you wince lightly from the pain as sunghoon pulls back and smirks at you.
"poor bunny doesn't know how to kiss?" he smirks, almost mocking you for not knowing how to.
you bite your lip, attempting to hide the embarrassment spreading across your face. sunghoon notices and brings his thumb to your lip.
"don't worry my little girl, daddy'll teach you everything."
fuck, his words. the way he comforted you. the way he held you. why was it enough build up the wetness between your legs now?
before you can react, his mouth is on yours again. it's soft, slow and warm, "don't overthink it, just follow my lips," he mumbles against your mouth.
you start to follow the movement of his lips, your hands roaming towards the nape of his neck as he deepens the kiss. his mouth opens slightly as he slowly brings his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours.
you quiver slightly, unsure of what to do but when sunghoon slides his tongue against yours, your tongue is able to naturally follow his. the kiss had gotten so heated, so wet and sloppy.
as the kiss continued, you felt his growing erection form harder beneath you. in the desperate state you were in, your body instinctively grinded forward on its own, earning a groan from sunghoon.
sunghoon pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. your eyes were hazy, almost like as if you were hallucinated from the kiss.
"keep doing that f'me, you wanna feel good yeah?" you nod your head at his words.
at his orders you continue to grind your clothed core against the large bulge in his pants. your whimper at the friction as you hold onto his arms to balance yourself.
"fuck.. you're doing so well for me," he groans at the pleasure.
his hand suddenly comes to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "stick out your tongue," you're confused but you do as he says, slowly sticking it out. he spits in your mouth, letting it slowly drip until it reaches your tongue.
sunghoon smirks at the sigh infront of him, you with your tongue out thats all covered in his spit, "swallow it all f'me, get a good taste."
without hesitation, you swallow. sunghoon nods his head in approval before his hips continue to move against yours again. his pace is faster now as youre both desperately grinding against each other for release.
"f-fuck.. feels so good.." you moan out as you grip his arms even tighter now.
suddenly, sunghoon grips your shoulders and pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering on top of you. "you look so pretty baby," he leaves a peck to your lips before slowly trailing down from your jaw to your neck, "have you ever done anything like this before?"
when you shake your head, sunghoon gives you a sly smile. "my bunny is still a virgin huh? how cute."
sunghoon doesn't waste time to lift your shirt up, exposing the cute pink bra you wore underneath. he brings his face closer to your clothed chest, placing a kiss right in the middle of your breasts.
he then lifts your bra up aswell, your breasts finally exposed as the cold air hits your skin. your nipples slightly harden at the sudden temperature drop.
sunghoon licks his lips before attaching his mouth to one your nipples, flicking his tongue over it. you gasp at the warmth of his mouth on your chest as you hold onto the bedsheets.
his hands trail from your shoulders down to your thighs, massaging them slowly before his hand makes its way over to your clothed core.
you're absolutely soaked through your shorts, sunghoon smirks at the feeling of your wetness before slowly rubbing your clit through the soaked fabric.
"fuck baby.. you're so wet, all this for me?" he coos at you as you nod your head while gasping at the pleasure his fingers are offering you.
sunghoon grabs onto the hem of your shorts, tugging them once before pulling them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare underneath him.
he curses under his breath at the sight of you. you're so undeniably innocent yet so sexy, he can't believe his friend was able to create someone like you.
your legs close together as you feel the embarrassment of being nude hit you. sunghoon notices and forces them apart again, "keep 'em open for me,"
sunghoon doesn't wait any longer before removing his clothing too. he first removes his shirt, revealing his slightly toned abs and biceps which he catches you staring at before smirking to himself.
his hands grip onto the sides of his pants before he pulls them down just below his boxers, his bulge being even more prominent now. his thumbs tug inside his boxers before he slides them down too just half way, revealing his thick cock which was already leaking precum.
your mouth dropped slightly. you were shocked or more should you say... scared? nervous? he was huge. even his tip seemed like it'd be painful enough for you.
sunghoon noticed the nervousness on your face and chuckled, "aw, is my little girl scared? 's okay, daddy's cock will make you feel reaaal good." he says before he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead.
your heart beats like crazy as the wetness continues to pool up underneath you. sunghoon's hands make way to your clit, rubbing it gently in circles.
you grind against his hand, desperate for more. sunghoon only continues to keep slowly rubbing your clit, not giving you the full attention your body craves.
“p-please…” you whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat.
“please what?” he asked quietly.
"your f-fingers.. nghh.. please!" you cry out. sunghoon smirks at the way you beg for it.
"since my bunny's been so good, she deserves it." he whispers loud enough that you can hear it.
his fingers go down to your hole, which was already oozing out the slick and wetness that has been building up for the past 30 minutes since he's been in your room.
he slowly circles over your hole before pushing a finger in slowly. you let out a pleasured moan at the feeling, your body immediately feeling the heat of his fingers.
he starts thrusting his finger in and out slowly, the wetness coating his finger as you moan at the sensation. you continue to grind forward, still desperate for more.
"you know if you want more, you're gonna have to earn for it." he murmured before tapping his cock against your thigh, signaling for what you should do.
you look up at him nervously before looking down at his huge cock, the precum already leaking out. before your hand can fully reach out, sunghoon grabs your wrist with his free hand before spitting onto your palm.
with his spit all over your palm, you sit up slightly as your hand spreads the wetness of his saliva all over his cock before slowly rubbing his tip against the palm of your hand.
sunghoon hisses at the feeling, "fuck, keep doing that baby," he groans before adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.
and before you both know it, you're both now like two animals in heat desperate to get each other off. you stroke sunghoon's cock at a medium pace, taking in whatever you can as sunghoon keeps fingering you at a faster speed.
"ngh.. shit if you keep doing that.. 'm gonna cum," sunghoon groans loudly.
you bite your lip as you continue to stroke his cock faster, a desperate attempt to match the speed in which he was fingering you at. he was relentless, abusing your little cunt like it didn't matter.
"feel's weird.. i think 'm gonna pee! s-sunghoon stop!" you whimper loudly, the heat in your stomach continuing to boil up. "then do it baby. do it all over me." he demands.
and with that, you cum. more like you squirt, all over him. your legs tremble as your orgasm hits you, your grip on sunghoons cock getting slightly loose but just enough for him to reach his climax and start shooting his cum all over your stomach.
"fuck.. was that your first time squirting bunny?" he questions, looking at the sight beneath him in awe before looking back up at you, seeing you nod your head in fluster.
gosh, you're really going to kill him.
he can't wait to ruin you.
without hesitation, sunghoon pushes you back down again, making you flat against your bed as he spreads open your legs again.
you look down and see that he's still hard. fuck, his sex drive is insane.
he grabs the base of his cock, positioning himself perfectly as he starts to slide his cock up and down your wet cunt, holding onto your thighs for support.
you let out a moan, your cunt still sensitive from your previous orgasm but the pleasure overtakes the sensitivity. he continues to grind against your cunt until he pulls back, slapping his cock against your clit.
"'s not gonna fit.. way too big.." you bite your lip in nervousness as sunghoon lets out a smug smile.
"shhh, daddy'll make it fit. just hold on f'me my little girl," he mumbles into your ear.
he slowly starts pushing the tip in, the pain immediately hitting you, "'s so painful.. daddy it hurts.." you whimper out in pain as your eyes begin to tear up, the nickname coming from your lips too naturally.
sunghoon could cum from your words just now, but it only encourages him to keep going as he continues to push himself in further, filling you up nice and slowly.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you as you whine against his lips, as he finally pushes himself all the way in, having you fully filled up with him now, "fuck, you're so tight. daddy's gonna fuck your little cunnie so good."
you squirm as he starts thrusting into your cunt, his cock ramming in and out you as the sound of your wet cunt and his sloppy thrusts echo throughout your room.
you're so sure that you're moaning loud enough that it could even wake up your dad, but you didn't even care anymore as the pain quickly turned into pleasure as sunghoon was balls deep in you.
"fuuuuck... so good, your pussy is clenching around me. you really love daddy's cock hm?" he almost mocks you but sees as you desperately nod your head.
"yes.. yes! fuck yes 'm loving daddy's cock so much! want m-more!" you whine loudly, drool spilling out of your lips as pleasure overtakes you.
sunghoon continues to quicken his pace, ramming his cock in and out you so deeply as he brings his hand to your stomach and presses down. you could've sworn you almost saw stars at that.
"d-daddy fuck..! nghh... 'm gonna cum.." you whimper.
sunghoon bites your earlobe, "mm, cum for daddy. let it all out," he whispers into your ear.
and with that, you come undone. you grip onto the bedsheets tightly and your legs shake violently as you cum all over his cock, your vision turning white for a few seconds as the orgasm hits you hard.
sunghoon chuckles at how hard you came, slowing down his thrusts to let you ride out your orgasm. your grip slowly loosens on your bedsheets as your breathing starts to slow down and become more calm.
suddenly, sunghoon starts to continue his relentless thrusting,"i still haven't came yet, gonna abuse and use up your lil cunnie." he groans as he quickens up his pace.
the dirty wet sounds of your intimate areas meeting each other fill up the room. one of his hands hold onto your hip as the other goes up to your breast, grabbing and squeezing it as he watches the way they bounce with each thrust.
sunghoon can finally feel the heat in his stomach brew up, "shit, 'm gonna cum inside this pussy," he groans before he quickly grabs his phone and starts to record.
his angles it just right to show how his cock thrusts into you just right while also showing how perfectly your breasts bounce with your mouth open from the pleasure.
sunghoon groans loudly as his orgasm hits him, his cum immediately filling you up. gosh you feel so thick and filled. sunghoon brings down the camera, showing a close up of his cock inside you before pulling out.
as he pulls out, he records how his cum mixed with your wetness oozes out of your hole. he smirks at the sight, bringing the camera up to show the cum over your stomach and then your dazed face as you breathe heavily.
he grabs your face making you look at the camera, "who does this little cunt belong to?" he demands an answer, placing a gentle slap to your clit as you let out a yelp before answering, "y-yours!"
he smirks before rubbing your thigh to soothe out the pain, "yeah? you belong to daddy now. i'll treat you so good, my little girl."
he ends the video before putting his phone back into his pocket. he falls onto the side next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs your back gently.
your face stayed buried against his chest, his presence warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.
“you did so well my bunny,” he murmured softly after a moment. “i’m so proud of you.”
his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. you held onto him a little tighter at his words, your breath uneven.
“don’t leave me… please,” you said, barely above a whisper.
he went still for a second, then shifted just enough to look down at you.
his hand came up to gently hold your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he steadied you.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
and after a pause, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance.
you stayed there for a moment longer, holding onto him like you were afraid the feeling might disappear if you let go too soon.
jake: dude shes fucking gorgeous
jay: holy shit, there's no way thats his daughter. im so jealous.
heeseung: I wanna use her up too. Not fair Sunghoon.
sunghoon smirks at his friends messages. of course he had to send it to the groupchat (which obviously did not include your dad).
the video of which his cum dripped out of your pussy and where you said that you belonged to sunghoon was enough to drive him and all of his friends crazy (and get all of them hard).
sunghoon: she's totally innocent too, her pussy was so tight.
jay: sounds like heaven.
jake: this isnt fair howd you find this angel wtf??
heeseung: Lets pass her around, she'd probably enjoy that.
jay: we can tell.
jake: shes definitely secretly a slut who likes older men.
jake: cmon hoon.
sunghoon chuckles at his phone.
sunghoon: maybe.
@evanificais do not steal or recreate.
authors note: hii :3 first ever fic, hope y'all enjoy. not proofread cus i physically cannot read my own work but i hope theres not too many mistakes. if i missed any warnings pls lmk!
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
✷ when your first experience with smoking goes disastrously wrong at a crowded house party, your boyfriend, nishimura riki, stays by your side through the panic !
🗯️ 内容 marijuana use, smoking, anxiety symptoms, nausea, a bit of crying on reader's end, established relationship, first-time smoking, greening out, skinship, one forehead kiss, emotional reassurance !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : happy 1st of june, hoonguin nation ♡ this is kind of bad and rushed sawry . . also i was literally on wikihow’s how to enjoy a cigarette because i don't actually smoke so oops probably not that accurate but whatever >"< for my #1 plug!enha enjoyer, @bellaflippy 😎 thank you for da request mweheh
The bass was doing something foul to your chest cavity, and it wasn't the good kind of foul.
It pulsed through the floorboards of whatever house this was, you'd already forgotten the name of the girl who'd invited you, a friend of a friend of a friend, a thread so frayed it barely qualified as a connection. The lights were doing that thing where they strobed just slow enough to make you think the room was spinning when it absolutely was not.
Yet.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter, half-listening to someone talk about their semester abroad, nodding at intervals that you hoped approximated attentiveness, when Riki materialized beside you with that uncanny way he had of simply appearing in a space like he'd always been there. He smelled like cologne and cold air, having just come in from the balcony, and his hair was slightly windswept in a way that made him look like he'd been styled by the universe itself.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up," he said, leaning his hip against the counter next to you.
"I'm awake," you said. "I'm very awake. I'm so awake that I'm bored of being awake."
He laughed, the laugh that crinkled his eyes and showed his teeth and made you feel like you'd won something you hadn't even known was a competition. "Okay, well, that's the problem then. You need something to do." He glanced around the kitchen, someone was mixing something in a green cup, two people were arguing about music by the blender, a girl was taking a selfie with the cookie jar on the counter for reasons unknown to science, and then he tilted his head toward the back door. "Come outside with me. It's quieter."
You followed him. You'd follow him anywhere, which was a thought you pushed down so fast it practically bruised.
The backyard was small and dark, lit only by the amber glow of a porch light and the cherry-end of a joint being passed between two guys sitting on the steps. Riki greeted them with a chin jerk, and they shuffled over to make room. He sat, and you sat beside him, close enough that your knee pressed against his thigh. The night air was cool against your arms, and you regretted not bringing a jacket, but the warmth radiating off his side was enough to take the edge off.
One of the guys, who just so happened to be your seatmate’s crush, who’s name started with either a Ju or a Jo, passed the joint to Riki, who took it between his fingers with a practiced ease that made your chest do a somersault for reasons unrelated to the smoke.
He drew, held, exhaled through his nose, and the smoke curled upward like it was trying to escape the atmosphere.
Then he glanced at you, the joint held loosely between his index and middle finger, and raised an eyebrow.
"You wanna try?"
Your mouth went dry. You'd never smoked before, not cigarettes, not anything. You'd been the kid who sat cross-legged on the floor during D.A.R.E. presentations and took the pamphlets home to your mom. You were so straight-edged you were practically a ruler.
And yet—
"I wouldn't even know how," you admitted, and you hated how small your voice sounded, how uncertain, like you were confessing to something shameful.
Riki's expression didn't change, no mockery, no surprise, just that steady, dark-eyed gaze that made you feel like the only person in a twenty-kilometer radius. "That's fine," he said simply. "I'll show you."
He turned toward you, and his free hand came up to cup the side of your face. Resting there, his palm warm against your jaw, his thumb grazing the hinge of it.
"Breathe in slow," he said, his voice low and close. "Don't hold it too long your first time. And don't cough into the joint—just aim past it." He brought the joint to your lips, and you parted them, and you inhaled.
It was like breathing in a campfire. The smoke hit the back of your throat like something alive and furious, and you immediately gagged, turning your head to the side to hack into your elbow while Riki's hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, anchoring you.
"Easy, easy," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against the nape of your neck. "You're okay. Just breathe. Through your nose."
You wheezed. Your eyes were watering. The two guys on the steps were laughing, but not meanly. It was the kind of laugh that said they'd been exactly where you were, once. You blinked hard, sniffling, and Riki was still holding the back of your neck like you were something precious and fragile that he was afraid might shatter.
"That was terrible," you rasped.
"Yup, the first hit usually is," he said, and his mouth was doing that thing where it was trying not to smile but failing miserably, the corner of it quirking up in a way that made you want to bite him. "You want to try again?"
You did.
You don't know why the fuck you did — stubbornness, maybe, or the desire to seem cool in front of him, or just the simple animal wanting of putting your lips where his fingers had been.
You leaned in, and he guided the joint to your mouth again, and this time you pulled the smoke in more gently, holding it for a few seconds before letting it drift out.
"Better," he approved, and the warmth in his voice was enough to make your chest tight.
You passed it back. He took another drag. You sat in the dark and the quiet and the smell of smoke and growing things, and you waited to feel something.
It took about fifteen minutes.
It didn't come on like a wave or a rush or any of the poetic things you'd read about.
It came on like a tide, slow, creeping, pulling the sand out from under your feet so gradually that by the time you realized you were standing in deeper water, the shore was already far away.
Your heartbeat was loud. Not fast, just loud, like it had moved from your chest to your ears to the inside of your skull and was now echoing around in there like a drum in an empty gymnasium. Your hands felt foreign. You stared at them, turned them over, watched the lamplight play across your knuckles, and thought distantly that they looked like someone else's hands, like props you'd been handed at the door.
"Hey."
Riki's voice cut through the fog. You looked up. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't parse, definitely not worried, but alert, the way he looked right before a chorus hit, like he was reading the shape of something before it arrived.
"Are you okay? Dizzy? Anything?"
"I think," you started, and then stopped, because your tongue felt like it was made of something that tongues should not be made of. Cotton, maybe. Sand. "I think I feel weird."
"Weird how?"
You tried to articulate it.
Your heart was too loud and your hands were too far away and the ground felt like it was tilting, slowly, like a ship in mild seas, not enough to knock you over but enough to make you want to grip something.
Also, you were hot, too hot, and your skin was prickling with it, and the edges of your vision were doing something soft and strange, like a photograph left in the sun.
"Everything's too much," you whispered, and then your eyes were stinging, and you were mortified to realize that you were about to cry, which was absurd, because nothing was wrong, nothing was actually wrong, your body was just doing something you didn't understand and you couldn't make it stop and you were scared, you were so scared, and you couldn't say any of that so instead you just sat there with your lips pressed together trying not to let the tears fall.
"Hey, hey, hey." Riki's voice went soft in a way you'd never heard before, not his teasing-you-relentlessly voice, but something underneath all of that, something quiet and sure and private.
He stubbed out the joint on the step without looking away from you, and then both of his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up so you had to look at him.
"You're greening out," he said, and his tone was so calm it was almost funny. "It's okay. It happens. You're not going to be sick, you're just a little too damn high, no? It's going to feel really intense for a bit, like—really fucking intense. And then it's going to pass. I promise. I'm right here."
A tear slipped out, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb, swiping it away like it was nothing, like your tears were his responsibility and he was simply doing his job.
"I'm sorry," you choked. "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have—"
"Stop." Gentle, but firm. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, back and forth, back and forth, a rhythm like a lullaby. "You have nothing to apologize for. You tried something new and it was just too much for you, and that’s completely okay. That's not a crime or anything. Don’t worry.”
Your heart was still pounding, still too loud, but the panic was thinning now, like clouds parting, because his hands were on your face and his eyes were on yours and he was so steady, so impossibly steady, like he'd anchored himself to the ground just so you'd have something to hold onto.
"Breathe with me," he said.
"In—" He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and you copied him, pulling air in until your lungs were full. "—and out." He exhaled, and you exhaled, and the world tilted a little less. "Again. In—"
You breathed together. In and out, in and out, his hands steady on your face, his dark eyes holding yours the way a lighthouse holds a shoreline, slow and easy.
Your heartbeat slowed. The ground leveled. Your hands started to feel like yours again.
"There you go," he murmured. "Good. You're doing so good."
He didn't let go of your face. You didn't want him to. You leaned into his palms like a cat leaning into a touch, and he let you, shifting one hand to the back of your head, cradling it, his fingers sliding into your hair and scratching gently at your scalp in a way that sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with being high.
"I feel like some stupid ass idiot," you mumbled against his wrist.
"You feel like someone who's never done this before and did too much their first time," he corrected. "Which is what you are. And that's fine."
The two guys from the steps had gone back inside at some point, and the yard was quiet save for the muffled thump of bass through the walls and the singing of crickets in the dark.
Riki's arm slid around your shoulders, and he pulled you into his side, and you went willingly, collapsing against him like a puppet with its strings cut.
He was warm, solid, and he smelled like smoke and his cologne and something underneath that was just him, just warmth and boy, and you pressed your face into his shoulder and breathed.
"Still feeling weird?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your cheek.
"A little." A pause. "Less."
His hand was on your arm now, fingertips tracing idle patterns — circles, spirals, shapes that might have been letters, along the inside of your forearm. The touch was feather-light, almost absent-minded, and it was doing something to your nervous system that you didn't have the vocabulary to describe.
Every place he touched felt like a small sun, warm and bright and alive, and the anxiety that had been clawing at the edges of your mind melted away under the gentle insistence of his fingers on your skin.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he said.
"Floaty," you said. "And warm. And like..." You hesitated. "Like I want you to keep doing that forever."
His hand stilled for just a second, and then resumed its wandering, tracing up your arm to your shoulder, across the back of your neck, down your spine.
"Of course, I can do that," he said, and his voice was rough in a way you hadn't heard before, rough and soft at the same time, like sandpaper wrapped in silk.
You shifted against him, tilting your head up, and he looked down at you, and the porch light caught his features at an angle that made him look like a painting, all shadows and angles and that impossible jawline that probably had its own fanclub.
His eyes were warm and he was looking at you like you were something worth looking at, and the high was still humming through your veins but it was different now, not scary but soft, like floating in warm water, and everything felt gauzy and golden.
His hand came up to your face again.
Not cupping — just the backs of his fingers, trailing along your cheekbone, down the bridge of your nose, across the bow of your upper lip. Touching you like he was memorizing the architecture of your face, like he was reading you in braille, like you were a text he wanted to study until he knew every word by heart.
"You're okay now?" he asked again.
"I'm okay," you said, and meant it.
He smiled. It was small, just the faintest upturn at the corner of his mouth, but it reached his eyes, crinkling them, and it was so tender it almost hurt to look at.
Then he leaned down, and his lips pressed gently against your forehead, warm, dry, lingering, and he held there for a long moment, long enough for you to feel the shape of his mouth against your skin, long enough for the kiss to mean something, long enough for you to catalog it and file it away in the part of your brain where you kept the things you'd think about at 3 a.m. when you couldn't sleep.
When he pulled back, his forehead was almost touching yours, and his breath was warm on your face. He smelled like smoke and mint and something sweet underneath, and his fingers were still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand.
"Next time," he said quietly, "I'll make sure you take less. And I'll stay right next to you the whole time."
"Next time?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
He squeezed your hand. "You think I'm letting you do this with anyone else?"
The words landed somewhere between your ribs and refused to budge.
You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the crickets sang, and the bass thumped, and the world was still a little tilted and a little too bright and a little too much, but you were warm, you were safe, Riki was holding your hand, and he had kissed your forehead and he had said "next time" like it was a promise, like it was a given, like of course there would be a next time, because he wasn't going anywhere.
You rested your head against his shoulder again, and his arm tightened around you.
"You're still a little out of it," he observed, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Mm," you agreed. "But in a good way now."
"In a good way," he confirmed. And then, quieter, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure you could hear him but maybe hoping you could: "Good. That's good. That's exactly how you should feel."
A breeze rolled through the yard, cool against your bare arms, and you shivered. Without a word, Riki shifted, tugging the hem of his jacket out from where he'd been sitting on it, and draped it over your shoulders.
It was warm from his body heat and it smelled like him, and you pulled it tighter around yourself and pressed your nose to the collar and breathed, and he watched you do it with an expression that you couldn't see but could feel, warm and careful and something else.
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
dilf!psh x reader, dads bsf!psh, age gap, virginity loss, toxic parental relationship, alcoholism, daddy issues, fingering, mutual masturbation, recording, unprotected sex, hyung line mentioned, smoking, illit moka & minju mentioned, not proofread 6.8k wc
when your father's disgustingly good-looking best friend drops off your drunk dad, only to stay behind and distract you from the pain.
don't like? don't read.
you loved school.
not because you were some overly studious nerd who couldn't get enough of textbooks and homework, but because school felt freeing. it was the only place where your lungs didn’t burn with the suffocating scent of alcohol.
home was different.
you dreaded walking back every afternoon, fingers tightening around your bag as you stood outside the front door, already knowing what waited on the other side.
the smell hit first.
sharp. bitter. stale.
it clung to the walls, the furniture and your clothes like it had permanently seeped into every corner of your life.
you hated it. you hated what caused it even more.
your dad.
ever since your mom died from a brutal car accident, your life had never been the same.
what was once a warm, happy family slowly fell apart piece by piece. your dad changed after her death. at first it was only a drink or two after work, small enough for you to pretend it wasn’t becoming a problem.
but as the days turned into months, and the months into years, his grief only grew heavier.
and so did the drinking.
he drowned himself in alcohol so often that eventually, it felt like he stopped being your father altogether. the man who used to laugh with your mom in the kitchen and drive you to school every morning became nothing more than a stranger passing through the house.
now, you couldn’t even remember the last proper conversation the two of you had without it turning into some sort of argument.
it had probably been almost two years.
you kept your bag slung over one shoulder as you sat in class, staring at your notebook without really seeing it.
you blinked slowly, forcing yourself to write a few words down just so it looked like you were listening.
around you, everyone else seemed more awake than you felt.
moka was somewhere nearby, probably already done copying notes and now quietly kicking your chair just to get your attention.
“psst,” she whispered. “you’re literally spacing out again.”
you turned your head slightly, forcing a small hum of acknowledgment.
“i’m not,” you mumbled.
instead of turning back to her work, she leaned forward a little.
“hey,” she whispered again. “random question.”
“do you think minju likes anyone?” that got your attention.
you glanced at her. “what?”
moka tried (and failed) to look casual.
“nothing. i was just wondering.”
you stared at her for a second, “you like her.”
“shh!” moka immediately hissed, looking around even though nobody was paying attention. “keep your voice down.”
you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips, “wow.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
for the first time all lesson, moka looked more distracted than you did.
the bell eventually came like a relief you didn’t realize you were waiting for.
chairs pushed back, the room filled with noise again, and people started packing up faster than the teacher could even finish speaking.
you moved a little slower, slipping your notebook into your bag while everyone else rushed out.
moka waited for you by the door, rocking back on her heels.
the hallway was crowded, loud with students spilling out of classrooms, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping everywhere.
you kept your gaze forward, letting moka talk beside you about something random—someone’s drama, a test she barely studied for, a teacher she didn’t like.
you responded here and there, but your answers were short, half there.
at one point, minju passed by with a few friends and moka's sentence immediately cut off.
you watched her eyes follow minju for a second before she quickly looked away.
“you are so obvious,” you said.
“i literally didn't do anything.”
“right.”
“i didn't!”
by the time you reached the school gates, the air outside felt slightly better.
you slowed down without realizing it as you began to focus on what moka had to say.
“come on, y/n!” moka whined, dramatically tugging on your arm as the two of you walked out of school. “it’s been forever, and we’re always hanging out at my place. i wanna go to yours for once too.”
you let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“maybe another time.”
“that’s what you said last time,” she pouted, narrowing her eyes at you suspiciously. “and the time before that. are you secretly hiding something in your house or something?”
if only she knew.
your grip tightened slightly around your bag. “it’s just messy.”
“messy?” moka scoffed. “y/n, my room literally looks like a tornado hit it every other day. i don’t care.”
you forced out a small laugh, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
moka slowed her steps, her expression softening almost immediately. “hey,” she said quietly, nudging your shoulder. “you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”
the words made something uncomfortable twist in your chest.
because something was wrong.
something had been wrong for years now.
but no matter how many times moka asked, you could never bring yourself to say it out loud. admitting it would make everything feel too real.
so instead, you smiled. "nothing’s wrong,” you lied.
moka stared at you for a moment longer before sighing dramatically again. “fineee. but one day i’m showing up at your house uninvited.”
your heart nearly stops. "don't do that," you give her a playful smile to cover up the anxiousness that filled your heart.
"there’s a convenience store near your house, right? we can just go there.” she suggests.
you paused for a second. “…okay,” you said quietly.
moka immediately lit up and the two of you started walking. her chatter filling the space as she talked about random things you barely registered. your steps slowed slightly the closer you got to your neighborhood, that familiar weight settling in your chest again.
same streets. same air. same feeling you always tried to escape after school.
moka, however, didn’t notice. she was too busy skipping ahead a few steps, pointing at random things like she always did.
inside the convenience store, everything felt almost normal again.
the soft buzz of the fridge, the quiet beeping at the register, the crinkle of snack bags as you and moka wandered the aisles like you had all the time in the world.
moka had already claimed half the store in her arms again. “this is for later,” she said, dropping a pack of chips into her basket. “and this is for now. and this is just… because i feel like it.”
you shook your head slightly, picking out a drink and tossing it into your own hand-held basket. for a moment, it almost felt easy.
then the door slammed open, the bell above it rang too loudly.
you both paused.
a man stumbled inside, slightly off balance, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. his breath was heavy, his eyes unfocused, and he walked straight to the alcohol section without even looking around.
he grabbed a few cans of beer then stopped at the counter.
the cashier greeted him politely, but the man didn’t respond properly. he just stared for a second too long, like he was trying to understand something that wasn’t making sense.
and then his voice suddenly snapped through the store.
“why are you charging me this much? are you trying to rob me or something?”
you stiffened a bit.
the cashier blinked, clearly startled. “sir, that’s the price—”
“don’t lie to me,” the man barked, slamming the cans down harder than necessary. “you think i don’t know what you people do?”
the entire store felt like it had gone quiet.
a few customers glanced over. someone near the entrance stepped back. moka slowly lowered her basket.
you weren’t looking at the cashier anymore.
you were looking at the man.
and something in your chest tightened, cold and familiar, before you could stop it. the moment you realized who it was, everything in your body went still.
the voice. the posture.
no.
no, no, no.
your basket slipped slightly in your hand.
“y/n?” moka whispered, noticing your sudden change. “hey… what’s wrong?”
you couldn’t answer, your throat felt tight like something had wrapped around it and pulled.
your dad’s voice cut through the store again, louder now, more unsteady.
“what are you staring at?”
he turned and his eyes landed on you.
for a split second, there was nothing there. no recognition, just confusion. then it hit him.
“oh,” he said, voice sharpening instantly. “so you’re here.”
moka frowned, looking between you and him. “wait… you know him?”
you still couldn’t speak.
your dad stepped away from the counter, unsteady but suddenly focused on you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, pointing vaguely. “why are you even out? what, you think you can just—”
his voice rose, drawing attention again.
you took a small step back without realizing it.
your breathing was wrong now. too fast. too shallow. like your body didn’t know how to stay inside itself properly.
moka grabbed your arm, panicked. “y/n, hey—hey, look at me.”
his face twisted as he noticed your reaction.
“oh, don’t start with that,” he barked suddenly, louder. “don’t do that, you guilt tripping bitch.”
his words blurred together after that.
all you could feel was the noise. the store. the breathing. the weight of being seen like this. and moka, beside you, suddenly very, very unsure of what she was watching.
your dad’s eyes stayed on you, unfocused and unsteady, like he was seeing you through something warped.
“stop standing there like that,” he snapped suddenly. “you always do this. you always show up at the worst times and make everything—”
he cut himself off, jaw tightening as he dragged a hand down his face.
“you don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, fraying at the edges. “the way you look at me.. it's just like her.”
your chest tightened.
he pointed vaguely in your direction, not even fully steady on his feet.
“i wish i never had you.” he said sharply.
it wasn’t a big sentence but it landed like one.
something in you cracked open, too loud in your head. your vision blurred before you could stop it.
moka said your name again, more urgent this time, but it barely reached you. you took a step back before you ran out of the store. vision blurred which completely blind sighted you.
it didn’t matter, you kept moving anyway.
the park had gone quiet by the time midnight rolled in, leaving only the distant hum of cars and the soft rustle of trees moving in the cold air.
you had stayed there for hours without really meaning to, just sitting through the weight of your thoughts until everything blurred.
eventually, your legs carried you home on their own. the closer you got, the heavier everything felt, the familiar streets and dim streetlights doing nothing to ease the tight feeling in your chest.
when you finally reached your building, you paused in front of the door longer than you should have. for a moment, you just stood there, staring at it, as if waiting for something to change if you delayed it long enough.
but nothing did, so you went inside.
the smell hit you the second you stepped in.
stale alcohol, thick and sour, already filling the air like it had nowhere else to go. it clung to everything instantlu, slipping into your lungs before you even had time to brace yourself for it.
then, slowly, you stepped in and let the door close behind you.
you paused in the doorway for a moment, eyes instinctively moving to the living room, expecting to see your dad like usual—slumped on the couch, tv on, bottle in hand.
but the couch was empty, no tv, no movement, no sign of him at all.
your chest tightened slightly as you stepped inside, realizing pretty quickly what that meant. he wasn’t home. he had gone out again.
you did enjoy these moments when he was out, when the apartment didn’t feel as suffocating and you could move around freely without the fear of running into him.
you made your way to your room, closing the door behind you a little too softly, like even sound felt dangerous tonight.
once you were inside, you sat on the edge of your bed and finally reached for your phone. the screen lit up immediately, a few notifications already waiting for you.
there were multiple messages, all sent not long after you ran out of the store.
where are you??
please answer me
im so sorry about him, i didnt know your dad was like that
are you okay??
you stared at moka’s messages for a moment longer, your thumb hovering before you finally typed back.
im okay
you didn’t wait for a reply.
instead, you locked your phone and set it aside, like that alone could shut the world out for a while. then you got up and headed to the bathroom, moving on autopilot.
the shower helped a little, but not enough to really fix anything. just enough to blur your thoughts at the edges, to make the day feel slightly farther away than it was before.
when you were done, you changed into something comfortable—an oversized shirt that swallowed your frame, soft shorts, and a pair of socks that made your steps quieter against the floor.
you didn’t feel better.
but at least you felt a little less like you were holding everything together.
you eventually made your way downstairs, more out of habit than hunger, opening the fridge and staring at it for a moment before grabbing whatever was easiest to make.
a classic nutella sandwich.
the quiet of the apartment helped a little while you moved around the kitchen, focused on the small task in front of you.
suddenly, you hear from the front door a soft click, followed by it opening.
your hands froze mid-motion.
for a second you didn’t even breathe, just standing there as the sound of footsteps reached the entryway.
your mind immediately filled in the worst possibility.
him.
without thinking, you crouched down quickly and slid under the kitchen counter, pulling your legs in close and pressing yourself into the small space as quietly as you could.
your heart was already racing.
a heavier sound, like someone struggling slightly with weight, something being shifted carefully rather than dropped or thrown. the kind of sound that made your stomach tighten all over again because it didn’t fit the scenario your brain had already prepared for.
you hesitantly shifted just enough to peek out from your hiding spot.
what you saw made you freeze completely.
a man you didn’t recognize was inside your apartment, steadying your dad’s unconscious body with a firm grip as he guided him toward the couch. your dad looked completely out of it, barely supported, his weight slumped against the stranger’s shoulder.
the man set him down carefully, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t fall off, before straightening up and finally glancing around the room.
that was when you really saw him properly.
he was really good-looking. like genuinely breath taking. sharp jawline, straight nose that gave his face a clean, structured look.
holy shit.
you slowly rose from under the counter, the man hadn’t noticed you yet, his attention still on your dad as he adjusted him slightly on the couch, making sure he was stable.
carefully, you stepped out into the open, each movement slow and hesitant. only when your footsteps lightly brushed against the floor did he pause.
he turned.
his eyes landed on you, and for a brief second his expression shifted—subtle surprise flickering across his face, like he genuinely hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer before he spoke, voice calm but curious.
“oh? i didn't know he had a daughter.”
of course that fucker wouldn’t have told anyone about you.
you stepped a little closer, your eyes drifting past the stranger to where your father now lay on the couch, completely out of it. the sight made something in your stomach twist. slumped, unresponsive, the reality of it settling in all over again in a way you didn’t want to look at for too long.
you forced your gaze away.
the man noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. without saying anything else, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen. a silent cue to go with him.
after a brief hesitation, you followed him.
the apartment felt quieter the farther you moved from the living room, like the tension there stayed behind with your father. the kitchen light was softer, warmer somehow, and he leaned slightly against the counter as he waited, glancing at you once you stepped in behind him.
“sorry, should’ve introduced myself,” he said, glancing at you properly. “i’m sunghoon.”
you noticed the way his eyes lingered on your face for a moment, like he was quietly trying to place you in the picture he already had in his head.
“i’m y/n,” you said softly, your voice coming out smaller than you intended.
there was a brief pause after that.
you found yourself looking back at him properly too, the thick brows that gave him a naturally composed look. the moles on his face, one sitting close to the bridge of his nose, another a little lower on his cheek.
he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers for a second before lighting it. the small spark briefly lit his face, then faded as he took a slow drag, his eyes still resting on you like he hadn’t missed a single thing you’d said or done.
the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy in a way you couldn’t quite name.
“sorry about your dad,” he said after a moment, exhaling faintly to the side so the smoke didn’t drift toward you. his tone stayed calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was something softer underneath it. “i know he’s… not easy to deal with.”
you weren’t sure what to say to that.
“it’s okay… i’m used to it,” you said quietly, lowering your gaze to the floor instead of looking at him.
sunghoon watched you for a moment, his cigarette still between his fingers as he took another slow drag. there was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, just faintly amused in a way that made him look even more unreadable.
“we were out having drinks and he passed out like usual,” he said casually, exhaling smoke to the side. his eyes never really left you. “normally i wouldn’t see anyone home. this is the first time i’ve seen you.”
his tone made it sound simple, like he was just stating a fact, but the way he looked at you suggested he was taking in more than just the situation. the way his eyes roamed from your face, down to your chest and legs.
was he checking you out?
he tilted his head slightly, cigarette still between his fingers as he held it out a little in your direction, like it was an offer that didn’t require much thought.
“want one?”
your eyes dropped to it for a second before flicking back up to him, “actually, are you even old enough to?” he asked, tone flat but with a hint of amusement under it.
you scoffed under your breath, the smallest bit of defiance slipping through. “i’m 18. of course i can.”
then your gaze dropped again, voice quieter this time.
“i’ve done it before...”
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away.
he studied you for a moment longer, like he was weighing your words instead of just hearing them. then, without much ceremony, he pulled another cigarette from the pack and offered it anyway.
“then take one, little girl,” he said simply.
your heart skips a beat at the nickname. cheeks flushing before you hesitantly grabbed it.
a lighter flicked between his fingers a second later, and soon enough the quiet of your kitchen was filled with that faint, drifting smoke curling into the air between you.
the kitchen stayed quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge and the slow burn of the cigarette filling the space between you.
sunghoon leaned against the counter like he had nowhere else to be, eyes drifting over you for a moment before settling again. not intense, but observant in a way that made it hard to ignore.
you shifted slightly under his gaze, unsure what to say or do with the silence.
a small exhale left him, almost like a quiet laugh.
“not much of a talker, are we?” he said, voice low and calm, like he was commenting on the weather rather than you.
your eyes flicked up to him briefly before dropping again. “i just don’t know what to say.”
that seemed to amuse him a little more. he took another slow drag, watching you through the smoke as if he was figuring you out.
sunghoon’s gaze drifted away from you, slowly scanning the room like he was taking it in properly for the first time instead of just standing in it.
that’s when he stopped and his eyes settled on the wall behind you.
there was an old framed photo hanging slightly off-center, like it had been put there a long time ago and never adjusted since.
you followed his gaze.
it was a picture from years ago, before everything changed. you were thirteen, caught in a moment you barely felt like belonged to you anymore. smiling too brightly, arms wrapped around your mom and dad in a way that looked so easy, so normal, it almost didn’t feel real now.
sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. his expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing through his eyes as he looked at it longer than expected.
then he glanced back at you, like he was comparing the photo to the person standing in front of him now.
“you look so happy in that,” he said after a pause.
your throat tightened immediately.
“i was,” you said, then quickly added, softer, “i guess.”
the words hung in the air longer than you meant them to. sunghoon’s expression shifted slightly, something quieter settling in his eyes as he looked at you instead of the photo now.
“he's been like this since your mom died?” he asked. “that man always complains and goes on and on about his dead wife, especially moments before he passes out.”
you chuckled lightly, the words hitting a little too close. “yeah,” you managed.
sunghoon glanced back at the photo “he must've loved her a lot.”
the smile on your face faltered.
“i guess.”
a quiet silence settled between you. your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“sometimes i think he forgets he still has someone here.”
the words left his mouth so casually that he probably didn't realize what he'd just said. but you felt them.
all at once.
because he was right.
your father talked about your mother constantly. missed your mother constantly. drank because of your mother constantly.
and somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being his daughter and started becoming just another thing in the house.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down because you couldn’t really look at either him or the photo anymore.
you couldn't even give a response back and that alone was enough to make your chest feel worse.
then sunghoon moved closer. he put down the cigarette before his hand lifted slightly, hesitating for a second like he was deciding whether or not to cross that line, before gently resting on your shoulder and pulling you in.
safe in a way you weren’t used to.
you didn’t even realize you were crying until your face pressed into his shoulder, the tears coming out quieter at first before you couldn’t hold them back anymore.
sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. he just stayed there, one hand lightly at your back, the other at the back of your waist, rubbing a small circle with his thumb.
“i'm sorry baby,” he said eventually, low and close enough that only you could hear it.
his words suddenly crash all over you. reminding you of the times of when your father would comfort you like this in his arms.
he exhales once, small, like he’s pulling himself back.
“it must be hard,” he says. you nod faintly, but don’t move away.
you cried pathetically into his shoulder as he embraced you even tighter, before pulling his head back.
“how about we go to your room?” he said quietly. “we wouldn’t want your father waking up and seeing you like this.”
you blinked, still trying to steady your breathing, and gave a slow nod.
sunghoon knows he shouldn't.
especially not with one of his friends daughter.
he knows he shouldn't be doing this, yet he can't help but continue placing small hickeys across your neck, spreading them down till your collarbone.
youre resting on top of his lap, hands cramped up against his chest as you nervously grasp onto his shirt, feeling confused how you even ended up here.
"i- i don't know if we should be d-doing this..." your voice shakes as he licks over one of the many spots he marked on you.
he chuckles at your words, "shh.. baby, let daddy take care of you alright?"
his hands grip firmly at your waist before he goes back in for another kiss. it's gentle and slow, almost like as if he's savouring the taste of your lips.
you try matching back the rhythm and movement of his lips, but fail miserably as you accidentally bite too hard on your own tongue. you wince lightly from the pain as sunghoon pulls back and smirks at you.
"poor bunny doesn't know how to kiss?" he smirks, almost mocking you for not knowing how to.
you bite your lip, attempting to hide the embarrassment spreading across your face. sunghoon notices and brings his thumb to your lip.
"don't worry my little girl, daddy'll teach you everything."
fuck, his words. the way he comforted you. the way he held you. why was it enough build up the wetness between your legs now?
before you can react, his mouth is on yours again. it's soft, slow and warm, "don't overthink it, just follow my lips," he mumbles against your mouth.
you start to follow the movement of his lips, your hands roaming towards the nape of his neck as he deepens the kiss. his mouth opens slightly as he slowly brings his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours.
you quiver slightly, unsure of what to do but when sunghoon slides his tongue against yours, your tongue is able to naturally follow his. the kiss had gotten so heated, so wet and sloppy.
as the kiss continued, you felt his growing erection form harder beneath you. in the desperate state you were in, your body instinctively grinded forward on its own, earning a groan from sunghoon.
sunghoon pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. your eyes were hazy, almost like as if you were hallucinated from the kiss.
"keep doing that f'me, you wanna feel good yeah?" you nod your head at his words.
at his orders you continue to grind your clothed core against the large bulge in his pants. your whimper at the friction as you hold onto his arms to balance yourself.
"fuck.. you're doing so well for me," he groans at the pleasure.
his hand suddenly comes to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. "stick out your tongue," you're confused but you do as he says, slowly sticking it out. he spits in your mouth, letting it slowly drip until it reaches your tongue.
sunghoon smirks at the sigh infront of him, you with your tongue out thats all covered in his spit, "swallow it all f'me, get a good taste."
without hesitation, you swallow. sunghoon nods his head in approval before his hips continue to move against yours again. his pace is faster now as youre both desperately grinding against each other for release.
"f-fuck.. feels so good.." you moan out as you grip his arms even tighter now.
suddenly, sunghoon grips your shoulders and pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering on top of you. "you look so pretty baby," he leaves a peck to your lips before slowly trailing down from your jaw to your neck, "have you ever done anything like this before?"
when you shake your head, sunghoon gives you a sly smile. "my bunny is still a virgin huh? how cute."
sunghoon doesn't waste time to lift your shirt up, exposing the cute pink bra you wore underneath. he brings his face closer to your clothed chest, placing a kiss right in the middle of your breasts.
he then lifts your bra up aswell, your breasts finally exposed as the cold air hits your skin. your nipples slightly harden at the sudden temperature drop.
sunghoon licks his lips before attaching his mouth to one your nipples, flicking his tongue over it. you gasp at the warmth of his mouth on your chest as you hold onto the bedsheets.
his hands trail from your shoulders down to your thighs, massaging them slowly before his hand makes its way over to your clothed core.
you're absolutely soaked through your shorts, sunghoon smirks at the feeling of your wetness before slowly rubbing your clit through the soaked fabric.
"fuck baby.. you're so wet, all this for me?" he coos at you as you nod your head while gasping at the pleasure his fingers are offering you.
sunghoon grabs onto the hem of your shorts, tugging them once before pulling them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely bare underneath him.
he curses under his breath at the sight of you. you're so undeniably innocent yet so sexy, he can't believe his friend was able to create someone like you.
your legs close together as you feel the embarrassment of being nude hit you. sunghoon notices and forces them apart again, "keep 'em open for me,"
sunghoon doesn't wait any longer before removing his clothing too. he first removes his shirt, revealing his slightly toned abs and biceps which he catches you staring at before smirking to himself.
his hands grip onto the sides of his pants before he pulls them down just below his boxers, his bulge being even more prominent now. his thumbs tug inside his boxers before he slides them down too just half way, revealing his thick cock which was already leaking precum.
your mouth dropped slightly. you were shocked or more should you say... scared? nervous? he was huge. even his tip seemed like it'd be painful enough for you.
sunghoon noticed the nervousness on your face and chuckled, "aw, is my little girl scared? 's okay, daddy's cock will make you feel reaaal good." he says before he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead.
your heart beats like crazy as the wetness continues to pool up underneath you. sunghoon's hands make way to your clit, rubbing it gently in circles.
you grind against his hand, desperate for more. sunghoon only continues to keep slowly rubbing your clit, not giving you the full attention your body craves.
“p-please…” you whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat.
“please what?” he asked quietly.
"your f-fingers.. nghh.. please!" you cry out. sunghoon smirks at the way you beg for it.
"since my bunny's been so good, she deserves it." he whispers loud enough that you can hear it.
his fingers go down to your hole, which was already oozing out the slick and wetness that has been building up for the past 30 minutes since he's been in your room.
he slowly circles over your hole before pushing a finger in slowly. you let out a pleasured moan at the feeling, your body immediately feeling the heat of his fingers.
he starts thrusting his finger in and out slowly, the wetness coating his finger as you moan at the sensation. you continue to grind forward, still desperate for more.
"you know if you want more, you're gonna have to earn for it." he murmured before tapping his cock against your thigh, signaling for what you should do.
you look up at him nervously before looking down at his huge cock, the precum already leaking out. before your hand can fully reach out, sunghoon grabs your wrist with his free hand before spitting onto your palm.
with his spit all over your palm, you sit up slightly as your hand spreads the wetness of his saliva all over his cock before slowly rubbing his tip against the palm of your hand.
sunghoon hisses at the feeling, "fuck, keep doing that baby," he groans before adding a second finger into your cunt, earning a loud moan from you.
and before you both know it, you're both now like two animals in heat desperate to get each other off. you stroke sunghoon's cock at a medium pace, taking in whatever you can as sunghoon keeps fingering you at a faster speed.
"ngh.. shit if you keep doing that.. 'm gonna cum," sunghoon groans loudly.
you bite your lip as you continue to stroke his cock faster, a desperate attempt to match the speed in which he was fingering you at. he was relentless, abusing your little cunt like it didn't matter.
"feel's weird.. i think 'm gonna pee! s-sunghoon stop!" you whimper loudly, the heat in your stomach continuing to boil up. "then do it baby. do it all over me." he demands.
and with that, you cum. more like you squirt, all over him. your legs tremble as your orgasm hits you, your grip on sunghoons cock getting slightly loose but just enough for him to reach his climax and start shooting his cum all over your stomach.
"fuck.. was that your first time squirting bunny?" he questions, looking at the sight beneath him in awe before looking back up at you, seeing you nod your head in fluster.
gosh, you're really going to kill him.
he can't wait to ruin you.
without hesitation, sunghoon pushes you back down again, making you flat against your bed as he spreads open your legs again.
you look down and see that he's still hard. fuck, his sex drive is insane.
he grabs the base of his cock, positioning himself perfectly as he starts to slide his cock up and down your wet cunt, holding onto your thighs for support.
you let out a moan, your cunt still sensitive from your previous orgasm but the pleasure overtakes the sensitivity. he continues to grind against your cunt until he pulls back, slapping his cock against your clit.
"'s not gonna fit.. way too big.." you bite your lip in nervousness as sunghoon lets out a smug smile.
"shhh, daddy'll make it fit. just hold on f'me my little girl," he mumbles into your ear.
he slowly starts pushing the tip in, the pain immediately hitting you, "'s so painful.. daddy it hurts.." you whimper out in pain as your eyes begin to tear up, the nickname coming from your lips too naturally.
sunghoon could cum from your words just now, but it only encourages him to keep going as he continues to push himself in further, filling you up nice and slowly.
sunghoon leans down to kiss you as you whine against his lips, as he finally pushes himself all the way in, having you fully filled up with him now, "fuck, you're so tight. daddy's gonna fuck your little cunnie so good."
you squirm as he starts thrusting into your cunt, his cock ramming in and out you as the sound of your wet cunt and his sloppy thrusts echo throughout your room.
you're so sure that you're moaning loud enough that it could even wake up your dad, but you didn't even care anymore as the pain quickly turned into pleasure as sunghoon was balls deep in you.
"fuuuuck... so good, your pussy is clenching around me. you really love daddy's cock hm?" he almost mocks you but sees as you desperately nod your head.
"yes.. yes! fuck yes 'm loving daddy's cock so much! want m-more!" you whine loudly, drool spilling out of your lips as pleasure overtakes you.
sunghoon continues to quicken his pace, ramming his cock in and out you so deeply as he brings his hand to your stomach and presses down. you could've sworn you almost saw stars at that.
"d-daddy fuck..! nghh... 'm gonna cum.." you whimper.
sunghoon bites your earlobe, "mm, cum for daddy. let it all out," he whispers into your ear.
and with that, you come undone. you grip onto the bedsheets tightly and your legs shake violently as you cum all over his cock, your vision turning white for a few seconds as the orgasm hits you hard.
sunghoon chuckles at how hard you came, slowing down his thrusts to let you ride out your orgasm. your grip slowly loosens on your bedsheets as your breathing starts to slow down and become more calm.
suddenly, sunghoon starts to continue his relentless thrusting,"i still haven't came yet, gonna abuse and use up your lil cunnie." he groans as he quickens up his pace.
the dirty wet sounds of your intimate areas meeting each other fill up the room. one of his hands hold onto your hip as the other goes up to your breast, grabbing and squeezing it as he watches the way they bounce with each thrust.
sunghoon can finally feel the heat in his stomach brew up, "shit, 'm gonna cum inside this pussy," he groans before he quickly grabs his phone and starts to record.
his angles it just right to show how his cock thrusts into you just right while also showing how perfectly your breasts bounce with your mouth open from the pleasure.
sunghoon groans loudly as his orgasm hits him, his cum immediately filling you up. gosh you feel so thick and filled. sunghoon brings down the camera, showing a close up of his cock inside you before pulling out.
as he pulls out, he records how his cum mixed with your wetness oozes out of your hole. he smirks at the sight, bringing the camera up to show the cum over your stomach and then your dazed face as you breathe heavily.
he grabs your face making you look at the camera, "who does this little cunt belong to?" he demands an answer, placing a gentle slap to your clit as you let out a yelp before answering, "y-yours!"
he smirks before rubbing your thigh to soothe out the pain, "yeah? you belong to daddy now. i'll treat you so good, my little girl."
he ends the video before putting his phone back into his pocket. he falls onto the side next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he rubs your back gently.
your face stayed buried against his chest, his presence warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed until now.
“you did so well my bunny,” he murmured softly after a moment. “i’m so proud of you.”
his voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. you held onto him a little tighter at his words, your breath uneven.
“don’t leave me… please,” you said, barely above a whisper.
he went still for a second, then shifted just enough to look down at you.
his hand came up to gently hold your cheek, thumb brushing lightly as he steadied you.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
and after a pause, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent reassurance.
you stayed there for a moment longer, holding onto him like you were afraid the feeling might disappear if you let go too soon.
jake: dude shes fucking gorgeous
jay: holy shit, there's no way thats his daughter. im so jealous.
heeseung: I wanna use her up too. Not fair Sunghoon.
sunghoon smirks at his friends messages. of course he had to send it to the groupchat (which obviously did not include your dad).
the video of which his cum dripped out of your pussy and where you said that you belonged to sunghoon was enough to drive him and all of his friends crazy (and get all of them hard).
sunghoon: she's totally innocent too, her pussy was so tight.
jay: sounds like heaven.
jake: this isnt fair howd you find this angel wtf??
heeseung: Lets pass her around, she'd probably enjoy that.
jay: we can tell.
jake: shes definitely secretly a slut who likes older men.
jake: cmon hoon.
sunghoon chuckles at his phone.
sunghoon: maybe.
@evanificais do not steal or recreate.
authors note: hii :3 first ever fic, hope y'all enjoy. not proofread cus i physically cannot read my own work but i hope theres not too many mistakes. if i missed any warnings pls lmk!
