• in which you accidentally let jungwon know he's been cheated on, and instead of killing the messenger he... falls in love with you?
pairing senior center director!jungwon x preschool teacher!fem reader
genre crack, raunchy, neighbors au, angst, fluff
warnings profanity, crude humor, ship content, just a lot.
author’s note heeseung’s official introduction as the middleman of dsm also a long ass chapter to make up for the two weeks i neglected this series for oops.
⋮ ⌗ ┆概要⨾ pearl bite restores the smiles of vampires and humans alike, folks travelling nationwide to attain results from the man and myth himself, park sunghoon. running a successful dental practice isn't easy, long hours invested and feeding schedules sidelined. luckily for him, you've never been one to forget.
朴成训 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 5.6k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、heavy mentions of blood & biting/feeding (sunghoon feeds from the reader during sex)、condescending dom!sunghoon、sub!reader、established relationship、hints of brat & brat tamer dynamics、degradation/humiliation、vaginal fingering、handjob、semi public sex、exhibitionism、breath play、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、hints of pain kink、hung!hoon、size & bulge kink、slight praise & crying、reference to marking/beard burn、an attempt at some fluff and angst..petnames used: perfect/sweet girl、princess.⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条⨾ so...how about them vampire brand drops? 😁 the teasers released so far feel really fun but are so polished and align so well wih enha's vampire concept! their creative team always has my heart. they definitely have my heart for this concept alone, which...i wrote because my other wips were mocking me 😭 perhaps imposter syndrome will give me a break the next time i visit them, but for now, enjoy this corner of my brain :3 haven't written about vampires before, so a lot of creative freedom is taken here! let your imagination run free and as always, much loveeee! <333
Downtown is abuzz, springtime bringing out lifeforms in their fullest, humans on a leisurely stroll and vampires in their element, nightfall cast to upheave the sluggishness of day, canines bared and timeless beauty arresting. On the way to your destination, a concrete jungle of scaffolding and pets on leashes, you stop at an intersection. Cars zoom, traffic lights ticking down until they turn green again. The road, a blur of cars would usually have your attention, if not for the huge billboard plastered above the pizzeria and jazz bar just ahead.
Pearl Bite: A bloodless white, a perfect smile.
Your own faux canines show, tongue run beneath their point as your eyes dazzle at the advert. Specifically, the creator and model for Pearl Bite ─ your one and only boyfriend.
College sweethearts, Sunghoon describes your romance as a sneaky attack on your behalf, nothing but his passion on his mind, only to be derailed. The brilliance of your smile, the heartiness of your laugh, your endless glow he couldn't shy away from. The next century is meant to build upon his newly-found interest in dentistry, open his own practice with amassed generational wealth and give back to his community. His initial plan only accounts for vampires, at the mercy of many cycled conversations of blood-stained fangs and how there's no vampire-equivalent for teeth-whitening. Then he meets you, unknowingly opens himself up more to the human experience, recognizes how they can differ vastly from his own, yet share so many similarities.
You're the most selfless person he knows, a long-line of people served before you're last in line. Amongst the juggle of others' needs and aspirations, yours kind of included somewhere, he learns you're a product of everything you've ever loved and suffered from too. In the months passing too quick for his liking - still toeing the line of friendship(ish) - you bare yourself to him in the late night diner you work at.
The one he walks you home from, drinks the shitty coffee because you've brewed it. The things vampires do for love.
In a dim corner booth, your chin perches on your folded arms, fingers drumming against a table you're yet to clean and are honestly too tired to at this point. It's been non-stop shifts packed into a never-ending semester, and whilst your job's meant to supplement your means of living, it also serves another purpose.
"I owe my mom everything," you start, the bat of your lashes turning Sunghoon into a statue, knowing what's to come yet unsure. Uncertain how to proceed. "No matter how little we had to our name, she always made sure I was taken care of. That if one of us was happy, it was always me,"
Your nose twitches, eyes glossy with a sigh coming from trembling lips. A vague crack sounds in his chest.
He wishes his hand had the kind of warmth you'd lean into.
"Losing her best friend, and in a way, losing me ─ has brought her to her knees," your fingers drum, pupils shaking as you will your tears to only exist before your waterline. "I'm doing as much as I can, but there's only so much to do from across the country. I can't check in on her and the house between lectures, I can't pay for anything medical other than some lousy insurance, I can't transfer that weight to myself,"
"Because at least then, it wouldn't be her burden to bear."
The welled emotions in your chest demand you to straighten, more space for lungs to expand and when stray tears fall, you can only exhale, elbows propped to the table to wipe them away. Your hand falls to the surface in perfect timing, searing skin meeting a cool, steady palm. You're just as still as him, the thump of your heart felt in Sunghoon's fingertips, all the way through to his ears ringing with its race. Only empathy occupies him, remnants of a life before immortality tethering you two together by more than held hands, the quiet compassion he delivers sticking with you forever.
Time has since passed, that corner booth a bittersweet memory. In spite of long-carried pain, you and your mom see brighter days ─ graduation, your first adult job, the return of her smile. Depression has a way of mystifying the future ahead of you, the present clouded in miserable, inescapable grey clouds. To push on takes all the more effort, so things start to give ─ sleep, appetite and the wither of everything else. While she's managed to pick herself up by the aid of you and others, your mom still holds a keepsake she'd rather do without. A dimmed smile you're doing your best to help restore. But in a household where annual doctor's trips are rare, the luxury doesn't come easy. And by the time you're examining what other expenses to cut back on, Sunghoon pitches his latest project.
Pearl Bite, for humans and vampires alike.
Endless trials, modifications, moulds that have bitten the dust and brave participants that bring his dream into fruition. Only now, his dream accounts for not only you, but your mother. Additional modules and clinicals to fit in the study of human teeth, revitalizing the last part of a past your mother is moving forward from. And when everything's said and done, your mother instinctively cowers from the mirror before she weeps, holding onto Sunghoon with a life force as gratitude soaks into his white coat. In the corner, his eyes find you, the water-lined tears in your eyes like then, now reflecting the kind of appreciation and love he knows is priceless.
Pearl Bite takes off, his humble practice fighting to accommodate for the onslaught of patients he tries helping. People come from far and wide, all with a story that picks at their nails and prompts reluctance when it comes time for Sunghoon's inspection. Overbites, plaque, shaven-down fangs, blood stains ─ the list goes on. However, their reluctance is all but forgotten once he commits himself to their well-being, a sigh of relief filling his mask before he hands over what feels like a magic mirror, sorrow turning into happiness. One practice isn't enough, not for endless clients, or aspiring dentists with the same aspirations. Multiple dot themselves across the country, his time split between sights he flies to (your stomach still drops whenever both your feet leave the ground). He has a line of products, an alternative solution for those he cannot meet and to no surprise, it takes off. You climb your own career ladder, finding something just as meaningful and building your life together with the man who saved yours and your mother's smile.
His practice bustles as it always does, a mixture of clients flipping through magazines or sharing stories in the waiting room. To his assistance, you wave, your presence always welcome when your schedules align. In the hall leading to his office, your head nods at more waiting patients, smile brimmed in manner with a glance at the clock.
It's feeding time.
A flutter in your chest disturbs the peace you've maintained for the day's majority, current sparked as your palm meets the door handle of his office, shallowly pulled to the side only to let yourself in. No one occupies the dental unit, spotlight tucked away with the space sterilised and clean, its sleek hues of white, grey and muted baby blue burrowing comfort in your chest. Attempts to slow the rabbit Sunghoon hears, a heartbeat so attuned to he forgoes his inventory count and goes to filter back into the main room, surprise alight in his eyes as he's urged back.
"I didn't know you were coming," his voice carries the sentiment, the half-hearted draw of his inventory's door schemed behind you.
Innocence brims in your smile nonetheless, arms strung around him as his hands fall to your waist, steady and firm.
"You forgot your dinner."
"Dinner?" a lone eyebrow raises, the slope of his nose in full view as his head turns to the mini fridge metres away. "I should have enough blood bags for─"
Your nails rake through his nape hairs once and for all, stepping back before you haul yourself on the counter space he'd been working so diligently on, showcasing the dinner he's seemingly left behind.
You.
No one would bat an eyelash at the length of your skirt, a conservative length if not for an extra long stride ─ the cross of your legs ─ where skin reveals itself, blemishing with incessant teeth marks, beard burn and a mouth pulling into a disbelieving smile as you reveal yourself to him, making sure to crane your neck enough to hint at the location of his last feed.
"So," mischief lives in the lines of your smirk, your own canines peeking through in an ask. "Will you finish what you started?"
With centuries spent living amongst vampires and humans, you'd think Sunghoon would have some know-how. Predict the patterns humans have made of themselves, ingrained in wired DNA passed down from generation to generation. Yet, you always seem to surprise him. Bring the disbelieving and amused laughter out his huffing chest, his proximity drawn closer as his hands staple on either side of your thighs, skirt material bunched in your lap, goosebump-riddled from the arctic temperature of his office.
His eyes burn with a dial of lust, iris colouring into a wine hue before his pupils swallows the field whole, gaze flickered between your eyes and lips.
"This is risky," he notes, nosing along your jaw. The instinct to give your neck away wears him down more than you'll know. "Anyone could come in and see us. Hear us,"
He deserts the raised skin trail he's created from slight grazes alone, satisfaction on his lips as he creates space to marvel at the mess you're boiling down to.
"But that's what gets you off, right?" his fangs show, his grin too amused and cocky to shield them, his head tilted to only emphasis his point. "Just can't keep your pretty moans to yourself."
Air fills your lungs through a nasal inhale, chest slumping with a gulp audible to your own ears. You'd waltzed in here first, you can't lose control just yet.
You bring yourself closer to the counter's edge, skirt riding up further to expose hints of lace, knowing it'll do nothing but torment him. Taunt him as his canine and lower teeth toy with an inner piece of his check, restraint tested.
"Come on, you haven't fed in days," he's standing straighter, hands off the counter. He's close enough though, the perfect distance for your leg to hook at his lower back and draw him in, your hand waiting before his length eventually throbs in your palm, your grin a work of sin as you peer up at him with dark magic eyes. "I know you're hungry."
Control is commanded, and to some extent, Sunghoon submits. Lets you carry out your charade, allows the concept of power to exist in your frame of mind. However, deep down, you both know. Undeterred, Sunghoon lets you palm his growing erection, smirking like it doesn't turn him on. Like he doesn't give your hand one grind, starved for friction.
His hand raises to outline the shell of your ear with his fingertip, pleased with the shiver erupting down your spine.
"Funny how blood and sex are so intertwined," he leads, voice husky as his eyes fall to yours again, standing their ground. "For you, especially."
It's meant to be a call out. In some measure, you suffer from its consequences, prickly skin and heated cheeks. However, you've been with Sunghoon long enough to quit playing shy. You plan to spend eternity with him too, it's only natural you reward him with your honesty.
"It's another layer of intimacy," the sweetness of your words juxtapose your actions, palm firm against his shaft as your thumb glides over his tip in sweet, torturous motions, smile stretching at the waver of his breath. You cock your head, a call for attention. "Wouldn't you agree?"
He's close like this now, shuffled to you in a tighter circle of your hooked legs, the column of his throat licked. The grain of stubble against your tongue hums your pleasure into his skin, his own mirrored sound coming when your teeth nibble on the teased skin.
"Hmph," he groans, losing focus. Losing to you. "I do, but my mind can't help but wonder,"
Further words peaks your interest, Sunghoon's hand settling across your neck, face further away as he handles you for his viewing pleasure. His other set of knuckles push his glasses up his nose bridge, chin lifted as he looks at you through low eyes, the quiet but hard thump of your pulse meeting the pad of his thumb.
"If it's the euphoric high you're starved for," Sunghoon's thumb moves over the tender skin, thump gaining traction as you attempt withstanding his complete read of you. "Or maybe it's the slight pain,"
Through the time you've known Sunghoon, you've only ever known him to be humble. No matter what feat he reaches, trait or skill he posses and displays, he'll pretend as if it's not his own. Won't gloat, won't brag ─ except for times like these.
When he's got you right where he wants, his fangs pinpoint on your skin between the fan of his thumb, your heartbeat the equivalent of being chased.
You hear his smirk first before you see it, space created again as his eyes cannot be without your sight for too long.
"Which one is it?"
The hand that'd been palming him arrests the counter's edge, knuckles burning white in an act of self-restraint. Control you're being frayed to abandon, a harsh run of your tongue on the back of your teeth as your other leg hooks behind him, nowhere to hide as your hip roll to meet his, a grind you see chipping away at him.
Pressure adds to the grasp on your neck ─ a test to you too.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Again, that almost incredulous yet amused chuckle meets your ears, this time more mocking as Sunghoon's tongue pokes his inner cheek, his eyes bleeding over with an intensity you've only been anticipating.
"I'll find out either way," one corner of his lip lifts, small but all-knowing. "Spread your legs."
The last thing you'll do is indulge him, even if your body aches for him in the worst way ─ bone deep, lust sinking in your body like an anchor. You're already pressed against him, the friction of few layers a blessing in disguise for someone as insatiable as you are. This, you can do with. The same can't be said for Sunghoon, who in the questioning look he gives you, your smile extends ─ a slice of heaven and a lot of hell.
"What's with the attitude?" he chuckles, one last squeeze against the sides of your neck to make you squeak. The departures paves the way for his impatience, enough strength to pry your crossed ankles apart. "Didn't you want this all along? Treated the way you are in my office because you couldn't wait?"
You can't compete against an immortal, his strength bending your body to his will, thighs braced against the arctic counter top. Spread to his liking.
"Ah, that's why," it's the second time in such little time you've heard him smirk, a more evil moon crescent shape to his eyes as he marvels between your legs. Specifically, the wetness that's soaked through the flimsy fabric. "It's okay, I want you just as much."
A gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead, because your ego has its' moments, bruising like a peach. You could huff, turn away from the supposed affection he gives you, but he's quicker. A peck to the tip of your nose and happiness in the light chuckle he does afterwards.
Then, when you're looking at him again, albeit reluctantly, he smiles regardless. Cups your cheeks, holding you as if porcelain and kisses you. Soft and pillowy, lingering to savour the simple press of flesh, a slow and sweet swirl back into desire. Melting in his cold grasp, you move in patterns known to each other, the audacity to start pulling away breathing a snicker between your lips, his smile against your lips after he's chased them, your own introduced moments later.
He picks you apart in the most delicate way, undoing you with adoring kisses and assured hands, consuming you with every breath he steals, hands of desperation hinging themselves against his arms. Sunghoon kisses you as if it's your last, with deeper meaning coming from the lifetimes he's lived, your bottom lip between his teeth as he tugs gently.
A move applicable to everyone. Doing its worst to you.
While other teeth tease, his fangs threaten, a harsher skim against the flesh your breath hitches at, a swipe of his tongue meant to soothe, only to fuel the fire burning in you.
While his hands no longer cradle your face, he kisses you without fault. Pouring affection into the tender overlap of lips, the only thing you manage to do is lift your hips as his hands tug your panties down your legs, tucked away in his back pocket as a souvenir. If you weren't so dazed, you'd make fun of him, like when you'd felt his cock kick when you'd started kissing, the venture of your tongue making him sigh a stuttered breath.
Smacked lips and laboured breaths no longer only occupy the office/closet space, abundance of slick lapped up on the span of two fingers, the most piled on Sunghoon's fingertips as they tease your entrance, thumb doing slow circles against your clit.
Fingers carding through his hair, your breath stutters in his mouth. Whines and huffed whimpers bleed into his kiss-stained lips as his fingers push in with no resistance, welcomed as your walls conform to their shape. He stretches you with the scissors of his fingers, the stretch simmering with a touch of discomfort, grinding down to blooming pleasure as you yield, his fingers 'curl pushed into the spot making you see stars.
"Think I'll give your thighs a break," Sunghoon whispers, your tongue dipped into the curve of his lips. "All those hickeys and beard burn can't be good for you ─ too much friction,"
"N-not enough," you wail, running feverishly hot and without any care, bucking your hips helplessly. "Want ─ more."
"I've made you such a greedy thing, haven't I?" he murmurs, humming at all the sounds you reward him with ─ vulnerable moans, sloppy kisses you try giving but it's no use. You're gone, in too deep to realise the moment you'd walked into his office, your fate had been sealed.
Other points deserve attention, is Sunghoon's thought process as he leaves your lips with one last slow kiss, saliva strung between your quivering lips before he peppers his way down your chin, up the curve of your jaw and stops right below your earlobe. You know where he'll go next and it sends a buzz through your every cell, makes you tremble and shake. And before your brain can catch up to the signs, Sunghoon knows too.
Hears the chaos of your heart, the disarray of your pulse and plays along.
"Haven't even got to your neck and you're leaking all over my fingers," he muses, a peck smacked onto the dipped skin before his teeth catch onto the fleshy part, a fang punctured close to where your lone piercing is. An automatic response is relayed by your body. "Squeezing my fingers for all their worth, huh?"
Lolled to the side, a partial part in purpose but the other because your head's swarmed in haziness, twice its weight from Sunghoon consuming you, his non-beating heart having the decency to not prolong your long-awaited ask. He descends, inches but makes his way with the tread of his teeth down your neck column.
"What happened to that little attitude of yours, sweet girl?" he asks, the squelch and twitch of your body unearthing a rarity in condescending nature. "Did I fingerfuck it out of you, hm? You wanna be my good girl now?"
You nod hard enough to feel the jumble of your brain, cut up into pieces and free-floating in your zero-gravity headspace.
"You know nods won't do," he's there. The exact spot he feeds from, and it's maddening. The release of adrenaline, the rabbit chase your heart does, nails scraping into marble.
He noses along the mark, a momentary pause noting how gone he is for you too, intoxicated at the mere scent of your blood before everything crumbles, his willpower the only thing standing as he pries away, looking you in your eyes as he says,
"Let me hear you say it, princess."
"I'll─I'll be good," the words slosh in your mouth, lips pressed to muffle your desperate squeaks. "I just─just let me come please?"
"I'm no animal," dark laughter licks up your spine, stuck in its slouch as Sunghoon's rhythm picks up, fingertips knocking deepest in you, your jaw pried open in silent surprise. "I couldn't deprive you if I tried."
"Come on, sweet girl," he comes closer, fresh linen scent engulfing you as a kiss lays upon your temple. "The quicker you let go, the faster you get my cock."
The quicker he'll feed.
The mere thought is almost like magic, contracting your walls in an impossible squeeze as the coil in your stomach sizzles at the tips of your toes, shooting up to burst through every avenue ─ every pore ─ of your body. Detonating right in the palm of his hand, he kisses your wails away until they subside, fingers working you until you're twitchy and overly sensitive, glossy eyed yet itching to unbutton his slacks.
"Impatience will get you hurt," is his later comment, letting you mess with the buckle of his belt, metallic clashes resonating through the room. Dripping more slick onto his office counter. "So rushed when you'll struggle taking me."
The last notch of his zipper sounds louder than the rest, your head snapped in his direction. "Now, that you can't mock me for,"
Your eyes drop down to the heavy bulge imprinting through his briefs and slacks, hoping his eyes follow along.
"I take your literal monster cock like a champ, thank you."
"Give or take."
You kiss your teeth, knowing better but still cursing at him in your head.
"Whatever," your eyes roll, pushing enough of his waistband down to get your hand around his cock. Barely, but it's not of the essence. What is is the need his tip heats with, generous precome beaded in his slit your thumbs runs over. A hiss releases in spite of his efforts, met with the cockiness of your grin. "You're the one who needs me here,"
"Blood bags only taste so good," you drawl, pulling him out to get a better handle of his length. Head ducked to dribble spit on his skin as makeshift lube, enveloped by your palm in a mixture with precome as your hand comes up and twists up his veined shaft. Now it's his turn for braced hands on the counter's edge, his grip strong enough to snap the marble in two. The thought ignites lightning in your stomach.
Your mouth gets the chance for payback ─ hovering over the shell of his pointed one, a lapsed breath released in the anticipation of your words. The slow, tight jerk of your hand. "And none can get you off, so…"
A huff of defeat ─ still humoured ─ sounds past your shoulder, Sunghoon's back muscles flexing through the white coat ruffling as he pushes off the table, hair slicked back back as his fingers run through dark strands, his pale features accented with a pretty rosy tint.
Lips swollen with kisses. Skin glittering in the low light.
"You're annoying," his hands swats away yours, his focal point you as your figure reflects in the honey sweet hue of his eyes. "I love you."
"Love you t─ah!"
Sunghoon had knocked your knees further apart, lined himself with your entrance and now, starts to slide his length in. Ever since your last orgasm, you'd hinged on his counter for the moment his cock would stretch you out, but even if your eyes blindly followed his shifts, you'd got lost in his confession. The sheer honesty and sincerity brimming in his eyes as he said so, his last words to you before you reconnect again as one.
A frantic hand jumps to secure yourself on one plane of his shoulder, a sharp inhale sucking in all frigid air of his office into your shaken lungs, the bitten back moan he lets slip flooding the glide of his length, inches sparingly used. Yet the thought of being split open remains alive and well.
"You're good, you can take it."
It's one of his sentences that doesn't reek of condescension, the kind of sugary encouragement you can't help but want to do your best for, relying on your practiced methods of breathing and trying to relax. Except to accommodate to his size, you're gripping and adjusting, depleting his ability to be gentle with you. In the adjustments you make, one sentence lurks in the misty halls of his mind as he only gives as much as you can take, a hand and grazed-thumb on your hip to ground you.
"What I'd do to stuff your hole full of me right now…"
Luckily, he doesn't have to do anything. Living up to your words, the inches continue to disappear, the sorest sight for his centuries-vision filled eyes, shoulders coming down in relief with a mouth ajar. Your hand's over the lower half of your stomach, not exposed by your shirt, but Sunghoon knows.
You feel him there.
"Remind me," he huffs, stalling for your adjustment, the stretch as delicious as it is a dance around torture. "You take what like a champ?"
Sunghoon gets a kick out of it, this you already know. Somehow, it still makes your jaw tick, the weight cramped in you, making friends with your lower stomach is colossal, enough for an eye twitch and a sharp head turn in his direction.
"Your cock," every word spoken has a letter with a centre part, the disapproving head shake you do continued as your hips shift, leaking tip grinding up into the spongy spot you keen at. "Now move, before I fuck you."
Sunghoon's sorely mistaken. Painfully hard, yet he still continues ─ cat and mouse game too good to give up.
"All bark, no bite," he muses, eyes in false moon crescent, hips pulling back to offload the fill of your entrance. "Leave that to the real vampire, huh?"
Of course he'd leave you with that. Provide you some relief before he eases back into you again, grin shit-eating but eyes attentive, making sure this is pleasurable for you, to which it becomes. Accommodation is never easy, no matter how frequently you fuck, but he makes every grit of your teeth worth it. Falls into slow deep breaths you unknowingly follow and unwind with, moves his cock in and out at any pace you're comfortable with kisses you through it all, praises seared into the skin his lips meet.
A tempo builds, meek whimpers whispered into the hollow of his neck now barely contained moans. Your arms form a loose circle around his shoulders, the groans and whines he saves for your ears swirling a sickening pit of lust in your stomach.
"If only─hmph," you struggle, nails pressing into the fabric of his coat. "You put your mouth to better, fuck ─ use."
Past your ear, his laugh is bright. "You're bewitched,"
The smack of his pelvis against the back of your thighs teases your own teeth into his shoulder, whimpers releasing instead.
"Are my fangs all I'm good for?"
Turns out, you have your own timing. Comedic timing, it seems, because when you pry from him, mourning the loss of his cool skin, your eyes peer down between your legs. At the cock he uses with you as priority, a simmered sensation you unwind to, wetness drenching his length as the faint bulge of his tip makes itself known.
"You're good for other things too."
"Unbelievable," you hear your partner laugh, light and breathy because he's so fine-tuned to the human experience, large hands setting themselves up firm against your hips. "Now, if you will, let me do for what I'm good for."
Like you've always known him to be, he prides himself on his craft, making good of his word as he starts pistoning into you, the grind of his pelvis notching against your clit to make you squeal, his shoulders fastened to as the back of your thighs echo with your indecency. You're choking on moans, trying to keep noise to a minimal, but how can you when your vampire boyfriend knows you best? Knows what angle generates current in your body, what pace has you doubling over, holding him because the building pleasure is too immense for how contained your body feels? Knows when to flip the switch with you, the grounding presence you need or the kind that presses you into the ground.
"My perfect girl," he murmurs, a soothing hand cascading down the back of your head. "I'll never get over how good you feel."
He isn't the former for long, sheep's skin shed when your eyes start glossing over, legs hooked round his waist with your toes curled, tears of ecstasy saturating his coat's shoulder. How can he when you're basically offering yourself to him, enough distance created for your hands to support you from behind, neck craned for his taking.
"Is this what you're into?" he asks, the outline of his body unfair under layers of clothing as his cock stuffs you full. "Do you fantasize about being feed on because you feed off the pleasure and pain?"
You could consider his question, answer truthfully wherever it lies. However, you're a bit preoccupied. The one or two things he's good for working against you, reducing you to a worthless pile of mush, the same matter made of your brain, melted and spilling out your ears, hearing stifled.
"Answer me."
Your throat works, suddenly so dry with a swallow for saliva to quench some thirst, vision fuzzy as you fight off the impending doom.
Not now, not yet.
"Yes," you respond. "I'm into it because─"
He notches himself with a particular force, one you do a withered whimper at, pupils shaking as they blow over your iris' ring.
"Because it's with you," your hand's on his jaw, holding him firm as you add on. "I have a you fetish."
"Fuck," there's a hitch in Sunghoon's thrusts, a slight hiccup when he disintegrates at your words, head hung only to come back up with the brightest smile on his face. The one you could spend eternity looking at. "You're such a tease."
"A pretty, sloppy, needy─" emphasis in his stupidly seductive tone matches with the brute of his thrusts, concentrated and attuned to what'll make you break. "─tease."
Against your forehead, his own falls, a kiss shared as his low body temperature attempts to dial back yours, the coil in your stomach too hot for you to function.
"Good thing you're close because I am too," he nods, one last kiss before he asks. "Do I have the honours?"
It's one of the easiest yes' you'll utter.
"Always."
What you could compare the initial seconds of Sunghoon feeding from you to is a piercing. The clamminess of your palms, an escalated heart rate even if you'd mentally prepared for the moment and eyes incapable of focusing. To gain it back, your only function boils down to managing your breaths as anticipation itches beneath your skin.
Then, it happens.
A momentary flicker of pain, sharpened enamel piercing through skin and sinking, nestling where no vitals are endangered. It's minor, so minor it's forgotten the second after it's felt, the burst of euphoria incomprehensible. Words fail to explain the phenomenon, amounting to a standard you're on a constant chase for, bewitched as Sunghoon so lovingly puts it, him just the same ─ if not worse off ─ as he shamelessly moans at the taste, the vague waft of blood's metallic scent replaced with the blanket of his linen scent.
Blood and sex are so intertwined, mentioned previously by Sunghoon. And while he'd said this in response to you, the words ring truest for him, a broken moan vibrating into your skin as his hips start rutting, erratic as he surges towards his orgasm. His priority forever and always, he wedges his hand between your bodies, your clit played with to bring you to a similar pace, something like come coating your walls as you squeeze his cock one last time, a cry from your lips before you come undone.
Eventually, he relents, having had his fill with a pry he holds your body up for, still dazed from the aphrodisiac-like remedy in his venom to seal your skin together. When the world stops moving in separate circles, you catch sight of his fangs, coated in the rich crimson of your blood, only having the energy for a lazy smile before he sorts you two out. An eventual knock echoes at his door, Sunghoon spitting the last of Pearl Bite toothpaste out his mouth, fangs like brand new as you two feign normalcy.
Like he hadn't fed from you, or how his vampire-equivalent to come isn't leaking between your crossed thighs.
Just another day at Sunghoon's practice.
thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
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warnings : smut- mdni, +18, secret relationship, secret sex, oral (f.rec), two rounds, almost getting caught, they're on a boat, they're both very rich, implied unprotected sex (be safe), I can't think of anything else
word count : 2k
taglist : @ikeuscape
💌 claudias note : I can't describe how much I hate this but you might like it so... likes and reblogs all appreciated!
The air in the grand ballroom of the SS Celestia is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, aged champagne, and the stifling weight of expectation. You stand beside your mother, your posture rigid, wearing a silk gown that clings to every curve of your body like a second skin.
The fabric is a deep, shimmering emerald, slit high up the thigh to allow for movement, though you feel trapped by the invisible chains of your family's reputation.
Across the room, amidst the sea of tuxedos and diamonds, you see him. Jay.
He looks devastating in his black suit, his hair slightly tousled in a way that defies the strict grooming standards of his father’s empire. Your eyes lock, and the world around you fades into a blur of mindless chatter and clinking glasses. The tension between you is a living thing, a wire stretched to the breaking point.
For months, you’ve met in the shadows, stealing hours of desperate, hungry passion in hidden corners and locked rooms, all because your parents view your union as a social disaster.
Jay doesn't look away. He gives you a slow, predatory smirk, his gaze dropping from your eyes to the swell of your breasts and the exposed skin of your thigh. He knows exactly what you're thinking. He can see the hunger in your eyes, the way your nipples are already hardening against the silk of your dress.
He makes his move. With a calculated excuse to his parents, he weaves through the crowd, his eyes never leaving yours. As he passes by you, his hand brushes firmly against your lower back, his fingers digging into your flesh for a fleeting second.
"Excuse me for a moment, Mother," you murmur, your voice trembling. "I need some air."
You don't wait for an answer. You slip away, your heels clicking rapidly against the polished mahogany floors. You feel Jay right behind you, his presence a warm heat at your back. The moment you turn the corner into a dimly lit corridor, away from the prying eyes of the elite, he slams you against the wall.
The impact knocks the breath out of you, but you welcome it. Jay’s mouth crashes onto yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. He tastes of expensive scotch and raw desire. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, claiming you with a ferocity that makes your knees buckle. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.
"I've been wanting to rip this dress off you since the moment I saw you," Jay growls against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
He grabs your hand and drags you down the hall to a private cabin he’d managed to secure. He kicks the door shut and locks it with a sharp click, the sound echoing like a starting gun. Before you can even breathe, he has you pinned against the door, his hands roaming frantically over your body.
He reaches down, grabbing the hem of your emerald dress and bunching the fabric up around your waist. He doesn't care about the silk; he only cares about the skin beneath. He finds your panties—thin, lace things that offer no protection—and hooks two fingers into the waistband, ripping them aside to get to your heat.
"You're so wet for me, (y/n)," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.
He slides two fingers deep into your pussy, and you let out a loud, sharp moan that echoes in the small cabin. You arch your back, grinding your hips against his hand, craving more. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with a rhythmic, punishing pace, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit until you're shaking.
"Please, Jay... now," you whimper, your head tossing back against the wood of the door.
Jay doesn't make you wait. He fumbles with his trousers, freeing his cock. It’s thick, pulsing, and fully erect. He grabs your thighs, hoisting your legs up around his waist. You wrap your ankles tight, locking him in.
With one powerful thrust, he drives himself deep inside you.
You scream into his shoulder, the sensation of him filling you completely sending a jolt of electricity through your spine. He’s huge, stretching you open, hitting your cervix with every heavy plunge. The friction is intense, the wet slap of his groin hitting your ass filling the room.
Jay begins to fuck you with a primal intensity, his movements raw and unfiltered. He isn't the polished heir to a fortune right now; he's a man starved for the woman he's forbidden to have. He grips your hips, his fingers leaving bruises on your pale skin, as he hammers into you.
"You're mine," he grunts, his voice strained. "Fuck the parents. Fuck the money. You're mine."
You moan his name, your voice breaking as the pleasure builds. You can feel the vibrations of the ship's engines beneath you, blending with the rhythm of his thrusts. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him to go faster, harder.
He shifts his angle, pulling you slightly higher so he can hit your G-spot with every stroke. You start to peak, your internal muscles clamping tight around his cock, milking him. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat that crashes over you. You shudder violently, your pussy pulsing around him in rhythmic contractions as you orgasm, your vision blurring.
The feeling of your climax triggers his own. Jay lets out a guttural groan, his body tensing as he delivers three more deep, powerful thrusts. He buries himself as deep as possible, his cock throbbing inside you as he erupts, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum.
You both slump against the door, breathing heavily, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. Jay kisses your forehead, his grip on you still possessive and tight.
"We can't stay here long," he whispers, though he makes no move to let you go.
You lean your head against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. Outside, the party continues, the rich and powerful oblivious to the act of rebellion that just took place in the shadows of their luxury. For now, in this locked cabin, the world doesn't exist—only the two of you and the lingering heat of your skin.
The adrenaline from the sex is still humming in your veins as you and Jay slowly begin to compose yourselves. You smooth down the emerald silk of your dress, though it’s still slightly rumpled, and Jay fixes his tie with a smirk that tells you he’s still thinking about how tight you felt around him.
"We have to go back," you whisper, though you lean in to steal one more kiss.
The moment your lips meet, the kiss shifts from sweet to hungry. Jay pins you against the cabin wall again, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against his hardening cock. You moan into his mouth, your tongues dancing in a familiar, desperate rhythm. You're so lost in the taste of him that you don't hear the voices approaching in the corridor.
"I'm telling you, she's probably just freshening up her makeup," your mother’s sharp, aristocratic voice rings out, sounding dangerously close.
Your eyes snap open. You and Jay freeze, your lips still brushing, your bodies pressed tight against the door. You can hear the soft click of your mother's heels and the deep rumble of Jay's father's voice right outside.
"And Jay has vanished as well," his father notes, his tone suspicious. "It's highly irregular for both of them to disappear at the same time."
You hold your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Jay’s hand is still firmly gripping your hip, and you can feel him trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer thrill of the risk. The door handle jiggles. Just a fraction of an inch, but enough to make you gasp silently.
"Is someone in there?" your mother asks, her voice now right against the wood.
For a heartbeat, you're certain you're caught. You can almost imagine the scandal, the screaming, the immediate separation. But then, a loud crash echoes from the far end of the hall—a waiter dropping a tray of champagne flutes. The distraction is instant.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," your mother sighs. "Come along, let's find the host."
As the footsteps fade away, you and Jay collapse against each other, bursting into a fit of hushed, manic giggles. The terror transforms into a rush of euphoria. You grab his hand and pull him out of the cabin, not heading back toward the ballroom, but sprinting in the opposite direction.
You run through the winding corridors, laughing and whispering, your heels clicking rapidly. You don't stop until you reach the very end of the boat, the secluded observation deck where the salt spray of the ocean mists your skin and the moonlight turns the waves into shimmering silver.
"That was way too close," you pant, leaning against the railing, your chest heaving.
Jay is grinning, his eyes dark with a different kind of hunger now. "I don't know... I kind of liked the risk."
He steps closer, his presence enveloping you. He doesn't go for your lips this time. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of you. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you let out a small, surprised sound as he looks up at you, his gaze fixed on the slit of your dress.
"You were so loud in the cabin," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you again. But this time, I want to take my time."
He reaches out, sliding his hands up your thighs, bunching the emerald fabric up until it's gathered around your waist. He doesn't bother with the lace panties this time; he simply hooks his fingers into the side and rips them away, tossing them onto the deck.
Your pussy is still glistening and swollen from the previous round, the scent of your arousal mixing with the salty sea air. Jay doesn't hesitate. He leans in and presses his face against you, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine before his tongue makes first contact.
He starts with a slow, broad lick, starting from the bottom of your opening and dragging his tongue all the way up to your clit. You gasp, your fingers gripping the cold metal railing for support.
"Oh god, Jay..."
He doesn't stop. He begins to lap at you with a rhythmic, swirling motion, his tongue focusing entirely on your clit. He sucks the small, sensitive nub into his mouth, applying a firm, pulsing suction that makes your toes curl. He knows exactly how you like it—the perfect balance of pressure and flicking movements.
You arch your back, your head falling back as you stare up at the stars. The sensation is electric. Jay is relentless, his tongue working with a precision that is almost agonizing. He uses his fingers to spread your folds wide, ensuring every inch of your wetness is tasted, while his tongue continues to hammer away at your clit.
He begins to suck harder, his cheeks hollowing as he draws the pleasure out of you. You can feel the tension building again, a coil tightening in your lower belly. You start to moan, the sound echoing over the sound of the crashing waves.
"Right there... please, Jay, right there!" you whimper, your hips beginning to buck instinctively against his face.
He responds by sliding two fingers deep inside you, mimicking the thrusting motion of his cock while his tongue continues to flick rapidly against your clit. The double stimulation is too much. You feel the wave crashing over you, a violent, shimmering orgasm that makes your entire body shake.
You scream his name into the night air, your internal muscles clamping tight around his fingers as you peak. Jay doesn't pull away; he stays there, sucking and licking through the height of your climax, drinking in every drop of your release.
As you slowly come down, breathless and shaking, Jay looks up at you, a stray drop of your juices glistening on his lip. He looks completely satisfied, a predatory, loving glint in his eyes.
"Best part of the trip so far," he whispers, before standing up to pull you into a tight, possessive embrace.
synopsis: when you make the mistake of telling your best friend that you’ve never reached an orgasm, he makes it his personal mission to make sure you get there.
wc: 7.5k
warnings: park sunghoon x fem!reader, sexual content, mdni, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, blindfold (hello), sensory deprivation, fingering, dry humping, oral f!receiving, lowkey kind of corruption kink, condescending hoon, praise kink, hoon is a secret yearner, pet names (baby, pretty/good/sweet girl, sweetheart), not proofread
roses thoughts… i’m ovulating #sorry
playlist: morning dew - beyoncé // human nature - madonna // cinnamon girl - lana del rey
The party’s been going on so long that the air has turned moist and the alcohol has begun to taste more like water instead of something dangerous.
Yunjins laughing at something next to you, her eyes half lidded and her limbs moving languidly. If it’s from the weed or the sheer gallons of vodka you’re sure she’s consumed tonight you aren’t entirely sure. What you are sure of though, is that you have definitely far surpassed the thin line between tipsy and black out drunk.
The weed makes your thoughts jumble together like some weird jigsaw puzzle, and every word that you manage to punch out takes way more effort then it probably should.
“But, seriously,” Jungwon starts, his words languid and low, “sex is kind of transactional. At least in this day and age.”
Yunjin attempts to smack his arm but instead she misses him completely and her hand lands between the couch cushions. She doesn’t bother moving it.
“That is sooo not true,” she drags out. “Sex is, like, sacred. Your body is a temple and all that bullshit.”
Jungwon laughs. “Maybe for other women, but I’m not sure if your body could be considered sacred anymore, Yunjin.”
She scoffs, her eyebrows furrowing in what might look like offense, but you know deep down she enjoys the easy banter her and Jungwon always seem to have. “Says the one who sticks his dick into anything that has a pulse!”
You are perfectly content to just listen to their conversation, as it would seem is Sunghoon.
You’d met Sunghoon your freshman year of university when you were still a small town girl in a city that felt way too big for you. He’d sat next to you in your freshman econ class and helped you around the city without so much as a whisper of a complaint, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since.
He’s always been the quiet brooding type, even when you’re around your mutual friends, and that’s become something you’ve found yourself finding comfort in more often than not. His presence is a consistent force in your life, and now that you’re nearing graduation and heading into unknown territory, it’s nice to have something so steady in your life.
That’s why you didn’t argue when he threw his arm around your shoulders and insisted you sit next to him. It’s why you didn’t argue when he offered you the blunt despite knowing you always get way too clingy when you’re high.
Sunghoon is your best friend. You trust him, and you know he feels the same way towards you.
You lean back into his arm, continuing to nurse the beer you’d had for the last hour. It makes your head feel warm and fuzzy in all the right ways, especially after whatever the fuck midterms had been. A disaster would be putting it lightly.
Sunghoon glances at you, his lips still enclosed around the blunt. He takes a drag of it, letting the end glow a bright orange before he pulls it away from his lips and offers it to you.
You accept it graciously, letting the smoke fill your lungs until you’re positive they’ll burst. You’ve never really been a big stoner, not like Ni-ki and Jungwon, but when you do let yourself indulge you always enjoy it.
Sunghoon watches when you exhale, his eyes following the cloud that forces its way from your lips and disperses around the room. For a moment, you think he almost looks impressed.
You laugh, your hand reaching out to shove at his chest gently. “What?” You ask.
He blinks, the movement slow, like he’s working overtime to process that you’d said anything at all. “What?” He echoes.
“You’re looking at me weird,” you mumble, dragging your eyes back to Yunjin and Jungwon. They’re still arguing over whether or not sex is transactional or whatever, and Ni-ki is just watching them like he can’t decide if he’s interested or if he wants them to shut up completely.
Sunghoon chuckles, the sound low and deep. You bring your gaze back up to him and watch as his lips curve up into that same lazy smirk he always seems to wear. Sometimes you wonder if that’s just his natural resting face.
“Was I?” He mumbles, choosing to play dumb.
You’re not in the right headspace to argue with him, so instead you just sigh and let yourself sink further into the curve of his arm. His thigh is right against yours, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin lining on your tights. If it was anyone else, you’d probably feel a little self-conscious at being so close, but this is Sunghoon. He’s never shied away from physical touch, and at some point it just became another factor in your friendship.
The sound of your name forces your thoughts about Sunghoon to fade into the background, and when you look up Yunjin is staring at you like you’ve said something shocking. Which is weird, because you don’t remember saying anything at all.
“Huh?” You manage, your eyebrows furrowing as you try to work through the cloud in your mind.
Yunjin rolls her eyes but repeats herself anyway. “Do you think sex is transactional?” She asks before throwing a fiery glare at Jungwon. “Or is Jungwon just a grade A asshole?”
…Sex? She’s asking you about sex?
Usually you wouldn’t mind indulging in her less than ethical questions, especially when you’ve had a few drinks, but this one feels a little personal.
It’s not that you haven’t had sex, you have! Plenty of times actually, with a plethora of different men. Boyfriends, casual hook ups, one night stands – you’ve really done it all.
There’s just one teeny, tiny problem.
You can’t finish.
You used to blame it on the men you were seeing. They clearly had no idea how to please a woman and thus you were the one suffering for it. But then you’d tried to get yourself off with your hand and, well…nothing happened. So then you tried a toy and still – nothing.
It didn’t take you long to realize that it was clearly just something wrong with you. You’d self-diagnosed yourself as one of those unlucky women that simply couldn’t orgasm, and yeah, it sucked, but it was your life. How could you miss something you’d never even had anyway?
And it’s not like the buildup isn’t enjoyable, because it definitely is. It just never goes where you want it to, and you always end up feeling dissatisfied after. So you’d stopped trying completely after yet another failed attempt last year and that had been that.
You hadn't sworn off sex completely, you just stopped actively searching for it. And it was nice to not have to fake reaching your peak with every man that found his way into your bed, but that didn’t make the subtle jealousy you felt whenever Yunjin talked about her experiences disappear completely. It just made it more bearable.
You choose to just shrug, taking another sip from the bright red solo cup in your hand. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask that question.” You snort.
Yunjin raises a brow, genuine confusion washing over her features, before she seems to finally remember. “Ah,” she breathes, slumping back down into her seat. “Right. I forgot.”
Yunjin is the only person you’d confided in about your problem. She was supportive, of course, but she still sometimes told you that she thought it was all in your head. That you had some kind of mental block when it came to orgasming, but you couldn’t help but feel like that was a little silly. Why would your mind keep you from reaching what most women described as the ultimate pleasure? If it was, then that was just plain cruel.
The conversation starts to move on again, but Sunghoon glances at you and then swiftly brings it back around.
“Hold on,” he starts, eyebrows furrowed. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” Yunjin asks.
He pulls his arm away from your shoulders and uses his now free hand to gesture between you and Yunjin. “That,” he insists. “You asked her her thoughts on sex and then just blew past it.”
Yunjin glances at you, meanwhile your cheeks suddenly feel like they're burning. Why does he even care what your thoughts on sex are? It’s a silly question, one that you’ll probably forget anyone even asked in the morning, and yet he’s choosing to focus on the one minute thing you said in the entire debate.
Which wasn’t even anything ground breaking! You just said you wouldn’t be the right person to ask, that was it.
So why is he taking such an interest in it?
“Um,” Yunjin starts, her gaze finding yours before returning to Sunghoon. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t even falter like you’d expected him to. Instead, he leans back and pulls you closer into his side. “Am I not allowed to be worried for my best friend?”
You swallow and attempt to put some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. If anything, he just pulls you even closer. All the way until you’re sure you can taste the remnants of cologne on his clothes and the weed on his breath.
“Sunghoon,” you laugh, the sound coming out more nervous than anything else. “It’s nothing. Don’t get so worked up about it.”
But he doesn’t seem to like that answer either. “So something happened?”
You shake your head. “No, it’s not that–”
“Then what?”
You pause, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. If you had all your inhibitions in check, you probably would’ve resisted telling him in such an open space. Because even though Jungwon and Ni-ki are trying to make it seem like they aren’t listening, you know they are. At least Yunjin doesn’t try to hide her nosiness.
You know that realistically Sunghoon is just worried for you, he is your best friend after all. You’d be worried for him too if he suddenly got weird when the topic of sex got brought up, but still, you wish you were admitting this to him somewhere with a little more privacy.
You lean back into the cushions, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. Sunghoon, always so in tune with your emotions, immediately reaches a hand over to smooth down your hair.
“What is it, sweet girl?” He asks, his voice lowered so that only you can hear him. “You know you can tell me.”
And that’s the thing, you do know. And it should be easy telling him, because you know it’s not like he’ll judge you. If anything, he’ll probably be more sympathetic towards you then Yunjin is.
But, still. There’s something about telling him that makes shame burn deep in your cheekbones.
You shrug, your fingers toying with the edge of your skirt. “It’s embarrassing.”
He grins, all teeth and crinkled eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re something he has to handle with care. Not like you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions when it comes to her sex life – or lack of one.
“Nothing about you is embarrassing.”
That’s what finally breaks you. You sigh, words slightly jumbled together and voice so quiet you’re shocked he can even hear you. “I can’t,” you gesture with your hand lazily. “You know. Finish, or whatever."
He blinks. One moment passes, and then two. You’re on the verge of thinking you’ve somehow made him uncomfortable when suddenly he’s laughing like you’ve said something hilarious. “What?”
Yunjin tosses a pillow at him, but he just lets it hit him square in the chest and doesn’t spare her a glance. “It’s not funny, Sunghoon!” She defends. “It’s a serious condition.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t have time to focus on her because Sunghoon is quickly invading your senses again. “I’m not making fun of you, baby,” he mumbles, lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s just…cute. That’s all.”
It most definitely is not cute. It’s humiliating, if anything. The one thing you’re supposed to be able to count on your body to do for you, it refuses to. What kind of woman can’t even orgasm?
“No, it's not,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “It’s weird.”
Sunghoon doesn’t say anything to that, but you can tell something in his expression has shifted. He’s eyeing you now like you’re some kind of anomaly he wants to figure out. Like your condition is something that’s piqued his curiosity.
You aren’t entirely sure how you feel about that.
The night continues easily – everybody's too drunk or high to focus on whatever little blip it was you’d had. Even you forget about it after another round of drinks.
But Sunghoon doesn’t. He can’t.
Even when he goes to bed that night, every time he closes his eyes all he can see is you. His pretty little best friend. Sexually frustrated and somehow thinking there's something wrong with you.
To Sunghoon, that’s utterly absurd. Clearly these men you’ve been with don’t know how to handle you, and that’s not your fault! No, what you need is someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who will actually listen to what your body needs and doesn’t just chase his own pleasure.
What you need is…him.
And Sunghoon is a good best friend. He always has been. All he’d be doing is helping you, really. Just a friend helping out a friend.
Nothing more, nothing less.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖༄
The next week passes by just like it normally does. You go to class and try not to think about the fact that you definitely bombed your exams. Everytime you walk into a lecture, fear creeps up your spine at the thought of your teacher handing over a test with your name on it.
Sunghoon is there to help you through the anxiety though. He comes to your dorm every night with a bag of nerds gummy clusters and his laptop.
You always start the night exactly how you plan to. Sunghoon helps you study, you both pretend to give a fuck for an hour or two, and then you end up side by side in your bed watching reruns of your favorite sitcom. It’s a simple routine that you’ve come to cherish, one that you don’t even remember starting. It honestly felt like one day he’d started showing up and then he just…never stopped.
“You know,” you mumble, popping another cluster into your mouth. “I think we’ve watched this show so many times we could probably recite the whole thing.”
Sunghoon shrugs, his glasses hanging off of the bridge of his nose. He reaches up and pushes them back into place without a second thought. “Modern Family is a classic.”
You hum. Modern Family is a classic. “Yeah, true.”
You both lull into silence again after that, your eyes following the screen as one of the characters does something stupid. It makes you laugh despite the fact that you know it’s coming. Sunghoon lets out a huff of breath too, but he seems on edge.
His hand keeps fisting the sheet until his knuckles turn white, and he only does that when something's bothering him. He doesn’t even seem to be paying as much attention to the show as he usually does.
It’s like his thoughts keep wandering and he’s trying to make the stop.
It worries you. The last time you’d seen Sunghoon this anxious was sophomore year, right before he broke up with his girlfriend. He never told you why he did, just that something about the relationship didn’t feel right.
But, last you checked, he doesn’t have any girlfriends he’s wanting to break up with right now, which means something else is bothering him.
You nudge his shoulder gently, your eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” You ask.
He blinks, his eyes glued to the laptop before they slowly slide over to you. “Hm?”
You huff out a laugh. “I said what’s wrong? You’ve been acting off ever since we turned the show on. Did something happen?”
You watch as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. He doesn’t move his gaze from yours, but for some reason you wish he had. He’s looking at you so intensely, eyes searching yours like they hold the answer to the meaning of life.
Sunghoon gets like this sometimes. It’s almost like he’s…holding something back. And whenever you question him on it, he usually just pats your arm and tells you not to worry your pretty little head about it. You stopped questioning it a long time ago.
But he doesn’t do that tonight. Instead, he lets his tongue drag over his lips, and you can’t help the way your eyes flicker down to the movement.
You’re not blind. You know your best friend is ridiculously handsome. You know plenty of girls have gotten jealous and wished that it were them in your place. But your relationship with Sunghoon isn’t like that, he’s just your friend.
Besides, even if you did want him like that, you’d never want to risk your friendship with him.
His lip's part for a moment, and then close, and then part again. “I…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and then starts again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
You raise a brow. When did you say something? You try to rack your brain, but you come up empty. You can’t recall anything you said that would be worth bringing it up again.
“Did I say something?”
His lips break out into a small smile, the curve threatening to reveal the tip of his fangs. “Do you not remember?"
You try to think back to anything you might’ve said, but still, you come up blank. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, expression scrunched in confusion. “Should I?”
Sunghoon is silent at that. He just looks at you, looks back down at his hands, and then straightens himself up so suddenly he feels like he’s towering over you in bed.
“If you don’t remember,” he murmurs, “then I’ll remind you.”
He leans on the tiniest bit closer, and suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked from your lungs. You and Sunghoon have been close plenty of times before, but this feels different. This feels almost…intimate.
You swallow, your eyes widening the tiniest bit as you attempt to scoot closer to the headboard. “Hoon…”
“You told me,” he starts, his voice low in that sultry kind of way. “That you’ve never had an orgasm. That you can’t, actually.”
The memory dawns on you then. The party, the alcohol, the weed. You’d somehow unknowingly buried it all the way to the back of your mind without even realizing, and now you’re dealing with the consequences of your big mouth.
You wince. It’s almost embarrassing to hear the words coming out of Sunghoons mouth. Even though you know it’s true, that doesn’t make it any less humiliating.
“Oh,” you mumble. “I did?”
“You did.”
You clear your throat and attempt to look at least a little unbothered. “Well, it’s true so…you don’t need to bring it up again. It’s already embarrassing enough having my best friend know there’s clearly something wrong with me.”
His eyebrows furrow, and for a split second, he almost looks angry. Like the thought of you thinking there’s something wrong with you enrages him.
“Embarrassing?” He scoffs. “It’s not embarrassing. And there’s nothing wrong with you. You just haven’t been with the right kind of guys.”
You probably would’ve agreed with him if you hadn’t also attempted to get yourself there. You literally just cannot do it. It’s not the guys you’re with or anything like that, it’s just you.
“But that’s the thing!” You insist. Any shyness you might’ve had towards the topic before suddenly disappears. “It’s not just the guys. I can’t…I can’t finish on my own either.”
For what it’s worth, that looks like it genuinely makes Sunghoon pause. His eyes widen the tiniest fraction, his movements pausing before he resumes them.
“You can’t…” He glances down to your hands in your lap.
You roll your eyes, cheeks practically blistering. You’re positive your ears are the same color as a tomato at this point. “No, I can’t. It’s whatever. Can we just finish the show?”
But Sunghoon doesn’t back off. Instead, he reaches behind him and shuts the laptop completely, cutting off whatever noise it was making. He pushes it off of the bed, not even flinching when it clatters violently onto the floor.
“So, let me get this straight,” he starts. You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You’ve never had an orgasm? Like, ever?”
He knows you said at the party that you can’t finish, but he assumed you meant with other guys. Not that you can’t finish at all.
“Yep,” you say, popping the P. Your arms cross over your chest in frustration. You don’t understand why he won’t just let the topic go. Yunjin doesn’t even hound you this much about it! “I’m one of the only girls in the world who can’t finish. Are you done making fun of me now?”
He leans back slightly, his pupils suddenly dilated and his tongue sweeping over his teeth. The tension in the air builds quickly, until it feels like you’re definitely going to choke on it.
Slowly, Sunghoon crawls over until he’s seated right in front of you. He leans back on his heels, studying your face like you’re some kind of expensive art piece. Usually, you don’t mind when he looks at you. In fact, you bask in it. But this feels different. This feels almost hungry.
“You think that there’s something wrong with you?” He asks, voice hushed. Deep.
You swallow, suddenly feeling silly for even admitting that to him. But what other explanation is there outside of you being biologically engineered differently than how you were supposed to? Maybe your mother drank a cup of coffee when she was pregnant and now you’re being forced to suffer for it.
You shrug. “What other explanation is there?”
He brings a hand up to your calf, the tips of his fingers brushing over the skin lightly. The touch feels like ice against your warm skin, and you can’t help the way your breath nearly catches in your throat.
He doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring at him. At the curve of his jaw. The way his bangs fall over his forehead like he styled them to be that perfect. At the freckles dotting his soft skin.
You know your best friend is attractive. You’ve always known.
But this…there’s something about it now that makes your stomach twist with arousal.
His fingers pause at the bottom of your knee, his thumb rubbing soft circles into it. You’re suddenly thankful that you took the time to shave last night.
He shifts, leaning forward just enough that you can smell his cologne. “I think you just…haven’t listened to what your body wants. To what it needs.”
You scoff lightly, but it sounds forced. Honestly, you’re too focused on how his touch feels against your skin to even think about whatever it is he’s saying to you.
“I think I would know what I need.”
He shrugs, tongue flickering out to wet his lips before it slides back into his mouth. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
You pull your legs out of his grip and hug them towards your chest. He doesn’t look shocked when you do it — he just lets his hand land on the bed and looks up at you.
“Why are you bringing this up?” You ask. You hate that you can hear the way your voice sounds so quiet. Shy. You’ve never felt shy around Sunghoon.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Just lets his gaze trail from your eyes down to your chest, to the curve of your hip and all the way back up to the plump of your lips.
He scoots closer slowly, and suddenly his chest is right against your calves. Breathing suddenly feels difficult – like a task instead of something you just do on autopilot. His very presence feels mind consuming.
He’s hesitant for only a moment, something flashing in his eyes, and then he’s tossing it out the window and speaking so clearly you’d almost think there were other people in the room.
“I want to help you.”
You blink. “Help me?”
“Yeah.” He says easily, like those five words hadn’t just changed the trajectory of your friendship in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? Best friends help each other.”
Your cheeks flush at the implication. There’s a line between helping your friend and doing something like that for them. This isn’t just him letting you borrow his notes, this is unexplored territory. This is your body, your pleasure – all of it in his hands.
You’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t excite you.
But Sunghoon is your best friend, you can’t do that with him. It’d be wrong, and it’d change your relationship completely. You don’t know if you’d ever even be able to come back from something like that. The idea in general sounds good, even if you’re positive he’s not going to change anything about your condition, but the consequences are too great. You can’t do it. You can’t.
Right?
“What?” You splutter, a nervous laugh forcing itself from your throat. “I’m sorry, are you telling me you want to help me,” you clear your throat, your voice lowering into a hushed whisper, “...orgasm?”
Sunghoon smirks, his canines on full display like he’s some type of predator. “Yeah, I am.”
You blanch, your eyes wide as you stare at him like he’s grown two heads. At this point, you think an extra extremity would probably be less shocking than the words coming out of his mouth.
“Absolutely not,” you say, arms forming an X across your chest. “That’s…I can’t do that with you. It would change too much. Besides, I already told you, I physically cannot do it. I really doubt you’re going to be the one to change that.”
Sunghoon leans back on his hands, his smirk widening just a fraction. Like he’s taking your words as some kind of challenge. It scares you and makes heat swirl in your abdomen just the same.
“So, you're scared?” He asks, tone light and teasing, but there’s an underlying smoothness to it that makes a chill crawl up your spine. “You’re scared that I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I’m not scared.” You scoff.
Sunghoon just shrugs. “You are, and that’s okay. If you want to go the rest of your life without having an orgasm, then that’s your prerogative."
Your eyes narrow at that. You know he’s just trying to rile you up to get what he wants, but you can’t help falling for it anyway. You aren’t scared of what he’ll show you, you just don’t want to mess up your friendship for something you’re positive isn’t possible. It doesn’t matter how big his fucking ego is.
“I’m not scared,” you repeat. “I just know that you aren't going to miraculously be the guy that suddenly helps me finish.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes.”
His eyes bore into yours – challenging you. Teasing you. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how this is going to play out, even if you haven’t fully caught up to it.
He has to bite his cheek to keep his smile from getting any bigger. “Prove it then.”
“What?”
He leans forward again, his hands coming up to rest at the top of your knees. Slowly, he forces them apart and makes space for himself between your legs. He doesn’t move into it, just leaves it there like an unspoken promise. “If you really think I’m just going to end up like every other guy, then prove it to me. Prove me wrong.”
You know what he’s doing. You know he knows how competitive you can get. He’s trying to push you into the direction he wants, to mold you like clay into his hands. And you don’t want to fall for it, you really don’t.
But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you – all smug and so sure of himself. You’ve heard the rumors around campus, you know Sunghoons never shied away from his experience in the bedroom, but experience doesn’t matter for you. It’s just your biology.
And if he wants you to prove him wrong so fucking badly, then you will.
You don’t remember surging forward to kiss him – not until your teeth clash and he lets out the smallest sigh of approval. His hands are everywhere immediately – gripping the flesh of your hip, tracing up the line of your spine.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting for it, like he’s a man starving and you’ve depraved him from any sort of substance. His tongue slides into your mouth easily, and you let out the slightest whine at the feeling.
He groans, his eyes squeezing together tightly. For a moment, you almost think he’s in pain.
“Fuck, that’s right,” he mumbles against your lips. “Prove it to me, baby.”
You kiss him harder, saliva beginning to pool at the corners of your lips. Sunghoon licks it up without a complaint. In fact, you think he’d thank you for it if he could.
His hands under your shirt and onto your hips, rubbing circles into your skin, and then he’s dragging you onto his lap without breaking away from the kiss.
You gasp when you feel his bulge through his sweatpants, the imprint pressing right against your folds. He’s big, you can tell that without even seeing it. The thought of your best friend carrying that around makes butterflies fly somewhere in your stomach.
Sunghoon kisses you deeper, his tongue licking into your mouth. Your mind is spinning from the sensation, and he’s barely touched you outside of kissing. It makes you feel like you’re in high school all over again.
Most men don’t waste their time kissing you like this. They just give you a few pecks and then get right to work using you to chase their own high. It’s become something you’ve learned to expect. But Sunghoon is kissing you like it’s the main event – like he’s been waiting his entire life to do it.
Slowly, he uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his cock, and instant pleasure bursts low in your tummy. The fabric between you does little to dull the feeling of his tip nudging against your clit – if anything, it almost makes it all the more intimate.
“Fuck,” you sigh out, your hands gripping his shirt like you’re trying to ground yourself.
He lets out a chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Hm?” He hums, moving from your lips to your jaw. “You say something, Sweetheart?”
You bite on your lip to keep yourself from spitting some kind of insult at him. Of course he’s enjoying watching you fall apart from a few measly kisses. But that doesn’t mean anything. You still haven’t cum, and you’re positive you aren’t going to.
“Shut up,” you mumble. Your hands slide up from his chest to his hair, gripping his black locks as he sucks at the sensitive skin around your neck.
You can feel him smile against your skin, but he doesn't say anything else about it. Instead, he nips gently at your collarbone and then basks in the whimper it pulls from you.
His hips push up into yours again, and the feeling is enough to force your lips to part in pleasure. Hesitantly, you begin to grind into him on your own, your movements erratic compared to the preciseness of his thrusts.
He clicks his tongue, tightening his grip and forcing your hips to still. You immediately whine – completely forgetting that you’re supposed to be embarrassed – but he just shakes his head.
“Is that what you think pleasure is?” He asks, letting his fingertips drag across the bare skin of your stomach. “No wonder you can’t cum.”
You furrow your brows. You have no idea what he’s talking about. “What?” You murmur, the word breathless and whiny. If the entire point of this is to bring you to your peak, you don’t understand why he’s forcing you to stop.
He licks his lips, and you can’t help but notice how red and raw they are. Completely kiss-bitten. It makes you proud that he looks just as wrecked as you’re sure you do.
“You’re not letting yourself get any actual build up,” he explains, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re chasing something that hasn’t even gotten the chance to form yet.”
You part your lips to respond, maybe fight back, but nothing comes out. Because that’s the closest thing you’ve ever got to an explanation as to why you can’t seem to do something everybody else can.
You swallow, your posture turning into a slight slouch. “I don’t understand.” You admit quietly.
You’re half expecting him to judge you – maybe laugh. It’s definitely something other men would do. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pecks you softly on the nose and gently lays you down until your back is flat against the bed.
“You’re thinking too much,” he mumbles, softly tapping your forehead.
You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know how to not think about it without sounding like a complete loser. But, then you remember that this is your best friend. And if tonight has shown you anything, it’s that he won’t judge you. You could say the dumbest thing and he would still look at you like you mean something to him.
“I don’t know how to stop.” You admit shakily, the words feeling like a losing battle as they come out.
But they seem to catch Sunghoon off guard. He’s hovering above you, eyes staring into yours with so much emotion you nearly choke on it.
This is different from the teasing Sunghoon you’d seen earlier. This Sunghoon genuinely wants to help you. He wants you to be able to experience something as trivial as an orgasm just to help you feel normal.
This Sunghoon is your best friend.
He kisses you again, but this time it’s slower. Deeper, somehow. This time it feels like he’s kissing you just because he can, and for some reason, you like that.
“Do you trust me?” He asks, his breath ghosting against your wet lips.
You nod at him without a second thought.
He crawls off of you, and the loss of his body is enough to force a breathless whine from your throat. He just shushes you and disappears out of your room. He’s been in your home enough times to know where everything is, but it still leaves you feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of him looking around your apartment without you. You cleaned yesterday, right? You really hope so.
When he reemerges, he’s holding something long and black. It dangles from his fingers clearly, and the closer you look you realize it’s a piece of black cloth.
“Where’d you find that?” You ask. You probably should be asking what he plans to do with it, but your brain is having trouble processing actual thoughts right now.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he climbs back into bed with you, and ever so carefully presents the fabric to you.
“You said you don’t know how to turn your brain off, right?” He mumbles, bringing a hand to your thigh. His fingertips ghost over the skin, bringing goosebumps in their wake. “Maybe…Maybe this will help.”
You still aren’t understanding, and he seems to be able to tell by the look of genuine confusion on your face. He chuckles and scoots closer, but this time it seems his confidence has faded the tiniest bit. He looks almost nervous, like he’s riding a bike without training wheels for the first time.
“I don’t get it.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. “How is a piece of fabric going to help?”
He balls up the fabric, eyes lingering on it before he finds your gaze again. “Just let me try something?” He asks.
Part of you is screaming at you to say no. You have no idea what’s going through his mind or what strange fantasy he’s planning to play out with you, and you’re terrified to find out.
But the other part of you…the smaller, braver part, wants you to say fuck it. You’ve already come this far with him, what’s a little more push? Besides, what could it hurt?
Slowly, your head nods up and down. Sunghoon, for what it's worth, doesn’t look smug or happy. He just swallows, his adams apple bobbing as he does, and cautiously makes his way so he’s chest to chest with you.
You watch as he brings the piece of fabric towards your head, and then suddenly your vision is cut off completely. You let out a breath of air as he ties the fabric at the back of your skull gently, his fingers working carefully to make sure he doesn’t catch any of your hair.
The vulnerability makes your core ache something awful. The thought of not being able to see him, not being able to know what his next move is…it’s exhilarating.
Your hands clench your sheets from anticipation, knuckles going a vivid white.
You hear Sunghoon chuckle, the sound low and breathy, and then he’s moving somewhere you can’t see. You can feel his hands on your thighs still, like he’s trying to keep you grounded. To reassure you that he’s still here. That he’s not leaving.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs. You feel his hand slowly slide up until he’s reaching the hem of your shorts. He doesn't go under it – just keeps it there. Like he’s teasing you.
You feel yourself flush. “Don’t say things like that.”
His fingers slide up the fabric until he reaches the waistband, and then slowly he slips his fingertips under it and tugs. “Why?” He asks. You can practically feel the smirk that you’re sure is radiating from him. “It’s true.”
You just let out a breath, too focused on the feeling of him dragging your shorts and underwear down the soft skin of your legs. You hear him toss them aside somewhere, and then the room goes very still.
You swallow uncomfortably, legs closing on instinct. You hate that you can’t see him or even try to guess what he’s thinking. Is he disappointed? Does he not want to do this anymore?
Your hands reach for the blindfold to pull it down, but a sudden grip on your wrist stops you.
“Don’t.” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low and breathy.
You freeze, arousal begins to pool in your core, and you listen to him. Your hands fall back to your sides and leave you encased in darkness and anticipation.
Ever so slowly, you hear him move. His hands find your knees and push them apart, exposing your glistening folds to him, and you feel him settle between your thighs.
“Poor baby,” he teases, leaving featherlight kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Never been taken care of properly, huh? No wonder this pretty little pussy is practically dripping for me.” He runs the tip of his finger over your slit, and you shiver at the contact.
“Hoon,” you pant, trying to ignore that it sounds more like a beg than anything else. “Just–Just hurry up and touch me so we can get this over with.”
He has the audacity to chuckle, but makes no move to help subside the growing ache in your stomach. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he thinks this entire thing is funny.
“So impatient,” he says, clicking his tongue as he does. “This is why you’ve never cum, princess. You’re rushing things. How’s your pretty pussy supposed to finish if you never let her start in the first place?”
You don’t have a reply for that. If anything, it just irritates you that he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. He totally doesn’t, but still. It’s annoying that he thinks he knows more about your body than you do.
Slowly, he begins to spread your lips, his thumb spreading your arousal. The pad of it catches on your clit for just a split second, but the jolt of pleasure it gives you is enough to force a gasp out of your throat.
He pulls back for just a moment, before finally his mouth is on you fully, licking a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit. Your back arches without warning, a moan pushing its way from your lungs. The suddenness of it forces your brain to go on temporary pause, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his mouth.
He licks you like a man starved, grunts of pleasure falling from his lips as if he's the one being pleasured. “There you go, baby,” he mumbles against you, the noise drowned out by the wet sounds of your sopping pussy. “Feels good, hm?”
You just moan in response, unable to form any actual thoughts. Suddenly you’re almost grateful for the blindfold, because you aren’t sure you’d be able to handle seeing him in between your legs – making a home for himself there as if he always knew he’d end up there.
His hand grips your hip suddenly, fingers digging into the plush skin so hard you’re sure there’ll be marks in the morning. “Tell me,” he gasps, punctuating it by a tug at your clit. “Tell me exactly how good it feels.”
“So–So good,” you manage. “Fuck, it’s good.”
You’ve had men go down on you before, but never like this. Never like it was something they were doing for their own pleasure and not just because they felt obligated.
“I know it is, pretty girl.” He says. You feel his free hand slowly run up your calf and your inner thigh, before his finger is prodding at your entrance and pushing through the tight ring of muscle.
Your head goes fuzzy, hips lifting off the bed and chasing the heat of his mouth and the thrusts of his finger. It’s an overwhelming sensation, one that you’ve never really experienced before. And for one fleeting moment, you think that Sunghoon might have just done the thing he set out to do.
Prove you wrong.
“Fuck,” you whine, your hand searching blindly for his in an attempt to slow him down. “Hoon, slow down–”
He doesn’t listen. Instead, he forces another finger into your hole, stretching you out deliciously and now giving you a moment to breathe.
“I know, baby, I know,” he mumbles, giving your clit another harsh suck. “It’s gonna feel real good here soon.”
Slowly, the coil in your stomach builds and builds. Usually, this would be when you stop, accidentally edging yourself and thinking it was because you just couldn’t orgasm like a normal woman can. But Sunghoon doesn’t. Instead, he works you through it like there’s no place you’d rather be.
You gasp, reaching up and tugging the blindfold off. It falls to the side slowly, and when you look down you see Sunghoon between your legs, his cock in his hand and jerking himself off with slow, languid strokes.
It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a guy do.
“Shit, I’m gonna–oh, fuck–”
Sunghoon doesn’t go faster or harder, he just keeps the same pace, until finally you’re spilling over and releasing all over his face, your hole spasming against his fingers. He drinks your release like it’s his own personal ambrosia, groaning through it.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, voice raising in pitch. “Cum all over my face.”
He finishes shortly after you with a small cry, his cum painting your sheets and his hand a milky white.
When it’s over, you're panting like a dog in heat, thighs twitching and sweat beading across your forehead. You don’t even know what to do or say. Your best friend just made you finish for the first time after you’d spent years thinking it just wasn't possible for you. And not only did he bring you to orgasm, he did it without even using his fucking dick.
You could seriously kill him.
Slowly, he climbs up next to you, his own chest heaving from his own orgasm.
“So?” He murmurs.
You glare at him. “Don’t say it.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” But the smirk on his face says otherwise.
You’re having a lot of thoughts right now. Mostly that you can’t believe you just let your best friend eat you out.
But mostly that you can’t wait for him to do it again.
in which ₊ you decided to tag along to your boyfriends workout - watching him lift up those weights, and his biceps.. gosh it does something to you. sunghoon doesn't know how needy you are yet, and you're not waiting another hour to get home to do something about it.
content warning ₊ public sex, unprotected sex, ab riding, biting, shower sex, risky sex, softie sunghoon x dom gf, finger sucking (m!recieving)
ⓘ wc ₊ 2k
| now playing ₊ same old love ₊ remember you
"i just have one more set okay princess? you can wait a little longer right?" sunghoon looks at you pleadingly, you're sitting beside the bench press he's on, huffing impatiently.
he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his way of apologizing for taking too long. though he really isn't taking that long, he just hates to see you upset and wants to do everything to please you.
sunghoon lays flat against the bench, hands hovering over the barbell. he looks over at you before lowering it down, the weights on the sides are like triple times your weight, you don't even know how he does it.
he always says you being here is good, because you give him the spirits and motivation to get stronger, to look good for you, to protect you.
he makes a soft grunt each time he brings the barbell down to his chest, the veins in his biceps bulging out.
holy fuck.
he looks so good when he's like this, all focused and out of breath. you wish he was lifting you instead.
you've sat on his back while he did push-ups multiple times, but he's never actually deadlifted you or anything like that.
you'll bring it up later when you guys get home.
every time he lifts up, you can see his shirt ride up against his stomach. his v line and soft snail trail leading to his black calvin klein boxers peaking out from his grey sweats.
he's literally fighting for his life on the bench press and here you are thinking about how much you want to have sex. right here.
right now.
he sets the barbell back on the holder carefully, then reaching his forearm over to wipe the sweat of his forehead.
sunghoon looks at you again, his tongue sticking out from how much he’s panting. like a cute little dog. his biceps look bigger because of his post-work out pump - not that you’re complaining - but god you just them wrapped around you right now, put in a headlock.
“you’re staring babe.” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously under your intense gaze. his cheeks are flushed, a little shy from your intense gaze.
“sunghoon, you do this on purpose right? you just want me to go crazy right?”
“what? no baby, that’s not it at all…” he looks nervous, like a puppy who knows he's in trouble.
he’ll always choose your happiness over his.
your fingers trail up his leg, stopping at the waistband of his sweats. you tug at them.
“y/n, what’re you doing?” he mutters quickly weakly.
the gym is basically empty today anyway. you’ve only seen a total of 4 people scattered across the gym since you’ve both arrived.
you take one quick glance around the gym before making your way onto his lap. he sits up, alarmed. “seriously?” he sighs. sunghoon already had a feeling you were up to no good.
“yes seriously.” you huff. your fingers rake through his silky black locks, his hair damp from all the sweat.
you bring your lips to his, sharing a wet sloppy slow kiss. his sweaty palm comes up behind to gently hold the nape of your neck.
“mmmh..” sunghoon lets out a low noise of contentment.
you push him down gently with your small hands, and sunghoon lets you take the lead. his palm moves down from your neck to cup your ass, squeezing gently.
your hands move up his shirt, his black t-shirt rolling up, you stop as you reach his hard nipples. you bite his lip before sitting back up straight, admiring the view.
he looks so good like this. when you’re on top and he can’t ever say no to you. because he wants you just as bad as well, no matter how much he wants to be logical he just can't physically suppress the need he has for you. his hands rest idly on your soft thighs.
sunghoons pants have calmed, but are still there lingering from the kiss. he looks up at you like you’re his everything, like he’ll just let you do whatever you want to him. he always lets you use him as you please.
you’re sitting there in your cute lululemon two piece skirt set, the one sunghoon bought you when you told him you wanted to workout with him. which was a lie, you just wanted more time with him.
he lifts up your skirt, only to be blocked by the shorts the skirt comes with. sunghoon sighs dissatisfied.
you scoot up slightly from his lap to settle on his stomach, sunghoon adjusts to accommodate your position.
“you’re so pretty, y/n.”
“i know.”
he bites his lip.
you hover a bit to find the right angle, when you do, your hips begin to rock on your own. the dampness of your heat between your legs bleeds between through your panties and shorts, leaving a small but wet trail on his muscles.
sunghoon flexes his abs, his muscles hardening underneath you. you whine. it feels so good, the way it adds more friction to your pulsing cunt.
both his hands trail back up your thighs to firmly grab your ass, helping you rock back and forth against him. “fuck, y/n.. use me just like that...” he mutters.
“i wish i could see you bare like this..” sunghoon complains, looking at your shorts.
you don’t respond, he feels too good. and he’s not even inside you - yet - your'e here risking his gym membership and possibly getting the both of you banned from any other gyms in the world, but fuck it.
it’s hot, both the scene and your bodies - you’re starting to sweat, his hot body heat transferring to yours.
your eyes roll back, absolutely losing yourself. all you can see is the blinding lights of the hospital like lights of the gym, and sounds of treadmills being used.
your hips slow a bit, trying to get steady. your eyesight focuses more and you clean see more clearly.
bad news. someone’s making their way towards you guys, the figure is still far enough away that they’re still a blur, but you’re not taking any chances.
“we have to relocate sunghoon, someone’s coming this way.” you scoot off his stomach quickly, flattening your skirt.
he follows right behind you. “wait, i’ll be quick.”
he quickly wipes down the bench press and the barbell with a sanitary wipe before tossing it away quickly and interlocking his fingers with yours. he leads you through a cramped hallway, opening a door to an empty locker room.
“okay, take off your clothes y/n.”
you look around, “we’re doing it here?” you ask, looking at someone’s discarded sock on the floor.
“no no, just do it.”
you nod and hastily hurry yourself out of the tight set you had on, shoving your panties and clothes into a random locker. he wraps a towel around you, covering your parts.
you turn around to find him only with another towel wrapped loosely around his waist, one tug and his dick will spring out.
“we’re going in the shower. is that fine with you, y/n?” sunghoon asks.
you nod, wanting to deal with the ache between your thighs already. he doesn’t waste any more time, opening the door quickly to reveal a bunch of fancy showers, all lined up next to each other.
“you sure you’ll be fine doing it in here?” he asks again, wanting to make sure you’ll be comfortable.
you don’t even answer. your hand immediately flies to the towel hanging lowly on his waist, pulling it off, and tossing it to the side.
his dick stands free, precum leaking out the tip, his dick slightly swollen from how much it’s been aching. you unwrap yourself from the towel like a present, letting the towel fall.
“you’re so perfect.” sunghoons eyes wander everywhere, he doesn’t even know where to focus. he steps inside the first stall, pulling you in with him.
you hastily bend over, palms resting on the tile wall making yourself comfortable before spreading your legs before him. he doesn’t need words to know what you want. he just does.
sunghoon hovers behind you, his hand coming to lift one of your legs up, hooking his hand underneath your thigh.
he lines himself up, pushing in. “ahh.. fuck.” he moans, taking a breath - trying not to cum so fast already. he bottoms out, pushing all the way in slowly and you can feel his dick just twitching in you.
you pant, adjusting to him. you’ve done this plenty times before, when you came home after one too many drinks, wanting to have sex, when you were happy you had sex, or when you were bored you just had sex.
but everytime you’ll never get used to his size. it’s like somehow it grew bigger than the last time, except he’s always been the same length.
“can i move now?”
“mhm.”
sunghoon thrusts into you with a steady pace, not fast, but not slow either.
“y/n… ah.. you feel so good.” his fingers grip your thighs harder, your moans spill out messily like ink.
“sunghoon. harder.”
“i don’t want to hurt you..” he mutters. though his pace does speed up, and he can’t help it. not when you’re this wet and tight.
its a little uncomfortable, having sex here. worth it when you have your boyfriend fucking you so good.
“i love you so much.” sunghoons moans, leaning down to leave wet sloppy kisses on your shoulder - your moans echo loudly.
“someone’s already using a shower.” a muffled voice speaks up from a few feet away. you freeze. sunghoon's hand is already covering your mouth.
sunghoon immediately turns on the shower to drown out your noises and not to draw any suspicion. the cold water hits the both of you like a train. he turns you around, lifting you off the ground to hide your tiny feet from anyone seeing. you wrap your legs around him.
your eyes bore into his, his eyes are filled with pleasure. he stops covering your mouth, but before he can even pull away you stick his thumb in your mouth, licking and biting it. fuck it turns him on. his thrusts get rougher and sloppier, a clear sign he’s getting closer.
“fuuuuck.” he mouthes, his hips stutter slightly.
“baby, you feel so good. i can’t get enough of this…”
he thrusts and thrusts with all his strength, eyes rolling back in deep pleasure.
someone turns on the shower a few stalls down, and another one in the stall right next to you both.
your fingers reach down to pinch his pink nipple, he groans. he disconnects the shower head, setting it to the highest pressure. sunghoon places the shower head between you, aiming it right on your clit.
"mmmmp!!!" you bite your lip down hard to muffle yourself as much as you can, though it doesn't work much.
your hands fly around his neck, gripping it tightly for stabilization, choking him in the process.
it's too much, he didn't even start with a slow gentle spray, just put it to the roughest setting he could. if you weren't in the shower, you would've made such a wet mess everywhere the way how much squirt comes out of you.
he lets go of the shower head, and it falls and hits the wall with a loud thud.
he doesn’t let up - sunghoon keeps thrusting - you moan loudly, overstimulated. “shh baby, i know i know.” he reassures you, kissing you gently, a stark contrast to how rough he is with you right now.
he sets you down gently, your feet curl on the cold tile floor. sunghoon pulls out and strokes himself. it's so hot, the sight of him masturbating. it's a sight you will never get tired of.
he scoots a bit closer to coat your stomach with his white milky warm contents. he pants - reaching to grab the shower head again - already cleaning you up.
“you better buy me sushi after this.”
"i know."
“can we do it again?”
he laughs, nodding.
“let’s wash up first baby, and let's go do it somewhere more private, yeah?”
authors note ; THANKS FOR READING !! sorry i lwk got locked out of this account for a bit but i'm back. requests are still open don't be shy to send me what you wish to be written!
where heeseung has to hold your hand whenever he’s gonna cum. it’s non-negotiable!! the feeling is just so overwhelming and he needs you to keep him grounded. and don’t even get him started on cumming inside you.
he finds himself subconsciously holding his breath, eyes screwed shut, and hands clenching onto the sheets beside your head. you notice and tap his wrist, signaling him to loosen up. interlocking hands, you remind him to breathe and let himself feel.
he’s already got you in missionary but he needs you closer. he can’t help it, the way you’re being so gentle and loving with him has him so so turned on :( this is all he’s ever wanted and he wants to give you everything, make you feel everything.
your grip on his hand tightens when he leans down, pushing some hair out of your face and kissing you sweetly. at least, this is what he considers sweet in his fucked out state. the kiss is wet and sloppy as he helplessly laps at your mouth, leaving you struggling to keep up.
his desperation grows, hiking your leg up and doubling down on his thrusts, plunging into you. he’s so deep but he’s whining that it’s “s’not enough” :( you’re not sure how to help such a lost cause, so you just lay there, letting him use you while you praise him.
“oh fuck, gonna cum..” he groans, squeezing your hand and pressing his forehead to yours. his face slips to squish his cheek up against the side of your face with a whine. “please say you’re close, too. can’t hold it”
you nod and squeeze his hand thrice in response, a silent ‘i love you’ that causes his hips to stutter as he spills inside you. your orgasm follows not long after, coating him in your sticky arousal. he’s practically spent as he continues to ride out his high, filling you up with ropes of his cum ^_^
can u tell i love his lil macbook photoshoot? ugh he’s too cute
— ᨳଓ . In which Jungwon takes "age is just a number" a little too seriously and makes it his personal mission to get Jay’s best friend's best friend to like him back, even if she’s made it painfully clear that younger boys have never been, and never will be, her type.
TW: mentions of past grooming, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, unhealthy relationship dynamics, age-gap relationship (minor/adult)
in which a sports journalist falls in love with south korea’s star defender
synopsis: when you meet sunghoon park — south korea’s calm, elite centre-back and vice-captain — during the world cup, professional interviews slowly turn into late-night conversations, gentle support, and stolen moments of connection.
as south korea pushes toward glory, so does hiding your growing feelings. through support, laughter, and quiet closeness, you discover something special that stays with you long after the final whistle.
pairing: footballer!sunghoon x reporter!reader
wc: 12.9k
warnings: none! it's mainly fluff with a tiny bit of angst at the end (good ending!!)
cw: slow-burn, mild emotional distress (sports related), talks about being under pressure, disappointments, insecurities, expectations. one kiss, strong language
a/n: SPAIN WON THE WORLD CUP!!!! i'm the happiest person on earth rn :(( i can't believe this fic started because of a silly idea i had rewatching iker casillas and sara carbonero’s 2010 world cup video for the nth time... ugh, i love my team. also, i just had to MAKE sunghoon's trading card because all the others were ai so i took care of it with my poor photo editing skills,,,,, 😁 (you know i had to take the opportunity to make him a player of my favorite team lmao)
the world cup buzzes like electricity in the air, thick and alive under atlanta’s stadium lights. the atmosphere wraps around everything, from the distant hum of distant chants to the sharp scent of fresh turf and street food vendors weaving through the crowds outside. south korea’s national team has arrived with quiet determination this time, not just as participants but as a team who trained for months in secrecy, refining a defense that feels impenetrable. their preparation whispers through insider reports and subtle leaks, hinting at new formations and unbreakable partnerships in the backline.
you step off the plane a few days earlier, notebook already full of notes, press badge hanging around your neck like a second heartbeat. mid-twenties, passionate about the sport since you first watched it as a kid in your living room, knees tucked under a blanket while your family cheered at the screen.
you earned this assignment through sharp reporting and a knack for getting players to open up, chasing stories in smaller leagues and building connections one honest conversation at a time. this is your first world cup covering the men’s side, and the pressure feels exhilarating, a mix of nerves and pure thrill that keeps your pulse quick.
sunghoon park stands out even before the tournament begins.
you know him, everybody does.
starting centre-back, atlético de madrid's star, vice-third captain of south korea's team despite being one of the younger leaders in the squad. his reputation precedes him: ice-prince composure on the pitch, elite defending that reads plays before they happen, precise tackles that disarm attacks without unnecessary force, aerial dominance in duels, and the rare ability to stay calm when everyone else loses their head. fans call him "the wall", a nickname earned through countless highlights of last-ditch clearances and steady leadership. teammates respect him because he leads by example, voice steady in the dressing room, never raising it unless absolutely necessary, offering quiet words of encouragement that carry weight.
off the pitch he carries a quiet politeness, almost shy, with sharp features and dark hair that falls just so, making him look more model than footballer sometimes, his presence drawing second glances even in casual team arrivals. but on it, he transforms into something unforgettable, every movement calculated, his focus turning the chaos of the game into something almost predictable for those watching closely.
the group stage opener arrives fast. south korea versus a tough czech republic known for physicality and counter-attacks, their players built like athletes who thrive on intensity and sudden bursts forward.
the stadium is packed, flags waving in vibrant waves of red and green, chants echoing off the sleek architecture and blending into a roaring symphony. you sit in the press box, heart racing as the teams line up, the bright lights casting long shadows across the pitch.
sunghoon wears the armband tonight as one of the captains rotates, his posture straight, eyes focused under the intense glare. the whistle blows and the match unfolds like a carefully choreographed dance, every pass and movement carrying the weight of national pride.
south korea dominates possession early, controlling the tempo with crisp passes that slice through the midfield. sunghoon organizes the backline with quiet gestures, shouting instructions that cut through the noise, his voice clear and authoritative without ever sounding frantic. when the opponent launches a dangerous cross in the 22nd minute, he rises highest, heading it clear with perfect timing, his body suspended for a moment in perfect athletic poise. you scribble notes furiously: park’s reading of the game is elite. anticipates runs before they develop. tracks shadows and feints with uncanny precision.
the first goal comes from a set-piece he delivers, his long ball finding a teammate who finishes clinically. 1-0. the crowd erupts in a wave of cheers and horns, the energy surging through the stands and into the press area, making your skin tingle.
half-time brings tactical adjustments, the players jogging off with measured steps, sunghoon’s expression unchanging, focused, a thin sheen of sweat on his brows but nothing else. you watch from your seat, analyzing every detail, the way he wipes his face with the hem of his jersey before disappearing into the tunnel.
second half tests them. the opponent pushes hard, physical challenges flying in, boots clashing against shins in audible thuds that make you wince from afar. sunghoon absorbs a heavy tackle but gets up immediately, brushing dirt from his jersey like it’s nothing, his face only shows determination. another key interception in the 68th minute prevents a certain equalizer, his sliding perfectly timed, the ball rolling safely out of bounds as the crowd holds its collective breath.
his composure never cracks, even as the minutes tick down and fatigue sets in for everyone else. south korea holds firm and adds a second goal late, a moment of clinical finishing that seals the result.
final whistle: 2-0. clean sheet. perfect start.
the stadium pulses with celebration, and you lean back in your seat, notebook overflowing, already replaying every touch from the ice-prince at the heart of it all.
the mixed zone after the match is chaotic, journalists crowding the barriers with cameras flashing and recorders thrust forward like eager weapons. the air feels humid and charged, thick with the scent of sweat, grass, and lingering adrenaline from the pitch. the players file through in waves, some pausing for quick quotes with tired smiles, others walking past with headphones on, heads down, lost in their own debriefs. you wait patiently near the designated spot, assigned specifically to sunghoon today, your notebook clutched tight and questions already mentally rehearsed.
when he approaches, towel around his neck, hair damp with sweat and slightly tousled, jersey clinging slightly to his frame from the exertions of ninety minutes, your pulse quickens despite your professionalism. he looks every bit the ice prince under the harsh mixed zone lights, broad shoulders still squared from the game, but up close there’s a subtle tiredness mixed with quiet satisfaction in his eyes, a faint flush on his cheeks that speaks to the effort he poured out.
“sunghoon park,” you begin, microphone steady in your hand, voice warm but professional, cutting through the surrounding din. “congratulations on the win and the clean sheet. you were instrumental at the back tonight. how did the defense hold up against their physical attacks?”
he stops fully, turning toward you with deliberate care. his gaze meets yours directly, polite and attentive, dark eyes steady without any hint of evasion. a small, shy smile touches his lips, the kind that barely shows but feels genuine, softening the sharp lines of his features for just a moment. “thank you. the team prepared well. we communicated a lot on the pitch, stayed compact. it’s a good start, but we know every match gets harder.”
you nod, following up smoothly, the words flowing as the crowd noise fades into background static. “your aerial duel win in the first half was crucial. and that long ball leading to the first goal — was that something practiced in training, or instinctive?”
“a bit of both,” he answers, voice calm and low, carrying that measured tone that makes every syllable feel intentional. “the coaches drilled set-pieces endlessly, but reading the moment… that comes with experience and trust in your teammates.” he shifts slightly on his feet, still looking at you, water bottle in one hand, the towel draped casually.
then you ask the tougher one, the kind that makes some players defensive or curt. “some analysts said before the tournament that the backline might struggle with pace. how do you respond to that after tonight?”
sunghoon pauses briefly, considering, then lets out a genuine laugh — soft, surprised, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that lights up his whole expression. it’s rare post-match, especially after a high-stakes opener, cutting through the usual post-game formality like a breath of fresh air.
“you came prepared with the tough questions, didn't you?” he teases lightly, tone playful but not mocking, a hint of warmth threading through. “i think we showed tonight that we can handle it. pace is one thing, but positioning and timing matter more. we’ll keep proving it match by match.”
you smile back, the chemistry instant and easy, a natural rhythm settling between question and answer. the interview flows naturally after that, a few more questions about team spirit and his leadership role as vice-third captain. he answers thoughtfully, adding small details that most players gloss over — the specific calls he made during transitions, the way the defenders rotated coverage to blunt counters, little insights born from hours on the training ground.
when it ends, he gives a slight bow of his head, respectful and understated. “good questions. thank you. see you.” his eyes linger just a second longer than necessary, holding yours with that same quiet intensity from the pitch, before he moves on down the mixed zone.
you stand there for a moment amid the continuing chaos, replaying the laugh in your head, the way his voice dipped on certain words. "he's handsome, but you're professional. remember the boundaries", you remind yourself firmly, even as your notes feel heavier with more than just match analysis. but the spark is undeniable.
back at the team hotel later that night, the lobby hums with subdued celebration. the space feels alive yet restrained, players and staff moving between rooms in quiet clusters, some heading to recovery sessions with ice baths and physio tables waiting, others grabbing late snacks from the discreet buffet setup in the corner. the hotel is modern, luxurious but secure, with sleek marble floors, towering glass windows overlooking the atlanta night, and strict curfew rules for the squad enforced by attentive staff. you’re staying on one of the lower floors, same as some media and support staff, close enough to the team’s area for convenience but separated by careful zoning that keeps interactions professional and contained.
jet lag keeps you awake, a restless energy humming in your veins, so you head to the lobby lounge for a quiet coffee, laptop open as you type up your match report, fingers flying across the keys in the dim glow. the lights are dimmed low, casting warm pools across the plush seating, soft piano music playing faintly from hidden speakers, a gentle melody that blends with the occasional murmur of conversation.
you’re halfway through your notes, capturing the rhythm of the defense and the weight of sunghoon’s contributions, when movement catches your eye near the entrance.
sunghoon walks in wearing a simple black hoodie and sweats, hair still slightly damp from a shower, the fabric of his clothes loose and comfortable after the intensity of the pitch. he looks younger like this, less captain, more guy in his early twenties carrying the weight of a nation on broad but unassuming shoulders. he spots you almost immediately, hesitation flickering across his face for a brief second before he approaches with measured steps.
“are you still working?” he asks quietly, voice gentle so as not to disturb the quiet space, his korean accent wrapping around the english words comfortably, smooth and familiar.
you look up, surprised but pleased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, i couldn't sleep. jet lag plus post-match adrenaline. you? should you even be down here this late?”
he gives that small shy smile again, the one that softens his sharp features, and sits in the armchair across from you after a subtle nod seeking permission.
“brief recovery session ran long. and yes, technically within limits if i don’t stay too long.” he glances at your screen with mild curiosity. “are you writing about the match?”
“i'm trying to capture it right. you made it easy with that performance,” you reply, closing the laptop slightly to give him full attention, the screen’s glow fading. conversation starts light, about the game, the flow of possession and the moments that stood out. he talks about specific moments — the tackle on the 68th, how the roar of the crowd affected concentration and forced quicker decisions, the way the backline shifted as a unit to snuff out threats.
you share observations from the press box, how the team’s shape looked solid from above, the defensive lines holding like a well-oiled machine even under pressure. the words come easily, trading perspectives that deepen the understanding of the ninety minutes.
“the jet lag is brutal,” he admits after a pause, leaning back into the cushions, his posture relaxing just a fraction. “it feels like my body is still somewhere over the pacific, caught between time zones. but nights like tonight make it worth it, the win settling something in the chest.”
you nod, sipping your coffee. “i get it. first world cup for me covering like this. the energy is addictive, but exhausting. what helps you unwind? besides perfect defending, obviously.”
he chuckles softly, the sound warm and low in the quiet lobby, a rare unguarded moment. “music sometimes. or thinking about simple things back home. korean food, especially. samgyeopsal after a win would be perfect right now. or even just ramyeon, spicy and comforting. the hotel options are good, but nothing beats street food at home late night after training.”
“ramyeon sounds heavenly,” you agree, smiling as the memory of your own recent meal surfaces. “i had some earlier from a local spot nearby. spicy, just right, with that perfect chew. if you get a chance off-schedule, there’s a place a short drive away that does authentic versions, the noodles are great. though i’m sure team nutrition has you on lock with carefully balanced meals.”
he listens intently, eyes brightening with quiet interest, nodding along as details unfold. the talk drifts naturally — small recommendations for hidden spots, funny stories about travel mishaps like delayed flights and lost luggage in past tournaments, how the world cup atmosphere feels different from league play, more electric and heavy with expectation. he asks about your reporting background, genuinely curious, leaning forward slightly. you tell him about covering smaller leagues first, the grind of rainy pitches and modest crowds that built your eye for the game. he shares a bit about balancing football with everything else, the pressure of being a leader despite his age, the quiet moments needed to stay grounded.
time slips by. maybe twenty minutes, maybe thirty, the lobby emptying further as staff dim the lights even lower and the piano music fades to a softer hum. neither wants to end it abruptly, the conversation weaving comfortably, but reality lingers in the back of both minds.
“i should head up,” he says eventually, standing slowly, stretching with subtle care for his body after the match. “i have a curfew and all of that. but… this was nice. unexpected, but nice.”
“yeah,” you reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “good talk, sunghoon. rest up. next match comes quick.”
he pauses before leaving, that shy smile returning, warmer now in the low light. “goodnight. and thanks again for the interview earlier. you made it… interesting, and easier.” his words carry a little extra weight, the small spark from the mixed zone flickering brighter here in the soft lights of the lounge.
you watch him walk toward the elevators, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands in a casual gesture, footsteps quiet on the marble. alone again, you reopen your laptop but type slower, mind replaying the conversation in fragments. professional. friendly. nothing more. yet the easy chemistry lingers like the aftertaste of good coffee, warm and subtly persistent.
-------
the days after the opening win settle into a rhythm that feels both exhausting and electric. south korea’s second group match arrives, and the team looks even sharper under the georgia sun. the next days settle into tournament rhythm, a steady pulse of preparation and anticipation that fills the air around the venues. training sessions you observe from afar, positioned along the sidelines with other accredited media, notebooks ready and cameras clicking discreetly. press conferences hum with questions in multiple languages, analysis fills late nights back at your temporary workspace. south korea prepares with focused intensity, the squad sharpening transitions and set-piece routines.
sunghoon leads defensive drills with quiet authority, voice steady as he directs younger defenders, demonstrating positioning with precise gestures and calm corrections. his movements remain fluid even in practice, reading imaginary attacks before they unfold, adjusting lines with a few words that carry across the pitch. you catch his eye once across the green during a water break, the brief connection unexpected amid the bustle of cones and passing sequences. he offers a small nod, almost imperceptible, but it warms something in your chest, a quiet acknowledgment that lingers longer than it should.
back in the hotel, paths cross again briefly — a hallway hello in the early evening, his damp hair suggesting another recovery session, your arms full of notes and a coffee cup. another shared elevator ride with staff present, where conversation stays light and public, comments on the weather, the quality of training pitches, nothing that draws attention. the spark simmers beneath the surface, subtle glances and polite smiles building something unspoken match by match.
the second group game arrives under the stadium lights once more. another win, 3-1 this time, the scoreline reflecting growing confidence in the squad. sunghoon marshals the defense like a conductor, his voice cutting calmly through the noise. two key tackles in the first half snuff out dangerous counters. a perfectly timed interception in the 55th minute sparks a fast break. sunghoon scores the opener from a corner, powerful header that sends the ball rocketing into the net, his timing impeccable as he rises above the defenders. composure intact even as teammates pile on him in celebration, the stadium erupting in a sea of red and cheers that shake the stands. you watch from the press box, fingers flying over your keyboard, noting how his positioning seems almost predictive.
post-match mixed zone, you’re the one they send for the team interviews again. when sunghoon reaches you, jersey still on, towel draped around his neck, he lingers. the interview starts professional — questions about the clean sheet streak, his leadership, the set-piece organization, how it felt contributing at both ends. “feels good for the team. defense first, always, but if i can help attack too… it adds something extra.” he answers with more ease now, small smiles appearing. the tease comes again when you ask about a near-miss. “you notice everything, don’t you?” that laugh returns, genuine and rare, soft and crinkling the corners of his eyes, shared just between you amid the surrounding chaos.
the moment stretches comfortably, his answers thoughtful as before, offering insights into the team’s adjustments at halftime and the way the crowd’s energy fueled the second half push. as you wrap up, he pauses instead of moving on immediately.
“you’re becoming the regular,” he says quietly, almost teasing. “it's good to see a familiar face.” his eyes hold yours a second longer before he nods politely and continues down the line. you keep the questions sharp yet fair, the rhythm between you flowing smoother with each exchange, that easy chemistry threading through the professional exchange like a hidden current. the warmth from the brief laugh carries you through the rest of your notes that night.
that night in the hotel lobby, the coffee area is quieter. you’re there with your notes when he appears again, hoodie up, looking refreshed but still buzzing from the win.
“mind if i join?” he asks. this time he seeks you out more deliberately, crossing the quiet lounge with purposeful steps and sitting longer in the armchair across from you. you gesture to the seat across.
conversation flows easier this time. he shares a funny story about a younger teammate’s celebration in the dressing room. you tell him about a chaotic press conference earlier. talk turns to korean food recommendations again — he describes his favorite spots back in seoul with quiet enthusiasm, making you imagine the crowded streets, and the perfect balance of flavors that remind him of home after tough matches.
“are you still craving that ramyeon?” he sends a subtle glance toward the hotel menu.
“always,” you laugh.
you swap travel stories, laughing softly over delayed flights and unfamiliar customs in distant stadiums. jet lag conversations deepen slightly into dreams and why this sport matters, the shared passion for the game threading through late-night reflections. the spark feels warmer, comfortable, hovering in the pauses between words.
by the third group match, a dominant 2-0 victory seals top spot in the group. clean sheets stacking up, a testament to the defensive solidity built over months. sunghoon’s leadership shines through every organized line and timely command on the pitch. he scores the first goal from a corner kick, rising powerfully to head it into the net. his celebration is restrained — a fist pump, quick hug with teammates — but you catch the rare wide smile. his defense remains elite, another strong performance with crucial blocks.
the post-match interview flows like you're old friends now, easy banter mixed with sharp analysis under the mixed zone lights. you’re now the unofficial go-to for the team.
“you’re making my job look too good,” you joke lightly, microphone steady but tone warmer than strict professionalism. sunghoon’s answers come thoughtfully, but he lingers noticeably after each question, adding small extras just for you.
“or you’re making me look good,” he replies softly, eyes warm with that subtle crinkle at the edges, the response quick and genuine. “that goal felt good for the fans,” he says, then softly after the mic dips, “thanks for the steady questions. keeps me grounded.”
the chemistry is obvious to anyone watching closely, but nothing improper. just easy rapport.
the hotel becomes your shared in-between space. quick hallway greetings turn into short conversations when paths cross. one evening after training, you’re heading back to your room when he appears around the corner.
”long day?” he asks. you nod. he walks with you partway, voice low. “we appreciate the fair coverage.”
that night’s lobby meeting stretches further into the quiet hours. recommendations turn personal — favorite movies for recovery days, the ones that distract the mind without demanding too much attention, music playlists that help settle the adrenaline.
your hands brush reaching for drinks from the low table between you, a small touch that sends a small jolt through the air. the eye contact lingers a beat longer each time, charged yet restrained. nothing crosses lines, but the connection feels real, slow-building, like extra time in a tight match where every second carries weight.
late nights in the lobby or coffee corner grow. you talk about pressure, how the tournament amplifies everything.
he admits quietly, “it helps having someone outside the team bubble to talk to. makes it feel less heavy.” you share your own experiences covering high-stakes matches. nothing crosses lines. just comfort. mutual understanding. a crush that simmers beneath polite words.
group stage wraps with top spot secured. advancement feels earned. sunghoon’s clean sheets and that set-piece goal make headlines. you write positively, balanced. you and sunghoon exist in this careful space — reporter and player, budding friends, something warmer underneath the surface of every exchanged word and glance. the ice prince thaws just a little for you in these stolen moments, and you find yourself looking forward to every post-match moment more than you should, the story and the person behind it intertwining in ways that feel both exciting and dangerously delicate.
-------
round of 16 hits on day 13. the atmosphere around the stadium crackles with higher stakes, the air thicker with tension and the roar of fans who have traveled far for this knockout stage. the opponent is tricky, technical, a side known for quick combinations and clever movement that demands constant vigilance. the match is tighter, every touch and challenge carrying the weight of potential elimination, the pitch bathed in bright lights that cast long shadows across the players.
sunghoon shines again, his presence at the back a steady anchor amid the intensity. a spectacular sliding tackle in the 40th minute prevents a goal, his body extending fully with perfect timing, the ball cleared safely as the crowd gasps and then erupts in relief. he organizes relentlessly, voice cutting through the noise with calm instructions, gesturing to teammates to maintain shape, reading the flow of the game with that trademark composure. south korea wins 1-0, a late goal sealing it in dramatic fashion. the clean sheet streak continues, another hard-fought shutout that speaks volumes about the defensive unit’s resilience and cohesion.
post-match, the mixed zone is busier than ever, journalists pressing closer to the barriers, cameras flashing in rapid bursts, the energy electric with the thrill of advancement. voices overlap in a dozen languages as players make their way through, some pausing for brief comments, others moving with exhausted determination. when it’s sunghoon’s turn with you, he lingers the longest yet, his jersey still marked with grass stains and sweat, hair damp and slightly tousled from the battle.
“it was a tough one today,” you say on mic, keeping your tone professional yet warm amid the surrounding chaos.
he answers thoughtfully, detailing the defensive adjustments and the importance of staying compact against their technical threats, his words measured and insightful as always. then, after the formal part winds down and the recorder clicks off, his voice softens, eyes meeting yours with quiet sincerity.
“i know i say this a lot, but… your questions help me reflect properly. see you around the hotel?” the invitation is casual, professional on the surface, but layered with that familiar spark.
that night, the elevator moment happens in the quiet hum of the team hotel. the lobby has mostly emptied, soft lighting casting gentle glows across the marble floors as staff move discreetly in the background. you both end up in the same car after curfew hours, the doors sliding shut to leave just the two of you inside for a brief ride. he presses his floor, you yours, the numbers lighting up softly on the panel. the space feels smaller, more intimate, with the faint scent of his post-shower freshness mingling with the neutral hotel air.
he glances at you with a small grin, the expression boyish and relaxed after the high of the win. “technically we're not breaking rules if it’s just elevator talk, right?” his tone is light, teasing in that understated way.
you laugh quietly, the sound echoing softly in the enclosed space. “team rules are strict. but i won’t tell if you don’t.”
he chuckles, the sound low and warm, filling the brief silence as the elevator ascends smoothly. “good. wouldn’t want to get the reporter in trouble.”
the ride is short but charged, the two of you whisper-joking about imaginary coach surveillance cameras hidden in the corners, trading playful exaggerations about what the staff might think of late-night elevator rides. his eyes crinkle with amusement, the tension of the match melting away in these stolen seconds of normalcy.
when the doors open on your floor, he says softly, “sleep well,” his gaze holding yours for a lingering moment before the doors begin to close behind you. you step out into the hallway, the warmth in your chest blooming brighter, carrying you toward your room as the elevator continues upward.
texts begin the next day. the mixed zone buzz still echoes in your mind as you wrap up another solid interview with sunghoon, the post-round-of-16 energy lingering in the air like static. you give him your number after the formal questions end and the recorders are away, framing it casually as “professional follow-up if needed for quotes or any clarification on comments.” your voice stays steady and professional, but your fingers brush lightly when you hand over the small slip of paper with the digits neatly written. he takes it with a small nod, that shy smile touching his lips again, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a beat longer than necessary.
“thank you. i’ll keep it professional,” he says softly, tucking the note carefully into his pocket.
his first message comes that evening, the notification lighting up your phone screen while you sit in your hotel room reviewing notes. it is a simple photo of his dinner plate with a perfectly arranged meal — grilled protein, colorful vegetables, and a small portion of rice — caption “hotel version of home food. still not as good as ramyeon.”
you smile immediately, the image capturing the quiet discipline of his routine even after a big win. you reply with a meme about strict diets and athlete life, something light and relatable that pokes gentle fun at the sacrifices. he sends back a laughing emoji — rare for him, you imagine, given his usual reserved nature — followed by a single “exactly” that makes your grin widen.
from there, the messages stay light, comforting, a gentle thread connecting the tournament days without crossing into anything overt. he sends silly pitch-side observations during training breaks: “jay almost tripped over a cone today. classic.” the photo attached shows a blurred moment of near chaos on the practice field, his dry humor shining through in the sparse words. you send encouraging articles about south korea’s impressive run or funny football memes that capture the absurdity of the world cup bubble, ones that make him reply with “this one’s accurate” or a simple thumbs up that somehow feels warmer than it should.
there's nothing flirty on the surface. just connection. mutual crush energy that both of you feel but respect the boundaries around, keeping exchanges safe and supportive amid the mounting pressure.
hotel moments multiply in the days that follow, the shared spaces becoming familiar territory for these careful interactions. late-night lobby talks stretch longer, the soft piano music and dimmed lights creating a private world away from the team’s stricter routines. one night on day 15 he brings a small herbal tea from the team area (within rules), the warm cup steaming gently as he sets it down on the low table between you. “thought you might like this. helps with the late nights,” he says quietly, his voice low enough to blend with the ambient hum of the lounge.
you talk about life outside football — his interests in ice skating from younger days, the way the rhythm on the ice once felt like an escape before football took over completely, describing the cold air and smooth glides with a rare nostalgic softness. you share your journey into sports journalism, the early struggles of proving yourself in press boxes filled with veterans, the thrill of finding stories that go beyond the scoreline. hands brush when passing the cup back and forth, the fleeting contact sending small sparks up your arm each time. eye contact lingers, dark eyes holding yours across the table with quiet intensity, the air feels charged but controlled, heavy with unspoken understanding as the hours slip by unnoticed. the conversations flow naturally, deepening the connection without rushing it, each word and glance adding another layer to the careful space you both navigate.
-------
quarterfinals arrive around day 18. the stakes feel heavier in the air, the stadium packed with fans whose chants create a wall of sound that vibrates through every seat and press box. the match is intense, a real battle against a formidable side that matches south korea’s determination with sharp attacks and physical duels. every minute stretches, the tension thick on the pitch under the bright lights.
sunghoon is everywhere — key tackles that stop dangerous breakthroughs in their tracks, precise interceptions that shift momentum, and steady leadership in extra time when fatigue threatens to creep in. his voice remains calm yet commanding, organizing the backline with gestures and short calls that cut through the roar. they win 2-1 in a dramatic finish, the late goal sending the entire bench and crowd into frenzy. the team erupts in joy on the pitch, players hugging, jumping, the relief and pride visible in every exhausted smile and raised fist. advancement to semifinals secured, a milestone that echoes through the night.
the hotel celebration that night is big but contained — music pulsing softly in the common areas, players laughing in groups, sharing stories of key moments from the match, staff joining in with congratulatory claps and snacks passed around. the atmosphere buzzes with pride and cautious optimism, lights a little brighter than usual, but everyone mindful of the next challenge looming. you observe from the edges as a reporter, keeping professional distance, notebook in hand and a quiet smile as you absorb the scene without inserting yourself into the core festivities.
later, when things quiet and the main areas begin to empty, sunghoon finds you outside near the hotel gardens, away from the main buzz. the paths are softly lit with low lanterns, the greenery lush and fragrant under the clear seattle sky. the stars are bright overhead, scattered across the dark canvas, the night air warm and still, carrying faint traces of desert breeze and blooming flowers.
“big win today,” you say as he approaches, his steps quiet on the stone path, still dressed in comfortable post-celebration clothes, hair slightly tousled from the long day.
he nods, sitting on the bench beside you with a comfortable distance that still feels close. “the team deserved it. everyone gave everything out there.”
after that, conversation flows deep and unhurried, it comes naturally. he talks about the pressure of the knockout stages, how every match feels like the last, the weight of national expectations sitting on his shoulders alongside the physical demands. his voice stays low and reflective, sharing small vulnerabilities about staying focused when the world watches.
you share how covering it has been a dream but emotionally draining too, the rollercoaster of emotions from the press box mirroring some of the intensity on the field, the responsibility of capturing moments fairly while feeling the pull of the story. an hour passes easily under the stars, time slipping by as words weave between match analysis, personal reflections, and quiet laughter at lighter memories from the tournament so far.
at one point your hands brush again while gesturing animatedly about a particular play, the contact warm and lingering. neither pulls away immediately, the touch extending a second or two longer than accidental. prolonged eye contact follows — his dark eyes soft, searching, reflecting the garden lights and something deeper. the almost-moment hangs in the warm air, charged with crush energy that peaks in the silence, hearts beating a little faster in the quiet night.
he clears his throat gently after a beat, the sound soft and respectful, pulling back just enough to keep the line intact. “i’m glad you’re here for all this. it makes the nights easier, you know?”
you smile, warmth spreading through your chest. “me too, sunghoon.”
he doesn’t push further. respect keeps the line intact, boundaries honored even as the connection deepens. but the friendship has grown, your bond is undeniable in these stolen moments of calm. as you both head inside separately, walking toward the entrance at a respectful distance, the tournament feels brighter, the stars a little clearer, the shared moments adding layers of comfort amid the beautiful game’s relentless pace.
-------
the semifinal week hits like a wave. south korea’s run has captured hearts back home and around the world. media pressure mounts daily — press conferences packed with reporters, questions sharper and more insistent, expectations heavier with every passing hour. training sessions stretch longer under the los angeles sun, tactics refined with extra repetitions, fitness pushed to the limit. sunghoon leads with that signature calm, directing drills and encouraging teammates, but you notice the subtle signs of strain in his shoulders when he thinks no one watches. as vice-third captain, he shoulders quiet responsibility, guiding younger players through tough sequences, voice steady even as fatigue sets in.
you feel the pressure too. your reports gain traction, interviews with the team sought after by bigger outlets. every day brings new deadlines, analysis pieces, and the growing awareness that this story — both the team’s and the one quietly unfolding between you and sunghoon — feels bigger than expected. you keep boundaries professional in public, but the hotel has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where conversations breathe easier away from the cameras.
one particularly grueling training day ends late. the team disperses for recovery, bodies tired but spirits high. you’re walking the designated paths near the hotel, notebook in hand, reviewing notes under fading light when sunghoon appears. he wears team-issued sweats, hair slightly messy from the shower, a fresh scent of soap following him. a quick glance around confirms the area is quiet, within allowed boundaries for light activity.
“do you mind if i join for a short walk?” he asks, voice low and gentle. his eyes carry that familiar shy warmth, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
you nod, closing your notebook. “of course. rough day out there?”
he falls into step beside you, the path winding gently around landscaped gardens, away from main entrances but still visible enough to stay appropriate. “yeah, long one. legs feel heavy, but we needed it. that drill where the cones kept falling — your face was priceless when you were watching from the side.”
you tease softly, a light laugh escaping. “don’t remind me. you looked so focused, and then everything just tumbled. the younger guys won’t let it go, huh?”
he chuckles, the sound easing the day’s tension, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “no, they keep replaying it in the dressing room. i told them to focus on their own mistakes next time.”
gradually the conversation deepens as the sky turns deep blue, stars emerging one by one overhead. he talks about pressure first, voice thoughtful. “it builds differently in a tournament like this. every mistake feels like it could end everything. as captain… even vice… you feel it for the whole squad. not just for yourself.”
you listen closely, the gravel path crunching softly under your steps. “i can see it in how you carry yourself. what keeps you going when it gets this heavy?”
he thinks for a moment, steps slowing. “dreams from when i was younger. playing at this level, bringing pride home. and… smaller things now. quiet moments like this. reminders that there’s life beyond the pitch.” he glances at you, the air feels thicker. “honestly, you’ve become one of my favorite parts of this crazy tournament. talking to you after matches, the texts, these walks… it makes the pressure feel less lonely. like there’s something steady.”
your heart skips a beat at the admission. you look at him, the words hanging gentle between you under the starlight. “same for me, sunghoon. covering this has been incredible, the biggest assignment of my career, but getting to know you has made it special. in a way i didn’t expect. your perspective after games… it helps me see the match differently too. it makes me better, even.”
he nods, a soft smile appearing. “i’m glad. sometimes after a tough session i look forward to what you might ask next, or what meme you’ll send. it keeps things balanced.”
neither pushes further. hands brush once as you both gesture toward a nearby bench, the contact warm and lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. prolonged eye contact follows under the stars — his dark eyes soft, searching, full of unspoken feelings. tension coils warmly, but respect holds strong. you sit briefly on the bench, the wood still holding daytime heat.
“tell me about seoul,” you say quietly. “what do you miss most when you’re away like this?”
he leans back slightly, voice warm with memory. “the streets at night, family meals where everyone talks over each other, my little sister teasing me. the quiet ice rink i visit off-season. it feels freeing, just gliding without thinking about the next match.”
you share your own stories in return. “my hometown had this small park where we’d kick a ball around as kids. football was always the escape, even before i started writing about it. now being here, covering your run… it brings that feeling back.”
the walk ends too soon, the hotel lights drawing closer, but the connection sinks deeper, roots forming in these simple, honest exchanges. you part ways near the entrance with quiet goodnights, the warmth of the conversation carrying into the night.
-------
semifinal day arrives heavy with anticipation. the opponent is formidable, a european side with attacking flair and experience in high-stakes matches. the stadium pulses with energy, south korean fans loud and proud, waving flags that create a sea of red across the stands. you sit in the press box, nerves alight as the match kicks off, heart pounding in time with the roar that greets the first whistle. sunghoon anchors the defense, composure like ice even as attacks rain down in waves. early chances for both sides keep everyone on edge. he makes a crucial block in the 18th minute, sliding perfectly to deny a shot, his body a wall that refuses to break.
the first half ends 0-0, tense and locked, both teams probing for weaknesses without success. you scribble notes furiously, the press box filled with the sound of typing and whispered analysis.
second half explodes with action. south korea scores first on a counter, sunghoon’s precise pass starting the move with perfect vision. celebrations are wild, players piling on each other as the stadium shakes. but the opponent equalizes quickly, the drama building with every minute. yellow cards fly, tempers flare, and extra time looms like a shadow. in the 82nd minute, sunghoon wins a vital aerial duel, clearing danger with powerful timing. the team pushes forward relentlessly. in the dying moments of regulation, a dramatic goal from a set-piece they practiced all week seals it.
2-1. south korea reaches the final.
the stadium erupts in pure ecstasy. players collapse in joy and exhaustion on the pitch, embracing, shouting, some dropping to their knees. sunghoon’s face shows rare pure emotion — relief, pride, tears barely held back as he hugs teammates tightly, the ice prince mask cracking in the best way. you watch from above, heart full, a lump in your throat at the magnitude of the moment.
mixed zone post-match is electric, buzzing with louder voices, brighter lights, and the raw energy of a team one step from history. when sunghoon reaches you, sweat-drenched and glowing with exhaustion and triumph, the interview carries extra weight. you ask about the resilience, his leadership, that final clearance, keeping your voice steady despite the rush of feelings.
he answers thoughtfully, voice steady for the cameras, detailing the defensive shape and the belief within the squad even when the score was level. as it wraps, he leans slightly closer to the mic, eyes on you with subtle softness that feels intimate amid the chaos. “thank you for being here,” he says quietly, almost under his breath but picked up on audio. “through all of it.”
the words are professional on the surface, but the delivery and his gaze carry more — warmth, gratitude, and that deeper connection built over weeks. fans and viewers notice immediately. social media lights up with theories about the “vibe” between south korea’s ice prince and the reporter.
he lingers afterward, as always, a stolen smile shared when cameras shift away for a moment. “we did it,” he murmurs, voice low and tired but happy, stepping just a fraction closer.
you nod, pride evident in your expression. “you did. incredible performance. that clearance in the 82nd… everyone in the press box held their breath.”
for a brief second the mixed zone noise fades into background static. he opens his arms slightly in a quiet offer, and you meet him in a quick, careful hug — nothing overt, just a brief, warm press of shoulders and arms, his jersey damp against you, the scent of grass and effort and victory surrounding the moment. it lasts only a heartbeat or two, respectful and hidden in the bustle, but the tension spikes sweetly, hearts beating harder in the small space between you. his hand rests lightly on your back for that instant, steady and reassuring, before you both pull away, cheeks flushed.
“get some rest,” you whisper, voice soft. “you earned it.”
he nods, eyes lingering on yours with that searching softness. “talk soon. hotel later if you’re around?” the words carry quiet hope. you smile, the almost-moment hanging in the air like the roar of the crowd still echoing outside. the connection feels stronger than ever, charged with everything unsaid, yet still carefully contained.
-------
the following days blur with celebration and preparation for the final. the hotel atmosphere buzzes with a mix of joy and focused energy, players moving between recovery sessions and light meetings, laughter echoing down hallways but tempered by the knowledge of the ultimate test ahead. sunghoon’s texts increase slightly in frequency, still light but warmer, carrying a quiet affection that makes your phone feel heavier in your hand each time it lights up.
a food pic arrives one evening with the caption “recovery meal. missing home flavors… and good conversations.” the image shows a neatly plated dish, simple yet carefully arranged, the kind of balanced food that fuels but never fully satisfies the craving for something familiar. you reply with an encouraging article about the final and a meme about dramatic semifinals that perfectly captures the chaos of extra time. he sends back “exactly this” followed by a laughing emoji, the rare sign of his amusement that always brings a smile to your face.
tension builds in beautiful, restrained ways throughout the week. stolen smiles across the lobby when eyes meet from a distance, quick and private amid the staff and players milling about. inside jokes during brief hallway passes — references to the falling cones or that memorable elevator ride — whispered in passing with soft chuckles that linger in the air after you part. these small exchanges become anchors in the busy days, tiny moments of normalcy that recharge both of you.
one evening he finds you in the coffee area again, the lounge quieter than usual after a long day. you’re typing up notes, shoulders tight from hours at the laptop, when he approaches with that familiar shy warmth. he sits across from you, voice low. “long day for you too?”
you nod, closing the screen slightly. “deadlines never stop. but watching you all out there makes it worth it. how are your legs holding up after that semifinal?”
he smiles, leaning back. “sore, but manageable. don’t burn out yourself. this final… we’ll need your steady questions after. you always make me think clearly when i answer them.”
the support flows naturally between you. you listen as he shares the weight of the upcoming match, offering quiet encouragement in return. “you’ve carried so much already. the way you lead the younger guys, the composure under pressure — it shows. rest those shoulders tonight, okay? ice them like the physios say.” he chuckles softly at your gentle teasing about resting his legs, the sound warm and easy, but underneath simmers deeper feelings — mutual crush evolving into something tender, real, built on weeks of understanding and respect.
another quiet moment near the gardens happens on a cooler evening, shorter this time due to stricter schedules and earlier curfews. the paths are dimly lit, the air carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. hands brush again while walking side by side, the contact sending a familiar spark up your arm. neither pulls away right away. eye contact holds, his dark eyes soft in the low light.
“whatever happens in the final… i’m grateful for these weeks,” he says softly, voice sincere and a little vulnerable. “the talks, the texts, even the quick hallway jokes. it’s helped more than you know. having someone outside the team bubble who sees me as more than just the defender.”
you feel the same, words careful but heartfelt. “i’m grateful too, sunghoon. covering this run has been a dream, but getting to know you — the real you behind the ice prince reputation — has made it unforgettable. you’ve helped me stay grounded too, reminded me why i love the game in the first place.”
no lines crossed. just deepening connection, slow and respectful, hearts leaning closer as the biggest match approaches. you part ways with a quiet goodnight, the warmth of his words carrying you back to your room.
the week ends with the team focused and bonded tighter than ever. you prepare your notes for the final, mind full of sunghoon — the defender, the leader, the person who’s quietly become so important through shared laughs, supportive words, and those stolen moments of understanding. the final awaits, but this connection feels like its own victory already, a beautiful thread woven through the chaos of the tournament.
-------
the final week feels like the world has narrowed to a single point. south korea against a powerhouse european side — technically brilliant, physically strong, full of world-class attackers who can change a game in one moment. the hotel is quieter now, heavier with focus. players move through the halls with serious faces. laughter still comes, but it is softer, shorter. training is sharp, tactical, almost silent except for sunghoon’s calm instructions. he stands tall on the pitch, directing the backline with steady words, but you see the weight he carries.
media pressure peaks. every interview, every press conference asks about destiny, about making history, about what it would mean for the whole country. cameras follow the team everywhere. questions get harder. you feel it too, your own reports read by more people each day. but in the middle of all this, you and sunghoon steal small moments. a hallway smile when no one else is looking. a text at night that says “rest well. big day soon.”
the deeper connection from the semifinals carries them both. tension waving underneath, but they keep it light and supportive. inside jokes about elevator rules and ramyeon cravings ease the nerves when things feel too heavy.
the day before the final dawns clear and warm. new york’s sun rises early, painting the hotel windows in soft gold. you wake up with butterflies already dancing in your stomach. today is the last full day before everything reaches its peak. you know sunghoon must feel it even more. as vice-third captain, the expectations sit right on his shoulders. you spend the morning in the press area, typing notes and preparing questions, but your mind keeps drifting to him.
around midday, after the morning training session ends, you see him in the hotel lobby. he looks tired but composed, hair still damp from the shower, wearing simple team sweats. his shoulders seem a little tighter than usual. when his eyes find yours across the space, he gives a small nod. you walk over casually, keeping your voice low.
“hey,” you say softly. “how are you feeling today?”
he glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then sighs a little. “honestly? i'm nervous. more than i thought i would be. this is the final. everything we worked for. what if i make a mistake out there? what if the team needs me and i am not sharp enough?”
his voice is quiet, almost a whisper. you see the worry in his dark eyes, the way he rubs the back of his neck. the ice prince mask is slipping just for you. you step a little closer, not touching yet, but near enough that your presence feels warm.
“sunghoon,” you say gently, “you have been incredible this whole tournament. that sliding tackle in the round of 16, the header in the group stage, the way you read the game in the semifinal. everyone sees it. the team trusts you. i trust you. one match does not erase all the good you have already done.”
he listens, eyes softening as he looks at you. “thank you. it helps hearing that from someone outside the squad. the coaches say the right things, teammates too, but sometimes it still feels heavy. like the whole country is watching.”
you nod, understanding. “it is heavy. but you do not carry it alone. not really. and tomorrow you will go out there and do what you always do — stay calm, read the play, lead by example. that is who you are.”
a small smile touches his lips. “you always know what to say. makes me feel steadier.”
the conversation flows easier after that. you walk together toward a quieter corner of the hotel, a small seating area away from the main bustle. no one bothers you. the moment feels private even in a busy place. you sit side by side on a comfortable couch. your knees brush lightly. neither of you moves away. the contact is simple but comforting, a quiet reminder that you are here with him.
“remember that time in the elevator?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood with an inside joke. “when we joked about coach cameras everywhere?”
he chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. it relaxes his shoulders a bit. “how could i forget? you said you would not tell if i did not. best deal i made all tournament.”
you laugh together, the sound mixing nicely. for a few minutes the final feels farther away. you talk about ramyeon again, what you would both eat right after the match if you could. he describes his favorite spot back in seoul in more detail this time — the spicy broth, the way the noodles feel, the late night vibes with friends. you share stories from your own travels, funny moments from smaller matches you covered before this big one. the talk helps. his voice grows calmer. the nervous edge fades little by little.
later that afternoon, after some recovery work, he texts you. the message is simple. “coffee area in twenty minutes? if you are free.”
you reply quickly. “see you there.”
when you arrive, he is already waiting with two cups of herbal tea. he hands one to you, fingers brushing yours on purpose this time. the touch lingers. you both sit close, closer than before. your arm rests near his on the table. the lobby is quiet enough that it feels like your own small world.
“i keep thinking about the first match,” he says after a sip. “how everything started. you were there with your questions. now here we are. final tomorrow. it feels fast and slow at the same time.”
you nod, turning to face him more. “it does. i have watched you grow even in these weeks. not just as a player. as a person. you let me see the real you. that means a lot.”
he looks at you, eyes steady and warm. “you let me see the real you too. not just the reporter. the person who loves the game, who works hard, who cares. it has been nice. more than nice.”
the words hang between you, full of meaning. tension builds again, the good kind that makes your heart beat faster. you lean in slightly. he does the same. your shoulders touch now, a gentle press that feels safe and exciting. his hand rests near yours on the table. fingers brush, then stay close, almost holding but not quite. the almost is sweet. it stretches the moment, makes it deeper.
“are you scared?” you ask quietly, wanting to give him space to share more.
he thinks for a second. “yes. a little. not of playing. but of letting everyone down. the fans, my family, the team…” then he adds, whispering, almost as if he was scared of pronouncing those words. ”what if i am not enough tomorrow?”
you turn your hand and gently squeeze his fingers for a brief moment. the contact is warm and reassuring. “you are enough, sunghoon. you have already proven it. tomorrow you will play like you always do. strong, smart, calm. and no matter what, i will be proud. the reporter part and the friend part.”
he squeezes back, just as gentle. his thumb rubs a small circle on the back of your hand before you both let go, aware of the surroundings. but the touch stays with you. his eyes look softer now, less nervous.
“thank you,” he whispers. “really. these talks… they help me breathe better. you help me.”
the rest of the afternoon passes in similar small moments. you walk together again near the gardens when schedules allow. the sun is lower, casting long shadows. this time you walk closer, arms brushing with every step. he tells you more about his younger days, the ice skating dreams, the pressure he felt even as a kid. you share your own fears about big assignments, how you sometimes doubt if your writing captures the real feeling.
“you do,” he says firmly. “your questions always make me think deeper. you see things others miss.”
the compliment warms you. you stop near a quiet bench. he sits first. you sit right beside him, thighs touching. the closeness feels natural now. his arm rests behind you on the bench, not quite around you but close enough that you can lean back into the support. you do. your head rests lightly against his shoulder for a few seconds. he does not move away. instead, he leans in too. the contact is soft, comforting. you stay like that for a minute, breathing together under the fading sky.
“whatever happens tomorrow,” he says quietly, voice close to your ear, “i am glad we had this. the connection. it is special.”
“me too,” you reply, heart full. “very special.”
you pull back after a while, but the warmth remains. he walks you partway to your floor later, the elevator ride shared again. this time it is just the two of you. no jokes about cameras. instead, quiet talk. his hand finds yours for a short squeeze as the doors open on your floor.
“rest well,” he says, eyes holding yours. “i will see you after the match.”
“you rest too,” you answer. “you will be great. i believe in you.”
that night the texts continue.
he sends a simple message. “can't sleep yet. thinking too much.”
you reply right away. “what is on your mind?”
“the final. the team. you.” the honesty makes your chest tight in a good way.
you send back encouragement. “you have prepared perfectly. tomorrow you step on the pitch and do what you love. i will be watching every move. cheering in the press box even if i stay professional on the outside.”
he sends a photo this time — just his hand holding the team badge on his sweatshirt, nothing fancy. “this means more with good support. thank you.”
the conversation goes on for a while, light and deep mixed together. he tells you a funny memory from training camp to ease his own nerves. you share a silly story from your first big assignment. laughter comes through the phone even if you can not hear it. slowly his messages slow down. “starting to feel tired. thanks for talking. goodnight.”
“goodnight, sunghoon. sleep well.”
the day before the final ends with you lying in bed, mind full of him. the way his shoulder felt under your head. the gentle squeeze of his hand. the nervous look that softened when you comforted him. the connection has grown so much closer, physically and emotionally. touches that linger. words that mean more. respect still holds everything together, but the tenderness is real. hearts leaning in as the biggest night of the tournament waits just ahead.
-------
the next morning comes early. you see him briefly at breakfast from across the room. he looks focused but calmer. when your eyes meet, he gives a small smile, the kind meant only for you. you smile back, sending silent support. the final is hours away, but the bond you built feels strong enough to carry through whatever comes. sunghoon is still nervous deep down, you know that. but he also knows he is not alone. your words, your presence, your gentle touches — they have become part of his strength. and for you, watching him chase history while sharing these quiet moments has become the most beautiful part of the whole world cup.
the hours before kickoff pass in a blur of preparation. you review your notes one last time in the press area. sunghoon sends one more text in the afternoon. “final walk through done. feeling ready. your words from yesterday helped a lot.”
you reply quickly. “you got this. go out there and be the wall they need. i am proud already.”
his answer is short but warm. “see you on the other side.”
as the team bus leaves for the stadium later, you watch from the hotel entrance. he catches your eye through the window for a brief second. the small nod he gives carries everything — gratitude, nerves, connection. you wave subtly, heart full. the day before the final has brought you closer than ever. touches, talks, comfort, shared silence. the final waits, but this quiet story between you already feels like a win worth cherishing.
-------
the stadium is a cauldron of noise and color long before kickoff, fans from both nations filling every seat, waving flags, singing chants that echo for miles. the air feels electric, thick with anticipation and the weight of history. you take your place in the press box high above the pitch, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. your notebook sits open, but your eyes keep drifting to the field where the teams warm up.
south korea in their iconic red shirt, sunghoon is wearing the captain’s armband tonight, standing tall among his teammates. his expression is focused, that ice-prince calm masking the storm you know is inside after all the quiet talks and shared moments. he moves with purpose during the warm-up, stretching, touching the grass, talking quietly with younger players. you watch every step, remembering the way his shoulder felt under your head, the gentle squeeze of his hand, the nerves he let you see the day before. national anthems play, voices rising strong and proud. sunghoon stands straight, hand over his heart, eyes distant but determined. the whistle blows and the final begins.
the match is a chess game from the start.
both teams circle each other carefully, probing for weaknesses without giving much away. south korea defends resolutely, staying compact and organized. sunghoon is everywhere at the back — reading runs before they develop, winning aerial duels with perfect timing, distributing the ball calmly from the back to start attacks. you lean forward in your seat, eyes locked on him, scribbling notes but mostly just watching the way he commands the defense. his voice carries across the pitch even from your high position, steady instructions cutting through the roar.
the european side presses high, trying to force mistakes, but the defense holds firm. chances come and go. a shot from the opponent is saved brilliantly by the keeper. a dangerous cross is cleared by sunghoon’s powerful header, his body leaping high, timing exact. the crowd roars with every tackle, every clearance. you cheer loudly from the press box every time he wins a duel, your voice joining the thousands of korean fans, heart swelling with pride and worry at the same time. “come on, sunghoon,” you whisper under your breath when a striker gets too close.
0-0 at half-time. the players jog off, faces tired but focused. sunghoon claps teammates on the back, saying quiet words of encouragement. you can see the tension in his shoulders from afar, the way he glances toward the press box once, searching briefly. you hope he feels your support even from this distance.
second half mirrors the first. intense, cagey, every ball contested like it is the last. sunghoon makes a heroic block in the 60th minute, throwing his body fully in front of a powerful strike. the impact looks painful. pain flashes across his face for a split second, but he rises quickly, brushing dirt from his jersey and waving teammates into position, voice strong again. you stand up in the press box, cheering wildly, hands clapping until they sting.
“that’s it! keep going!” the fans around you roar in agreement. he looks toward the stands, toward you, for just a moment, a tiny nod almost imperceptible, but it warms you through.
the game stays locked. legs start to tire as the minutes tick down. extra time begins, the stadium even louder now, the pressure mounting with every pass. sunghoon keeps organizing, never stopping, even as exhaustion shows in slower movements. he wins more duels, makes more key interceptions, leading by pure example.
you watch him the whole time, heart aching with every challenge he faces, proud of how he pushes through. the connection you built makes every moment feel personal. you want this for him so badly. you want him to be happy.
in the dying minutes of extra time, the 118th, disaster strikes. a quick counter from the opponent catches the defense stretched. a through ball splits the line perfectly. sunghoon lunges desperately, sliding with everything he has left, but the striker rounds the keeper and slots it home.
0-1. south korea is losing.
the stadium erupts in the opponent’s favor, their fans exploding in joy. heartbreak crashes down on the korean side like a wave. the clock ticks away the final moments. south korea pushes desperately for an equalizer, throwing numbers forward, but time runs out cruelly.
sunghoon stands motionless for a second on the pitch, hands on his hips, chest heaving. then he turns his head toward the press box again and again as the whistle approaches. he searches for your face in the crowd, eyes scanning desperately through the sea of people. devastation etches his features clearly now — the pain, the disappointment, the exhaustion. but he stays composed for the team, moving to clap teammates on the back, head high even as the reality sinks in. you cheer his name loudly through the pain in your own chest, voice raw, willing him strength across the distance. “sunghoon! i'm so proud of you!”
the final whistle confirms it.
defeat. 0-1.
the european side celebrates wildly, piling on each other, jumping and shouting. south korea’s players drop to the grass, exhausted and emotional, some covering their faces, others staring blankly at the sky. tears start to flow for many. the weight of coming so close only to fall short hits hard.
sunghoon gathers them slowly, moving from player to player with purpose even as his own eyes glisten.
he puts an arm around the younger ones, pulling them into huddles, voice steady despite the tears he is fighting back. you see him wipe his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, shoulders shaking once before he straightens again. he consoles them with quiet words, hugging tightly, letting some cry on his shoulder while offering comfort in return. they console him too — teammates patting his back, sharing the pain, reminding him how far they came together.
the group stands close in the middle of the pitch, a circle of red jerseys bonded through the heartbreak, sunghoon at the center, leading even in defeat, tears falling freely now as he lets the emotion show while still holding the team together. the moment is raw and beautiful, full of pride mixed with sorrow, the end of an unforgettable run.
medal ceremony follows under the bright stadium lights. the atmosphere is a strange mix of celebration for the winners and quiet pride mixed with sorrow for the runners-up. silver medals hang around necks, gleaming against the red jerseys. sunghoon steps up to receive his with quiet dignity, head held high even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears.
the crowd gives warm applause for the south korean team, chanting their names in appreciation for the run that captured so many hearts. he claps for his teammates, a small, bittersweet smile on his face, but you can see the weight in his posture from your place in the press area. the journey meant everything, and ending here still hurts.
media duties come next. the mixed zone feels somber this time, the usual buzz replaced by quieter voices and heavy emotions. players move through slowly, some with red eyes, others forcing smiles for the cameras.
when sunghoon reaches you, his eyes are teary, shoulders heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. his hair is damp, jersey still marked from the battle, the captain’s armband still on his arm. you keep the interview professional at first, but your voice is gentle, full of care.
“sunghoon, a heartbreaking end after an incredible run. what does this silver mean to you and the team?” you ask, microphone steady but tone soft.
he swallows hard, voice thick but clear as he answers. “it means a lot. we gave everything we had out there. i am proud of the journey, the fans who supported us, the fight we showed together. we will learn from this and come back stronger.” his eyes stay locked on yours the whole time. tears threaten to spill over. the professional facade cracks slightly, the ice prince letting the emotion show more than usual. the moment feels intimate even with cameras rolling.
as the camera holds and the interview continues for a few more questions, you cannot help it. under the barrier, your hand reaches out briefly for his arm, a quick but affectionate squeeze of comfort on his forearm, fingers lingering for a second longer than strictly necessary. the touch is warm and reassuring, right there in public where anyone could notice. he squeezes your hand back gently with his own, eyes saying everything words cannot — gratitude, shared pain, the depth of the connection built over these weeks. the affection is clear in the way his fingers press softly against yours before you both pull away, careful but meaningful. fans will dissect the moment later on social media, replaying the clip, but right now it is just for the two of you, a small anchor in the heartbreak.
you continue with one more gentle question about the team spirit. he answers thoughtfully, voice a little steadier thanks to the touch. “the guys fought so hard. i am proud to lead them. we came so far together.”
the interview ends. he lingers longest with you, teary-eyed and reluctant to move on. you reach out again quickly, this time touching his arm openly for a moment, a light, comforting rub along his sleeve, right there in the mixed zone. “you were amazing out there,” you whisper softly, eyes full of pride and care. “the whole tournament. i mean it.”
he nods, leaning slightly into the brief contact, his own hand covering yours for a heartbeat. “thank you,” he whispers back, voice cracking just a little. “for everything. the talks, the support, being here. it made a difference. really.” his eyes are still glistening, but the small smile he gives you is real and warm, full of affection that goes beyond the game. the public touch feels bold but right in this emotional moment, a quiet way of saying i am here with you.
he finally moves on after one last lingering look, shoulders a little lighter, the comfort from your touch and words carrying him forward. you stand there watching him go, heart full despite the loss, the connection between you stronger than ever even in defeat.
-------
hours later, when the stadium empties and the bittersweet hotel celebrations wind down, the corridors grow quiet. music fades, laughter turns softer, and players slowly retreat to their rooms to process the loss in private. you sit in a quiet corridor near the team floors, away from everyone, the area dimly lit with soft wall lights casting gentle shadows. the air feels still after the chaos of the day. you are replaying the match in your mind, the pride and the pain, when footsteps approach.
sunghoon finds you there. he has changed into a simple black hoodie and sweats, hair messy from the shower, eyes still red from the tears on the pitch and the emotion that followed. he looks tired but real, the captain’s mask completely gone now. you stand up slowly as he approaches, heart beating faster.
“hey,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper.
he stops close, closer than usual, looking at you with raw emotion that makes your chest tighten. his dark eyes search yours, glistening again under the low lights.
“i kept looking for you out there. in the final moments — when the goal went in, when the whistle blew. seeing you in the press box helped more than you know. it kept me going. it also reminded me why we fought so hard.”
silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid over the weeks — the late night talks, the gentle touches, the shared laughs, the comfort you gave each other. the corridor feels like your own private world, far from cameras and teammates. he takes another small step closer, the air thick with tenderness and vulnerability.
“we lost the cup tonight,” he says, voice low and sincere, cracking just a little. “it hurts. a lot. but… i already won. having you here these weeks — getting to know you, talking after every match, those late nights in the lobby, the garden walks, your support when i was nervous. you made this whole journey feel like a win. even in defeat. i don’t know what happens when we go home, when the tournament ends and real life starts again, but i’d really like to keep seeing you. properly. no more careful lines. no more crazy boundaries. no more hiding how i feel.”
your heart swells so much it feels like it might burst. tears prick your own eyes as you look at him, this man who led with quiet strength through the entire world cup.
“sunghoon… i feel the same. you’ve been the best part of this tournament for me too. not just the football. the real you. the way you listened, the way you let me in, the way you made me laugh even on hard days. i don’t want this to end either.”
he steps even closer, almost closing the distance completely. the air thickens with all the built-up tension from weeks of slow glances and gentle touches. you smile through the emotion, trying to lighten it like you always do, voice soft and teasing.
“you know… i was half expecting you to kiss me right here, like iker casillas did with sara carbonero back in 2010 after the final.”
sunghoon blinks for a second, processing the words, then lets out a genuine laugh — surprised, warm, and full, breaking through the sadness in a beautiful way. his shoulders shake lightly as he chuckles, eyes sparkling despite the red rims and the loss.
“casillas did that because he won the world cup,” he points out, still chuckling softly, the sound echoing gently in the empty corridor. “he was champion. i'm not. i lost. so… bad timing on my part, huh?”
the silly joke lands perfectly. both of you start laughing quietly together, the sound mixing with the leftover emotion, tension easing into something sweeter and lighter. you reach out and touch his arm, squeezing it affectionately, feeling the warmth through the hoodie sleeve. he covers your hand with his own, holding it there, the contact grounding and tender. the laughter fades slowly into soft smiles, but the closeness remains.
he reaches up gently with both hands, cupping your face with careful, warm palms. his thumbs brush your cheeks softly, wiping away a stray tear you did not realize had fallen. “but if it’s okay… i’d still like to kiss you now. not because of a trophy. not because we won or lost. just because of you. because of us. these weeks meant everything to me.”
you nod, heart racing, whispering “yes” with a smile that trembles a little from the emotion.
the kiss is soft, tender, full of all the weeks of slow-burn tension and respect. his lips meet yours gently at first, sweet and unhurried, tasting of shared heartbreaks and quiet joys, of late night talks and comforting hugs. one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair. you lean into him, hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the hoodie. the kiss deepens just a touch, still respectful but full of affection, pouring out everything you both held back for so long. when you pull apart, foreheads resting together, breathing softly in the quiet corridor, he smiles, eyes shining.
“we’ll win the next one,” he murmurs, voice warm against your skin. “together. whatever comes after this.”
you nod, smiling back, fingers tracing his arm gently. “together sounds perfect.”
the tournament ends in silver, bittersweet but proud.
but for sunghoon and you, it marks the beginning of something golden. friendship blossomed into more, slow and steady, just like extra time in a tight match — worth every minute, every glance, every touch, every quiet conversation that led to this moment in the dim corridor.
the future waits, but right now, in each other’s arms, the loss feels a little smaller.
「 𝜗ৎ where . . . you look to release some steam off by playing roblox! unfortunately, your anger gets the best of you and you end up cursing someone out in your server out of habit. while asleep, your phone gets bombed by thousands of notifications and you wake up to find out that the person you cursed out last night is also one of the top streamers of all time right now .. suddenly, you’re dragged into an odd, new friend group, thousands of tweets, and lee heeseungs’ messages? 」
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
⌗ in which . . . you and your drinking buddy, sim jaeyun, have spent months ignoring the tension between you, but one frat party makes something in jake finally snap
流星 ໑ . . fratboy!jake ⋆ fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), alcohol consumption, frat party chaos, mutual yearning so intense it’s actually embarrassing, strong language, jealousy, possessive behavior, drunken confessions, both reader & jake are intoxicated, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex, unprotected sex (don't), fingering, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, nipple play, dry humping, praise kink, slight dirty talk, hickeys, emotional sex, pull out, cumshot ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 4.0k
⟶ featuring ⋮ jihyo (twice) ₊ mingyu (seventeen)
♪ el’s bubble: smut to kick off the event, how wonderful! literally sprinted to my laptop after seeing a fratboy jake x tumblr girls edit on tiktok and this was the result 😭 thank you very much, anon, for the request, this was so fun to write ! enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
now playing . . . guilty as sin? by taylor swift
The bass thrums through the soles of your sneakers, a rhythmic heartbeat that vibrates in your teeth and rattles the cheap frames of the windows.
The air in the house is a thick, humid soup of spilled Natty Light, overly sweet vape clouds, and the metallic tang of too many bodies pressed into a space designed for four people, not forty.
You lean against the peeling wallpaper of the hallway, your shoulder brushing against a stranger who smells like citrus cologne and desperation, but your eyes are locked on Jake.
He is in his element, centered in a circle of guys in oversized jerseys and girls with glitter on their cheeks.
His backwards cap is tilted slightly, a few stray dark hairs poking out from the brim. He's laughing so damn loud, the kind of loud, booming sound that always seems to carve out a space just for him, but his gaze flickers to you every few seconds.
It's a magnetic pull, really, a tether that has been tightening for months.
You take a long pull from your red solo cup, the lukewarm beer tasting like tin.
You catch his eye, and for a split second, the frat-boy mask slips. The confidence vanishes, replaced by a raw, hungry sort of longing that makes your chest do a somersault. Then, a girl in a tiny navy blue dress leans into him, her hand sliding up his chest, and the mask snaps back into place.
He grins at her, but he doesn't move closer. He stays rooted, his eyes still searching for yours across the crowded room.
"You're doing it again," a voice shouts in your ear.
You blink and look at Jihyo, who is grinning mischievously, her eyes darting between you and Jake.
"Doing what?"
"The longing look. The 'I want to rip his clothes off' stare. Just go over there and kill him already, you pussy."
You scoff and roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks isn't just from the alcohol.
"We're just friends, Jihyo."
"Uh-huh, and you're still a virgin," she cackles, disappearing back into the fray.
You try to ignore the tightness in your chest, but the party seems to shrink around you. Every time you move, you feel him tracking you.
When you go to the kitchen to refill your drink, he is suddenly there, blocking the path to the fridge.
He literally smells like laundry detergent and beer, a scent that has become your favorite thing in the world.
"You're avoiding me," Jake says. His voice is a low rumble, slightly slurred but still carrying that effortless edge.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm hydrating right now, see?"
He chuckles, stepping closer. The space between you vanishes, and you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your forearm. His hands are always warm, a constant heat that seems to sear through your skin.
"Liars get punished," he teases, his grin widening, though his eyes are scanning your face with an intensity that feels like a touch.
What the actual hell, you think. How many cans of beer has this bitch downed already?
Before you can respond, a guy from the rowing team, some blond specimen named Mingyu, slides in beside you. He puts a hand on the small of your back, leaning in close enough that you can smell the mint on his breath.
"Hey, I haven't seen you here before," Mingyu says, his voice a smooth, practiced drawl. "I'm Mingyu. Kim Mingyu."
You start to offer a polite smile, but you feel Jake stiffen beside you. The air shifts instantly. The playful energy vanishes, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension.
Jake doesn't say a word, but he shifts his weight, stepping into Mingyu's space and effectively cutting him off. He doesn't push him, but the sheer physicality of his presence is a warning.
"Calm your dick down buddy, she's with me," Jake says.
It isn't a question or a suggestion. It lands like a claim.
Mingyu blinks, looking from Jake's hard expression back to you. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and slides away into the crowd without another word.
You stare at Jake, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Since when am I 'with you'?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper over the blaring music.
Jake doesn't look at you. His eyes stay fixed on spot where Mingyu had been standing, his jaw tight.
"Since I decided I didn't like the way he was looking at you," he mutters.
He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He doesn't explain. He just pulls you away from the kitchen, navigating the sea of bodies with a focused determination.
“Hey, Jake,” you start, stumbling slightly as you follow him. “Where the fuck are you—”
“Just come with me,” Jake says over his shoulder, tone flat, leaving no room for argument.
You follow him, the world blurring into a smudge of neon lights and shouting voices. He leads you up the narrow staircase, the noise of the party beginning to muffle as you reach the second floor.
“You’re not answering me,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath.
“Am I obligated to? I don’t think so,” he says simply.
The hallway upstairs is dimmer, the air cooler. A few people are passed out on the oversized beanbags in the lounge, but otherwise, it is quiet. Jake stops in front of a door with a faded sports poster taped to it. He pushes it open and pulls you inside, clicking the lock shut behind him.
The silence of the room hits you like a physical weight. The bass is still there, a distant, rhythmic thudding from downstairs, but it feels like you've stepped into another dimension. The room smells of old gym socks and expensive cologne. A few empty beer cans sit on the nightstand next to a cluttered desk.
“Seriously,” you say at last, turning to him. “What is this? Are you kidnapping me now?”
Jake finally looks at you then. Slow. Unbothered.
“If I was kidnapping you,” he says, voice lower now, “you wouldn’t still be talking.”
Jake lets go of your wrist and leans back against the door, his chest heaving. He looks at you, and the confidence is gone.
He looks absolutely terrified.
"My god, what even is this about, Jake?" you ask, your voice trembling. "You can't just drag me up here because you're feeling territorial."
"I'm not," he lies, though his eyes are wide and frantic. "I just... I needed to… you know, talk to you. Away from everyone. Away from whatever tornado is stirring downstairs."
"Talk about what?"
He takes a step toward you, his movements clumsy. He reaches up and rips the backwards cap off his head, tossing it onto the bed.
"About how I can't fucking stand it," he says, his voice cracking.
"Stand what?"
"This! This thing we do!" He throws his arms up, his voice rising. "The movie nights where we're sitting so close I can feel your breath on my neck. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention. The way I spend every single fucking party wondering who the hell is talking to you and why they're touching you."
You stand frozen, your breath catching in your throat.
Your thoughts don’t quite line up, like they’re slipping through your fingers before you can grab any of them properly. The beer doesn’t help either; everything is a little too soft at the edges, a little too loud in your chest.
"You... you feel that too?"
Jake lets out a harsh, jagged laugh. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, pinning you against the wall. He doesn't touch you with his hands, but his body is a warm wall pressing against yours.
"Feel it? I'm dying over here. I've wanted to do this for six months."
"Do what?"
He doesn't answer with words. He crashes his lips against yours, and it is not a gentle kiss. It is a collision, to say the least.
The kiss is messy, desperate, tasting faintly of beer and everything he hasn’t said out loud until now.
You groan into his mouth, your hands flying up to clutch at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you could merge your bodies into one.
He tastes like a fever dream. His tongue slides against yours, searching, demanding, pushing deep into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You can feel the heat of him everywhere, the press of his thighs against yours, the hard line of his chest against your breasts. He makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pure frustration and relief.
Then, as suddenly as he started rough, he softens. His hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, gentle and reverent. The kiss slows, becomes tender, exploratory. He tilts your head, licking into your mouth like he's memorizing the shape of you, the taste of you.
"God, you have no idea," he whispers against your lips, his breath hot and erratic, his forehead resting against yours. "No fucking idea how much I've wanted this."
He breaks the kiss just long enough to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point.
Then his teeth graze your skin, a gentle scrape that makes you shiver. He sucks a bruise into the curve of your throat, his tongue soothing the spot after, and you arch your back, a moan escaping your lips.
"Jake," you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
"I've got you," he whispers, his voice thick. "I've finally got you."
He lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, the denim of your skort grinding against the rough fabric of his jeans. He carries you the few steps to the bed, but instead of dropping you, he lowers you slowly, carefully, onto the tangled sheets. The mattress groans under your combined weight. He follows you down immediately, his weight a welcome pressure that pins you into the cheap polyester comforter.
But his hands are slow, deliberate, as he pushes a strand of hair from your face. His eyes search yours in the dim light from the window.
"You're shaking," he observes, his voice soft.
"I'm nervous, dummy," you admit, a flush creeping up your neck. Your thoughts feel slightly delayed, like they’re catching up to everything that just happened. "I’ve never… I mean, this is my first time,” you say, swallowing hard.
“I’m a virgin, Jake. You know that, right?”
His eyes widen slightly, and you see a flicker of something, surprise or maybe tenderness, cross his face. He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose.
“Man, me too,” he whispers, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I’ve never done this either. Not really. Not like this.”
“So we’re both just clueless drunks,” you say, a nervous laugh slipping out before you can stop it.
He grins, crooked, boyish, softer than before, and it makes something in your stomach flip.
“The best way to be,” he says.
He leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, more deliberate. His tongue slides against yours, still tasting of beer and something sweet. His hands wander down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. He takes his time, like he's mapping every inch of you through the fabric of your clothes.
Then he breaks the kiss and sits up, looking down at you. His fingers find the buttons of your blouse. He fumbles with the first one, his drunk fingers sliding off the plastic twice before he gets it undone. You laugh, a breathless, giddy sound, and reach up to help him.
"I’m sorry," he mutters, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm a little buzzed."
"It's okay," you say, your voice soft. "We've got time."
He gets the rest of the buttons undone, pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bra. His breath catches. He runs his thumb over the lace edge, tracing the curve of your breast.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so beautiful."
He leans down and presses a kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the bra cup. Then he hooks his fingers under the strap, pulling it down your shoulder. He does the same with the other side, and you reach behind to unhook the clasp, letting it fall away.
He looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, but his hands are gentle as he cups your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, which have peaked into hard points from the cold air and the heat of his gaze. He watches his own hands, transfixed, as he traces the curves.
"Can I...?" he asks, his voice hesitant, his eyes meeting yours.
You nod, and he leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth. He's careful at first, licking around the areola in slow, deliberate circles, his tongue flicking the tip. You gasp, your back arching, your hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. He takes it deeper, sucking gently, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
"Shit," you moan, your hips rocking instinctively.
He switches to the other breast, giving it the same slow, worshipful attention. His hand kneads the one he just abandoned, palming the soft weight, squeezing just enough to make you moan. The wet sounds of his mouth on your skin fill the quiet room, mixed with your soft cries.
When he pulls back, your nipples are glistening, stiff, and pebbled from his attention. He traces a finger down your sternum, over your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your skort.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, his voice low, almost shy.
"Yes," you whisper. “Please do.”
He unbuttons your skort, his fingers fumbling with the zipper. He tugs them down in one rough motion. The cold air hits your exposed skin, and you shiver, watching him as he sits back on his heels, his eyes fixed on the damp spot darkening the fabric of your undergarment.
"God," he breathes, his gaze raking over your body. "You're so fucking pretty."
He doesn't dive down to taste you.
Instead, he lowers himself over you, his body pressing against yours, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your bare thighs. The friction is electric, the seam of his pants rubbing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. He rocks his hips, a slow, deliberate grind, and you feel the hard line of his cock pressing against your center through the layers.
"Fuck," he mutters against your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "Just wanna feel you for a second."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, his hips picking up a steady rhythm. The dry humping is maddening, the pressure, the heat, the way he grinds against you like he can't get close enough. His hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him.
But then he stops. He pulls back, his chest heaving, and looks down at where your bodies meet. His fingers find the waistband of your panties, and he pushes them aside, exposing your slick, glistening folds.
"God, you're so fucking wet," he says, his voice thick with want. "Is this all for me, pretty?"
"Hell yes," you whisper, your voice barely audible.
He slides a finger through your folds, gathering your wetness, and then he pushes it inside you, slowly and deliberately, watching your face as your lips part and your eyes flutter.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so tight."
He adds a second finger, stretching you, and you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. He curls them, pressing against that rough spot inside you, and you cry out.
"Tell me you want this," he says, his voice low, firm. "I need to hear you say it."
"I want this," you say, your voice breaking. "I want you, Jake."
He doesn't let up. He starts pumping his fingers faster, harder, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you arch off the bed, your hands fisting the sheets.
"Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."
"I want—" you start, but the words get lost in a moan as he curls his fingers again.
"What do you want?" He presses, his thumb grinding against your clit. "Say it."
"I want you inside me," you gasp. "I want to feel your cock so, so bad."
He groans, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm that has you climbing higher, your thighs trembling around his hand.
"You want me to fuck that tight little pussy?" he asks, his voice rough. "Make you feel good?"
"Yes," you moan. "Please, Jake."
"I want to hear you say it again," he says, his fingers never stopping. "Tell me what you want me to do."
"I want you to fuck me," you cry out, your voice desperate. "I want your cock inside me. Please."
"That's it," he murmurs, his fingers curling, pressing, pushing you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes through you, sudden and sharp, your pussy clenching around his fingers. You cry out, your back arching, and he keeps pumping, working you through it, his thumb still circling your clit until you're a trembling mess beneath him.
He pulls his fingers out slowly, and you whimper at the loss. But he doesn't give you time to recover. He grabs your hips, flipping you onto your stomach, and you hear the rustle of his belt buckle, the unzipping of his jeans.
He straddles your thighs, his knees on either side of your head, and you feel the head of his cock brush against your lips. He's thick, hard, the tip slick with precum.
"Open your mouth," he says, his voice low, commanding but not harsh.
You obey, and he guides himself inside, not all the way, just the head past your lips. You taste the salt of his precum, the warmth of his skin.
"Take it," he says, and he pushes deeper, filling your mouth, not stopping until the head hits the back of your throat.
You gag, your eyes watering, but he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle but firm.
"I know," he murmurs. "I know. Just breathe through your nose."
He starts to move, slow thrusts, shallow, finding a rhythm that doesn't choke you. His cock slides over your tongue, the taste of him spreading across your palate. The room is quiet except for the wet sounds of his movements and your muffled moans.
"That's it," he breathes. "That's so fucking good. Your mouth is so warm."
He picks up the pace, his thrusts deeper now, his hips meeting your face with a wet slap. You take him as best you can, your hands gripping his thighs, your jaw aching, but the sound of his groans, the way his fingers thread through your hair, makes it worth it.
"Fuck, I'm close," he warns, but he pulls out before he can come, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips.
He flips you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. He looks down at you, his cock slick and glistening, his chest heaving.
"Now," he says, his voice soft again, almost tender. "I want to feel you."
He guides himself to your entrance, the head pressing against you, just barely. He looks into your eyes.
"Tell me if it's too much," he says.
You nod, and he pushes in, slow, agonizingly slow, inch by inch. The stretch burns, a fullness that makes your eyes water. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.
"Okay?" he asks, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"Just... give me a second," you manage.
He stops, buried halfway, and presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, murmuring quiet reassurances.
"Take your time. I've got you."
When the burning fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness, you nod. He pushes the rest of the way in, a slow, heavy slide that fills you completely. You both let out a synchronized moan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours.
"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes wide. "You feel so tight. So wet."
He starts to move, slow and deep thrusts, his hips rolling against yours. The pace is languid, almost lazy, each stroke burying him to the hilt. He watches your face, your parted lips, your fluttering eyes.
"Look at me," he says softly.
You meet his gaze, and he thrusts deeper, a slow grind that hits somewhere deep inside you.
"Like this," he murmurs. "Nice and slow. I want to feel every inch of you."
The room is filled with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting, the creak of the bed frame, your soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths. The bass from downstairs is a distant thrum, barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.
He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, each thrust a measured, deep invasion. His hand slides down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow circles in time with his movements.
"You feel that?" he asks, his voice low. "Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes. God, yes, I do," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.
He speeds up just slightly, his thrusts still deep but with more urgency. The wet slap of his hips against yours fills the room, obscene and rhythmic.
"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "Where do you want it?"
"In me, please," you breathe, the words tumbling out before you think.
But he shakes his head, a soft, drunken smile on his lips.
"Not this time," he says. "First time. I'm pulling out."
He picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours, his breathing ragged. You feel the pressure building, your own climax coiling tight in your belly.
"Come for me," he says, his voice a low command. "I want to feel you come around me."
His thumb presses harder on your clit, and that's all it takes. You shatter, your pussy clenching around him, a cry ripping from your throat. He groans, pulling out in one swift motion, and you feel the hot, thick pulses of his seed spilling across your stomach, your chest, the warmth spreading over your skin.
He collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. For a long moment, neither of you moves. The room smells of sex and sweat, his cum cooling on your skin.
He finally opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. A lazy, drunken grin spreads across his face.
"Holy shit," he breathes.
You laugh, a tired, giddy sound. "Yeah."
He reaches out, his fingers tracing a line through the cum on your stomach, smearing it across your skin.
"That was... I don't even have words," he says.
He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at you. His eyes are soft, hazy.
"I love you," he says, the words slurred but heartfelt. "I've loved you for so fucking long."
You reach up and cup his cheek, feeling the stubble on his jaw.
"I love you too, you idiot," you whisper.
He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding lazily against yours. When he pulls back, his eyes are already drooping.
"Tomorrow's going to be awkward," he mumbles.
"Probably," you agree.
"We should shower. And maybe burn these sheets."
You laugh softly. "Definitely."
But neither of you moves. He settles beside you, pulling you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. His hand rests on your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy patterns through the cooling cum on your skin.
"Best fucking party ever," he whispers.
You smile, your eyes drifting closed.
"Best fucking night ever."
⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
SYNOPSIS: A last-minute internship for a magazine puts Yoru in charge of photographing and profiling the very same person── whose magnetic stage persona hides a quietly exhausted man. As Yoru captures Evan in unguarded moments and they share small, honest confessions, a tentative trust grows between them, threatened by deadlines, fandom scrutiny, and the magazine's need for a headline.
───────────────
𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2
PARK YORU
I wake up before my alarm, which is the body's way of saying it already knows the plans.
The apartment is the same quiet it always is in the thin hours── Hana's kettle clinking like punctuation through the wall, a delivery truck reversing somewhere two blocks over, the hum of the overhead heater.
I do the little rituals that make my day feel manageable: roll out of bed, rub sleep from my eyes, make tea.
Rituals are cheap stabilizers; they keep me from unraveling when the rest of the world starts asking me to be something important.
I pad into the kitchen and find Hana at the table, hair in a messy knot, sketchbook open beneath a tangle of colored pencils. She looks up like a lighthouse scanning for distress signals.
"You okay?" she asks, a question that means both emotion and logistics.
"Mostly," I say.
Mostly covers a lot── my hands are steady, my chest is nervous, my brain is already compiling shot lists.
I scoop a tea bag into a mug and pretend to focus on the steam, "Big day."
"Don't fangirl," she says bluntly, then softer: "But also: go fangirl if it makes you better at work."
I laugh, which is the right answer in the universe where I'm twenty-two and balancing a camera and a secret account that loves an idol as if he were a private museum piece.
The thought of Heeseung── Evan for the public, the solo project that's been leaking teasers into late-night threads, sends a small electric thrill through me.
I tuck that thrill behind a practical checklist: batteries charged, two empty cards, lens cloth, neutral outfit. The checklist is a little armor I wear under my clothes.
The commute is a series of familiar city slices── crossing at the light where the florist always leaves last night's leaves scattered, a coffee cart where the barista knows my order, the bus that smells faintly of wet coats and possibility.
I rehearse introductions to myself like lines in a play. By the time I climb the studio stairs, my palms have the slight sweat of anticipation, the kind when a subject steps into the frame and everything becomes an instant decision.
The studio smells of citrus polish and hair spray. There are clothes racks that creak like old ships and a mountain of coffee cups abandoned on a folding table.
Mina Unnie greets me at the door in the exact way she always does── rapid, efficient, with a look that translates to 'do the thing right and survive.' She hands me the day's timeline written across a page that still bears coffee rings.
"Quick portraits," she says, skimming. "Rehearsal candids, interview window, then a block for the kind of quiet frames we hope you can find. Park, this is delicate. He needs to feel safe that means no invasive angles."
I nod like I mean it.
Those words── safe, not invasive── thread themselves through my head as though Mina had just sewn them into my skin.
Joon, the assistant photographer, drops two paper cups into my hand, a peace offering and a talisman. He has that easy grin that makes the room feel like it knows how to be human. He bounces around cords and reflectors the way someone with long practice dances with instruments.
Then, He walks in.
When Lee Heeseung walks in, a hush lands that isn't silent but full of thoughts no has said out loud yet: lights dimmed, sounds out to stop, movements halted, conversations lowered.
He walked in wearing a tailored black suit that made the whole room feel a little quieter, like even the air had decided to behave.
The jacket fit him cleanly at the shoulders, the white shirt underneath sharp against the dark fabric, and he'd left the top button undone in a way that looked accidental if you didn't know better.
His hair was styled back just enough to show his forehead, soft at the edges, and there was something almost unfair about the way he carried the look-formal, polished, and still somehow easy, like he hadn't had to try at all.
For a second I forgot I was holding a camera and not just staring.
Heeseung moves the way people who live under the spotlight do── practiced economy in every gesture, but up close the edges are softer.
There's a tiredness to the set of his jaw, a small hollowness under his eyes like late-night rehearsals have left impressions.
He offers a hand when Mina introduces us, polite and warm enough to be human, distant enough to be cautious.
"Park Yoru?" he asks, repeats my name like a label he wanted to place correctly.
"Yes." I extend my hand with the humility of someone meeting both an assignment and an unspoken hero.
His palms are warm.
He adds, "Evan" as if annotating himself in real time for the room.
He is mindful of how to be both Heeseung and Evan.
We start with simple frames like shoulder and headshots against a plain backdrop, light that molds rather than flattens.
I keep my instructions minimal because my philosophy is that the less you say, the more people reveal.
"Look at the window," I suggest at one point, and he obliges, staring out like he's reading the city's weather for its mood.
He answers questions in tidy, clipped sentences when Mina steers the conversation to concepts and marketing.
"He wants honesty," she says, jotting notes.
Heeseung nods and offers, quietly, "I want it to feel real."
Between setups, the stylist fusses and the makeup assistant wipes at a smudge on his jaw like it's a petty crime.
He laughs at a throwaway joke about awful high school haircuts and it's quick and private and different from the curated smiles he uses on camera.
I spot it in that snap── a laugh that doesn't reach the stage mask and I adjust the lens to catch it.
The shutter clicks softly and the image appears on my screen in a raw, honest rectangle: the half-laugh, the crease at his eye, the way his hand tugs at the sleeve. It's the kind of picture that reads like fragile paper- easy to tear.
We move into available-light shots by the window because Mina likes the way honesty behaves in natural light.
The city is a wash of grey outside; the light that filters in is not flattering in a commercial sense, but it's truthful.
He leans on the sill and I ask him to think about something that makes him feel normal. He squints, and the crease between his brows is a small map I want to photograph.
"Home food and Time that hasn't been scheduled." he says when Mina Unnie asks about what he misses.
The words are small and not headline-grabbing, but the way he says them is a key that opens the door a little wider.
As the shoot goes on, I find my rhythm-position, focus, and wait for the unguarded moment.
Heeseung is polite, sometimes distant, an idol accustomed to performing before people.
But the intervals when he drops the public mask are small and exquisite: a thumb tapping the beat of a song, a tongue peeking out as he concentrates on a sentence, the tilt of his head when he hums a lyric under his breath.
I keep my lens trained on those fragile proofs that he's real and not only a concept.
The moment that settles under my skin happens between the scheduled frames.
A prop delivery takes longer than expected and the crew disperses into light conversation; the room shrinks into the soft hum you get when people wait together.
Heeseung perches on the arm of a couch, phone in hand, his posture loose for a moment. He doesn't look up.
The light from the window slants across his face, carving the line of his nose into a pure, delicate plane. It is one of those breaths when a person is unformed into a public figure and is simply a human being with private gravity.
I raise the camera without thinking. The shutter closes like a soft footstep.
The frame is honest with no staged pose, no editorial lighting── just a boy learning to breath while lost in thought.
I know the ethics of what I do: the photograph belongs to the moment and to the subject by virtue of being given in trust.
I know, too, the private folders on my laptop where certain images sit, because not everything you capture is meant to be currency.
That candid slides into a personal folder on my card, marked PERSONAL, a small, ridiculous talisman of something true.
It feels like carrying a secret that smells faintly of lemon-scented studio cleaner and coffee. I tell myself I will never publish it.
Some images are meant to be proof, not product.
By the time we wrap, my shoulders ache and my fingers are smudged with studio dust.
Heeseung thanked everyone with careful warmth, his public face replacing the softer angles he allowed us. He steps into the hallway and the door closes behind him with finality.
Mina Unnie pats my shoulder in a professional half-hug.
"You found him," she says, and I understand what she means: not the Evan on billboards, but the person outside the spotlight.
The way back home is pleasantly tiring.
I crowd my images into the reader on my laptop that night and make the decisions expected of me── selects for the editor, choices for layout, notes on color.
Then I open that PERSONAL folder and stare at the candid for a long time. The frame holds him like something precious.
For a minute the world narrows until it's only that one soft, private proof that I had been there to see him unposed.
I lock the folder and set my camera on the table like I was caught red handed.
Pride and something quieter flutter in my chest. I had professional success today, but more than that, I carried a quiet thing away.
In my work, there are images you show to the world and images you keep for yourself.
Tonight, for the first time since the internship began, I know I will need both.
LEE HEESEUNG
The hallway smelled like cheap cologne and tape── things you smell when you move between places that are meant to be temporary.
I buttoned my coat without thinking, hands doing the small, automatic motions that steady me when the day's schedule tries to swallow me whole.
The interview had dug at the edges in the way that made me uncomfortable and honest at once.
I was supposed to be Evan, all clarity and concept, but under the lights I kept catching someone else: the shape of a person who didn't know how to stop being watched.
Park Yoru kept showing up in my head like a melody I couldn't place.
She moved quietly around the studio, holding a camera like an extension of herself, eyes that didn't skim and drop but held.
There was nothing performative about the way she adjusted a reflector or the way she asked me to think of something ordinary.
When she laughed at a stupid joke, it wasn't an on-brand smile── it was small and private, and it landed like a reminder that there are parts of normal I am allowed to have.
I found myself replaying the way she raised the camera to her eye── so calm and sure like someone who trusted the world enough to catch it without breaking it.
On the walk to the car I kept my hands in my pockets, palms warm, and wondered what part of myself she saw.
Did she see the Evan they wanted, or Heeseung with tiredness that collects like lint in the folds of my days?
It felt invasive and kind at the same time.
Being seen by someone who didn't need anything from me except the truth.
When the company van pulled up I climbed in and let the city blur past the window, thinking of small things── her, her quiet competence, the way she said my name, the way her eyes lingered on the light.
I don't do this often, letting people tuck under my skin.
It's dangerous.
It makes me human.
There was a calm around her that felt like a permission I hadn't been given in a long time.
IN WHICH ─── Heeseung teaches you everything that your cheating boyfriend couldn’t. He’s been waiting for the day you would realize that he could do better and much more than his best friend.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn with a bit of plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : switch!heeseung, switch!reader, mention of alcohol, smoking, swearing, cheating, manhandling, heeseung is a gentleman despite his attitude, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praising, light degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), light edging, orgasm denial, use of nickname : baby, my pretty girl
𝐰𝐜 : 7.9k {7.977}
❕# pheeew I speed run that shii. I goon to the pic on top every night—WHO TFFFFF SAID THAAAT????? Guys I need this man to put me in my place like RIGHT NOW. This song represents him so well. Ugh he’s mister dadaman fr
INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd
(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)
What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.
His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."
You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.
"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.
"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.
The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.
You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."
Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.
"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."
You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.
Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.
Heeseung [9:54 PM]
you good?
saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm
You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.
Y/N [9:54 PM]
he had a work thing apparently
Heeseung [9:55 PM]
mhm. sure he did
You almost put the phone down.
Y/N [9:55 PM]
please don’t start
Heeseung [9:57 PM]
wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things
Y/N [9:57 PM]
you're the worst at not saying things btw
Heeseung [9:58 PM]
rude.
i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get
You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.
The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.
Heeseung [10:05 PM]
where are you?
sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic
Y/N [10:05 PM]
wdym I’m not sad and pathetic
Heeseung [10:06 PM]
you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?
address please.
You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.
"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.
"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."
"Comforting."
"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.
"Heeseung."
"Yeah?"
"Give me that."
"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.
"I can pay for my own food."
"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.
"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"
"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."
"That's not the point."
"What's the point, then?"
You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.
"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."
"I fucking hate you."
"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."
"It's called having self-respect."
"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."
"You fucking asshole."
"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.
He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.
"You know those are terrible for you," you say.
"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.
"I'm dead serious. You should stop."
"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."
The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.
"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."
"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."
"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."
There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.
"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."
"Why do you even care?"
He takes another drag and lets it out slow.
"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.
He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.
"Why are we here?" you ask.
"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."
"He's not my ex."
"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."
You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.
"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."
"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."
"You're wearing actual sneakers."
"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."
"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."
"Same thing, coming from you."
You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.
"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."
"They're totally fine."
"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."
"The window was cracked."
"Barely an inch."
He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."
"That has nothing to do with your lungs."
"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."
"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."
"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"
"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"
"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.
"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"
"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"
"I don't even complain about stairs—"
"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."
"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.
"Got you—"
"You didn't—"
He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.
"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."
You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."
"I caught you very badly on purpose."
"Your lungs are so fucked."
"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.
"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."
"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."
"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.
"I'm also thirsty," you add.
"There's water in the car."
"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."
He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."
"Heeseung, I don't need—"
"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."
His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.
"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"
"Don't sound so betrayed about it."
"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."
"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."
You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"
"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."
You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."
He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."
"Heeseung."
"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."
You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.
"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.
"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."
"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"
"No."
"You're a little flustered."
"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."
"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"
"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."
"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."
"I'm not even looking."
"You're looking right now."
"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."
"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.
The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.
His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.
He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."
"Wine would be good."
He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.
"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."
"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."
"I did not apologize for ten minutes."
"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."
You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.
"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."
"Careful how?"
"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."
You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.
"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.
"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."
He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.
"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."
"It's not that simple."
"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."
"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"
"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."
You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.
"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.
He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.
"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."
You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.
After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.
A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."
Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"
You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"
Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.
You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"
He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.
You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.
"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.
The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.
You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.
His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.
You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.
His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"
You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."
Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.
You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.
You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."
You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.
"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."
You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.
"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.
You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."
Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."
He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."
He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.
You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.
He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.
You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"
"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."
You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."
He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"
Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."
The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.
"Come closer," you order softly.
He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.
You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."
Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.
You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.
"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.
Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.
You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."
He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"
You raise an eyebrow, waiting.
He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."
He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.
You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.
You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.
"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"
You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.
"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.
Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.
You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.
Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"
Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.
You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"
He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."
You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.
"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."
He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.
"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.
Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.
You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.
You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.
His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.
You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.
"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."
He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.
"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.
The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.
You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.
You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"
While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.
"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."
The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.
Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."
He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.
"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.
His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.
You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.
Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"
He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.
And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.
"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.
He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"
His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.
You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.
"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.
Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"
"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."
You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.
The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.
Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"
Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."
You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.
"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."
Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"
Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :
"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."
He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.
"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."
The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.
Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.
"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.
He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.
You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"
"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."
He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.
His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."
You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.
So that's what you've been missing out all this time.
IN WHICH. . . just when you thought you'd never be able to improve your horse riding skills, ningning told you that lee heeseung, the seasonal winner of the competition, had proposed to coach you. you agreed without hesitation, only to find out what you're riding isn't a horse but rather... heeseung himself?
5.5k wc⠀❀⠀ cowboy au ♪♪ pro horse rider lee heeseung x fem! reader 𐧘 explicit mature content, stable sex, unprotected sex, mild ass spanking, riding, face-sitting, messy kissing, creampie, oral sex (m and f receiving), usage of pet names, reader wears heeseung's hat.
from author: there's truly a severe lack of cowboy fics so i decided to cook a little something. bgdc heeseung, i still think about you... also not sure what to feel about this new post format hm hm.
"Damn, what the hell happened to you?" Ningning asked, eyes widening in horror at the sight of your… pitiful state.
You plopped down into the couch, body practically sinking into it as you groaned, cradling your bleeding elbow close to your stomach. Ningning approached you with a first-aid kit held in her left hand. She sat on your right, her knees brushing against yours as the couch sinking further from the additional weight.
You visibly jerked away the moment she dabbed the damp cotton pad against your wound, hissing in pain. "I was practicing and got thrown off," you muttered.
Your friend shot you a sympathetic look but you looked to the side, earning a sigh from her. "You need to stop doing this, (Name). You're only gonna hurt yourself if this goes on."
You tuned her out, pointedly looking out of the window on your right. Ningning sighed again, closing the first-aid kit once she's done.
"I'm gonna regret telling you this but I know someone who can teach you," she started, catching how your ears twitched at her words.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. "His name's Heeseung and—"
You shot up before she could finished her sentence. "Wait, did you just say Heeseung? As in the Lee Heeseung? The one who won first place at every competitions?"
Ningning nodded. "Yup, the very same man himself. He doesn't ride anymore, due to a mild injury. He reached out to me first, asking if you needed someone to… teach you."
Your eyes widened, nearly popping out of its sockets. "To teach me?" You repeated, "wait, when did he contact you? And why now?"
Your friend pursed her lips. "Because I'm worried about you! You're spending most of your time practicing. You're always injured whenever you came home. Who wouldn't be worried!"
"Ningning—"
She stopped when she realized she's getting ahead of herself, closing her eyes and internally count to three before reopening them, looking like she had surrendered, like she knew her words couldn't stopped you from chasing after your dreams.
"Just.. be careful," she ended.
You nodded, reaching over to place your hand over hers. "I will. I promise."
~
The next day, you found yourself standing in front of a lonely house.
There's nothing impressive about it at first glance, other than the large and an open-aired fenced up area with a few horses roaming about, their ears twitching. A sheltered stable was situated on the right of the area, where you're certain it's built for horses to take shelter from the harsh, unforgiving sunlight and heavy rain.
At first, you thought you've arrived at the wrong place. You squinted your eyes against the sun shining down on you ruthlessly, holding down your hair when a strong gust of wind blew past you, causing sand to slap lightly against your skin. But no matter where you looked, no one was around. You were about to walk away, feeling defeated when—
"Are you (Name)?"
You looked over your shoulder, body turning as still as a statue when your eyes landed on—what you probably think—is the most handsome man you've laid your eyes upon, in your entire life. His features looked as though they were carefully sculpted from a patient hand—sharp when they needed to be and soft where it mattered.
High cheekbones caught under the sunlight, casting subtle shadows across his face, while his jawline was clean and defined enough to make your stomach do an embarrassing little flip. A worn brown suede jacket hung loosely over his broad frame, the oversized collar lined with dark fur that softened his otherwise imposing appearance. Beneath it was a faded henley shirt, the top button left unbuttoned, showing off more of his sun-kissed skin of his neck and collarbones that made you want to sink your teeth into.
A plaid shirt was tied around his waist, adding another layer to the effortlessly rugged look. Combined with the dust coating his boots and the horses roaming around behind him, he looked like he belonged here.
For the past few seconds or minutes, all you could do was to stare. And it didn't go unnoticed by him, whose eyes gleamed in amusement.
"I'm guessing that's a yes," he said.
Your face flared up. "Uh—"
Great.
Your first ever face-to-face encounter with someone you highly respect and you've already made a fool of yourself. What you didn't know however, was how you're so caught up in your embarrassment to notice how his eyes darkened a shade, how he tongued his cheek as he greedily and shamelessly drink in your figure.
"I know why you're here," he said, saving you from further drowning in a pool of humiliation.
You blinked. "Oh really?"
Heeseung nodded and crossed his arms. "Yup, I saw you before, how you always watch the competitions and shoving your way to stand at the front."
Your ears turned red, not sure whether you should be flattered with the fact that he remembers you, out of everyone else among the audience or something else. You awkwardly cleared your throat, shuffling your feet on the spot, feeling unusually timid with his unwavering and intense gaze that never left your face.
"So, when do we begin?" You asked, managing to keep your voice even and steady despite how your heart's about to leap out of your throat.
The man cocked his head to the side. "What makes you think I'll say yes?"
You opened and closed your mouth, rendered speechless by the sheer audacity of the man. Heeseung laughed, the sound light and melodious. You sworn you heard faint wedding bells ringing in the distance, feeling all light-headed and floaty.
"I'm kidding, I won't go back on my words. I'm not that kind of person," he replied, gesturing for you to follow him as he turned.
You obliged, easily catching up to him and walked beside him, where he brought you over to the fenced up area—where a few nearby mares stopped to look at your approaching figures.
You gulped, entering once Heeseung pushed the fence opened. You watched as a horse headed to him, standing a few centimeters back to observe his interaction with the four-legged creature.
How his features softened as he talked to it in a hushed, comforting tone. The kind of tone one will used when talking to their partner. How he lovingly patted the horse, his calloused fingers brushing against its skin. How he chuckled when it nudged its nose against his neck, huffing out hot air, begging for more attention, similar to a spoiled house cat.
"It likes you. What's its name?" you asked, crossing your arms, unaware that you're smiling from the wholesome interaction.
Heeseung hummed, brushing his hand through the majestic stallion's mane. "Name's Stella, she's been my ride and die since I first saw her. She's very loyal too. Wouldn't let anyone else other than me ride her."
You nodded. "Loyalty is hard to earn. The fact she's loyal to you is an impressive feat of its own."
His lips curled up in a knowing smirk. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're hitting on me."
"Someone needs to knock that ego of yours down a peg," you retorted but your words lacked no bite, your stomach doing another embarrassing flip at how the smirk widened across his face.
Damn, if you knew Heeseung's this fine, you would've done something about it a long time ago.
He stepped away from Stella, turning to walk towards you at a slow, languid pace, like he's taking a walk in a park. It took all of you to not moved an inch, planting your feet into the solid ground beneath your feet.
The cowboy stopped, now standing close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch. With the close proximity, you're able to get a whiff of his cologne mixed with his natural scent.
"Oh really? And who would that be?" He cooed, voice dangerously low and smooth like honey, smooth enough to scratch your brain just right.
Your breath stuttered in your throat when his gaze trailed down your face, lingering on your lips before it's back up to your eyes. He's shameless, with how he doesn't looked ashamed at the fact of him being caught red-handed. And gods, his confidence made your cheeks flushed and your heart skipped a beat.
"I don't know. Maybe it's someone who just so happens to be in need of your… expertise," you replied, matching his tone, watching how his eyes widened slightly before they darkened a shade.
His jaw clenched but before he could say anything, you stepped back, looking at him all innocently despite the very obvious tension engulfing the two of you.
"So, are we getting started or what? C'mon cowboy, show me how you ride," you called out to him.
~
One week passed.
One week of Heeseung showing you the ropes behind horse riding. Putting your… desire for him to ravish you to six ways beyond the world, you're surprised with how knowledgeable he is for what seemed to be common sense. Sure, you have the basics locked down but there's more than just practice makes perfect.
"You're doing it again."
You stopped at his words, about to grab the reins but his voice stopped you. The cowboy leaned against the fence behind him, arms crossed with the hem of his hat dipping low enough to hide his eyes from your view. But it did nothing to hide how they kept flicking down to your bare thighs—something you did on purpose.
You worn the skimpiest outfit you can find in your closet—the shortest pair of shorts that barely covered anything along with the thinnest white crop top and a pair of dusty brown boots to complete the look. When Heeseung first saw you, you could see his brain malfunctioned on the spot.
He dragged his eyes down your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips at your clean, smooth and unblemished thighs. Skin that's practically inviting him in with open arms and legs for him to mark them, to leave physical evidence of him behind, imprinted on your body.
Not to mention, he made zero effort to hide the way he's eye-fucking you every time you bent over, giving him a front-view seat of your behind.
The cowboy sighed, already looking exhausted despite the lesson starting less than ten minutes ago. He didn't push off the fence, choosing to remain there so you can learned from your mistakes without needing him to guide you. Not when he had taught you a few times.
"I've told you before, your weight matters. A horse carries everything you do. Every shift and every movement. If you lean too forward, they feel it. Lean too back and they feel it too," he explained, pushing off the fence and approached you, placing his hand on the stallion's nose, earning a snort of satisfaction.
You hummed absentmindedly, idly twirling the reins around your fingers. It's not your fault, with how attractive the cowboy looks with the sunlight kissing his honey-toned face.
"…Are you listening?" He questioned, despite knowing the answer.
You blinked. "Y-Yea, I was."
Heeseung arched an brow, unconvinced. "Alright, then repeat what I just said."
"…The horse has feelings?"
He didn't reply, mostly because he doesn't have the energy anymore. Instead, all you got was a flat and unimpressed stare. You flashed him your most sweetest and brightest smile—a huge contrast to the kind of thoughts running through your mind, hoping it will softened him up.
But he didn't take the bait.
"Move your right leg back. You're gonna get thrown off the horse if you continue sitting like this," he instructed.
You knew you should move, should obey his words since he's the expert here. But you can't helped it, not with how your eyes, mind and attention drifted somewhere else. To the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing more of those choke and drool-worthy skin that you want to feel directly pressed against your body. To the muscles in his forearms, flexing whenever he adjusted the saddle straps or do anything else. And also—
"(Name)."
You blinked, snapping back to reality. "H-Huh?"
He looked at you, that signature unreadable look taking over his handsome and kissable face. "You're staring."
At me.
He doesn't have to say the last two words, not when it's clear as day as to what you were looking at. Heat crept up the back of your neck, flustered with his bluntness.
"..I wasn't! I was thinking!" You blurted out, a poor and feeble attempt to save yourself from your humiliating dilemma.
Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and throaty, enough for heat to pool in your stomach. Fuck, you want to feel the vibrations against your skin. Maybe on your neck or even better, the aching space between your legs. You didn't have to look down to know you're already soaking and leaking.
"Thinking about what? I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with horse riding," he pointed out, all smug and knowing.
And he's not wrong.
His words gave you a surge of courage. You hopped off the horse, not caring how you'll land badly with how careless you were. The cowboy's eyes widened, genuine horror flashed across his face as he steadied you with his large hands on your hips. He parted his lips, ready to say something but you were faster.
You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanked him towards you and crashed your lips against his. The kiss was messy, desperate and hot, fueled by nothing but the mini chasing and waiting game both of you willingly took part in. He was startled at first, with how he didn't react but when it clicked for him, Heeseung returned the kiss with equal neediness.
You let out a pleased sigh against his cupid-bow lips, a sound that he swallowed without hesitation. Heeseung tugged you close until you're pressed chest-to-chest, not leaving any ounce of space between you and him, like he didn't want to be separated from you.
Your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, not caring that the hat he worn fell to the floor or how you're out in the open, with the horse acting as a witness to two humans going at it.
You gave a light, experimental tug on his hair and was rewarded with a low, deep and guttural growl from him. More heat pooled in your stomach just from hearing it.
You attempted to rub your thighs together, desperately craving for some form of friction but Heeseung was faster. He broke the kiss and threw you over his shoulder, like you're nothing but a sack of potatoes.
"Heeseung!"
You squeaked out, mortified and your face turned even redder when he smacked your asscheek. It's not just once but rather, it was twice in a row—one left and one right. You bit down on your lip, swallowing the whimper that nearly slipped from the tip of your tongue, clenching down on nothing as your underwear is directly pressed against your core.
The cowboy turned a deaf ear to you, marching like he has somewhere to be. Looking over your shoulder, you noticed he's bringing you into the stables rather than his own home. The strong stench of hay and horse shit invaded your senses. You didn't have the time to be revolted at it, for your vision was flipped over.
You flailed your arms about like a wild, frantic chicken, only to find yourself straddling Heeseung's lap. The cowboy sat on what seemed to be a few layers of cloths.
His left hand clasped itself around the back of your neck, using it to pull you in so he could kissed you again. You moaned into the kiss, scooting forward, allowing him to touch you everywhere with his free hand.
You gasped as he boldly cupped you through your shorts, moving his hand up and down while swallowing the angelic sounds you made.
"So fucking wet for me. What a dirty, needy girl you are. Coming over and wearing these kinds of clothes. You knew what you were doing, don't you?" He hissed, fingers popping the button open swiftly.
You whimpered, lifting your hips up slightly so he can wrestle it down your legs, leaving you wearing your pathetic, thin and nearly transparent white cotton underwear with a cute pastel pink bow above your pussy. Heeseung pulled back, resting his forehead against yours and he audibly inhaled, unable to tear his eyes away from the large, visible wet patch.
"All this just from kissing? Tell me what you thought about," he murmured, ducking his head to trail hot, searing kisses down the expanse of your neck. It's only right for you to tilt your head back, granting him access as you hooked your arms around his shoulders to support your weight.
"I…hngh…t-thought about your—oh fuck—m-mouth," you stuttered, voice cracking at his kisses growing sharper and meaner, switching to using his teeth to leave marks in his wake.
Heeseung hummed, the vibrations traveling down the length of your body and right down to your pussy, causing more slick to pour out from it. "Yea? Want my mouth on you? Want me to eat you out until you're crying and begging for me to stop? Want me to eat this tight little pussy of yours?"
You outright sobbed at his words, how his voice dropped an octave lower. You grinded your hips against his, seeking for friction but he clicked his tongue, firmly holding you down, forbidding you from moving any further. Heeseung moved away from your neck, his lips swollen and pupils completely blown out, clouded with lust.
He kissed you again, softer and sweeter while he slowly leaned back, bringing you down with him. When he's fully laying on the sheets spread out beneath him, he broke the kiss, chuckling at how you chased after his lips. He patted your right thigh with his hand, shooting you a sly grin when you gave him a confused look.
"Sit on my face, princess. Wanna make you feel good," he said.
Well fuck, if that isn't the hottest thing you've heard in your entire life. As much as you wanted to lower yourself, a small part of you was unsure, thinking you were mishearing things. You looked at him, your hands curled into fists as they rested on your lap.
"..Are you sure?" You asked, your voice small.
Heeseung's features softened, his doe-like eyes never leaving your face, not even for a split second. "Of course I'm sure. I want this and you."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words combined with the pure sincerity in his voice. You scooted upward with him holding you gently but firmly by your waist until your core is hovering directly over his face. You let him tugged your panties to the side. The movement caused long, sticky and glimmering strands of slick to stretch until they snapped into half.
"Fuck, look at this.. So fuckin' pretty and wet. It's all for me, isn't it?" He breathed out, now hooking your arms around your waist, forcing you to lower yourself down onto his awaiting mouth.
The moment you fully sat on his face, you sworn you nearly saw the white pearly gates of heaven.
Heeseung eats you out like a starving, famished man, like he hasn't eaten a proper meal for the past five months. And that wouldn't be far from the truth. He's enthusiastic, messy and sloppy—all of the three things combined into what will probably be the best pussy-eating session you ever had.
Long and broad strokes along your puffy, dripping folds with the tip of his tongue used to collect your essence as he lapped away, like a dog in heat. When he reached your clit, he savored it with quick and pointed flicks, enough to make you bend forward, hands fisting the sheets beneath your palms.
Your thighs quivered at a particular loud and harsh suck with his lips wrapped around the hood of your clit, the suction making your toes curled in your boots.
"O-Oh fuck. So fuckin' good—hah," you moaned out loud, shame be dammed at this point.
He moaned, shaking his head side to side, further smearing your slick across his face, like how one does when they're spreading butter on bread. Loud slurping sounds and moans filled the air in the stables. Both of you didn't care that there were some horses in the same roof as you, both too focused in the current heat of the moment.
You weren't aware you were rocking your hips against his mouth, using the sharp edge of his nose to get yourself off. Heeseung groaned in approval, letting you use him like a tool. He moved his hand down to your ass, alternating between spanking and kneading the meaty flesh, like it's nothing but dough with his warm and calloused hand.
Your breathing grew ragged and unsteady, something tight gradually building in your abdomen, like a piece of rubber-band was stretched beyond its limit. The cowboy knew you're reaching your climax and he buried his face deeper into your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit in just the right angle.
You could barely register the kind of sounds you were making. Sounds that could rival against a professional pornstar. The crop top you worn cling onto your skin, drenched in nothing but your sweat from the humidity of the stable.
"I-I'm gonna cum—fuck, c-close," you babbled.
Your words only made him increased the intensity, with him now paying more attention to your swollen, sensitive clit. The last straw came in the form of him plunging his tongue as deep as possible for you to tip over the edge. Your thighs was clamped tightly around his head, body shaking like a fallen leaf as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.
Heeseung didn't pull away but rather, he continued. He ate you through your orgasm, letting out louder moans and groans, acting like he's the one cumming instead of you. You had to pull at his hair relentlessly, trying to get him away from your sensitive pussy. Only when he pressed a final, light kiss directly on your core was he finally satisfied.
He sat up, only for you to stop him with a hand on his chest. Confused, he lets you pushed him back down until he's half-leaning against the wall behind him.
Confusion was replaced with understanding and desire once he saw how you scooted down, getting to your knees between his legs. You pushed the hem of his shirt up, revealing his honey-toned skin, outlines of his abs along with a dangerous v-line that took your breath away.
"Let me help you out," you murmured, never breaking eye contact as you palmed him through his jeans, feeling him hardened and filling out between your fingers.
Heeseung groaned, watching you with half-lidded eyes. He lets you unbuttoned and pulled the zipper down, the sound seemingly loud in the stable, foreshadowing what's to come. The jeans and Playboy boxers quickly came off as you placed it aside, not wanting it to be dirtied even though he doesn't care about that.
Your breath was punched out of your lungs when his cock sprang free from its restraints. It slapped against his toned stomach, leaving a bead of precum behind.
You planted a kiss on the tip—light and fleeting, savoring the way his breath hitched and how he canted his hips forward, his cock gliding against your left cheek.
You took him into your mouth, lips stretching as wide as possible to accommodate the grith of his cock. To say he's big would be an understatement. You felt a stinging and lingering pain from your jaw muscles, with how you're overexerting yourself to take him fully but you persisted. Your nostrils flared, able to smell his musty scent that makes your head spin and eyes dazing out.
Heeseung threw his head back, baring his Adam's Apple that bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Sweat droplets rolled down his neck. It's obvious he's fighting against his own demons—to fuck your throat like it's nothing but a fleshlight. You inched forward, starting off at a slow, steady rhythm as you bobbed your head back and forth.
You hummed, the added and abrupt vibration drew a choked out, breathless moan from the cowboy. Determined to hear more, you used your hand to touch areas you couldn't reached with your mouth, lightly raking your nails along the edge of his cock.
Heeseung's hips twitched and he accidentally jerked forward, shoving more of his cock down your mouth, eliciting a surprised, muffled sound from you.
"That's it, take it. Take everything," he grunted, hips moving as he thrusted into your mouth, reaching out with one hand to blindly grab a fistful of your hair, using it as reins like you're a horse and he's your rider.
You picked up the pace, hollowing your cheeks for better suction, causing him to arch his back off the sheets as it sticks to his back, already damp with nothing but his sweat.
Your hand reached further down, cupping and fondling with his heavy balls that's practically on the verge of bursting and he cum, spilling down your throat.
You didn't gag, swallowing everything he has to offer, slobbering away at his cock like it's nothing but a piece of chicken drumstick, pushing him through his climax. Heeseung's loud when he cums, moaning and chanting your name like a sacred prayer.
When he fell back to the sheets, all limp and boneless, you took that as your cue to pull away, planting a kiss on his tip, snickering at how it twitched from the contact.
Heeseung's eyes shifted to you, panting and he tugged you over, meeting you in the middle. Both of you moaned at the heavy taste of his cum filling your mouths.
The rest of your clothes were frantically removed, fueled with nothing but the pent-up need to feel your bodies pressed together. He paused, breath taken away from how your breasts jiggled free when he chucked your bra aside.
He leaned forward but you stopped him, fingers clasped around his chin, forcing him to look up at you with wide eyes.
"Next time. Just fuck me before I lose my mind," you confessed, like you're committing a sin.
He made a low, needy sound at the back of his throat, deeply affected by your words and the sheer desperation in your voice. He nodded eagerly, pulling you down to kiss you, wanting to get another taste of you. If he could, he'd prefer to stay like this until the end of the world—you sitting on his lap, the only place you deserved and you let him worshiped you.
You sighed into the kiss, letting your hands feel him up as you touched his bare chest, feeling him shivered under your palms when you brushed your fingers against his nipples. You opened your eyes when something light was placed on top of your head. One glance up was enough to identify the newly added but barely noticeable weight.
"Seriously?" You asked, amused but made no move to remove the accessory.
Heeseung, on the other hand, was starstruck by the sight before him. "Fuck, you look gorgeous. Ride me while you wear it."
You arched an brow. "So bossy, but if you insist."
With his help, you aligned yourselves together. Instead of sinking down immediately, you rocked your hips back and forth, moaning at the delirious sensation of his cockhead rubbing against your fat, dripping pussy lips. Heeseung hissed, nails digging into your hips when you grabbed a hold of his cock before pushing yourself down.
He watched, mesmerized with how his cock disappeared, inch by inch until you bottomed out, your asscheeks hitting his strong, muscular thighs. Your moans echoed among the four walls of the stables, with the horses minding their businesses.
Your mouth dropped open, forming an "O" shape at how you're practically being split apart on his cock.
"Fuck, so tight and warm," the cowboy rasped out, squeezing his eyes shut and teeth sinking into his bottom lip, clearly fighting against his restraint to not buck upwards.
You reached out, placing both hands on his shoulders to raise yourself up until his tip is still nestled between your pussy lips before slamming down. You repeated it, managing to set a doable pace for yourself, ensuring to move your hips in a tight circle motion at every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin along with the wet, squelching sounds was the only things audible in the stables.
You arched your back, pushing your chest forward, squealing out loud when Heeseung leaned forward to wrap his lips around your right nipple. He switched between licking and nipping at it. You had to hold the hat down from on top when you felt it tipping backward. He used his free hand to pinch your other nipple, wanting to give equal love and attention while you bounced on his lap.
"Just like that, doll. Look at you, you're a natural at riding," he groaned, detaching his lips from your nipple that's covered in a thin layer of saliva.
You watched with half-lidded eyes as the string of saliva snapped into half as he leaned back, wanting to take in the majestic view before him.
A series of whimpers, moans and whines spilled from your lips endlessly, like a broken water tap. You didn't care that you were being extremely loud, not like there's anyone around in the first place. Here, it's just you and Heeseung, along with the horses being the unfortunate victims of watching someone riding the living lights of their precious rider.
Heeseung gripped onto your hips and delivered a sharp, long thrust upward. It's enough to draw a high-pitched cry from you. Your body slumped forward, arms hanging loosely around his shoulders and he took that as his cue to fuck into you from below.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, tongue licking up the sweat on his honey-toned skin, tasting salt on your tongue. Your nails dug into his back, hard enough to leave marks behind—something he doesn't mind.
You keened, unable to think of anything else other than the intoxicating feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your wet, gaping pussy and how he's able to hit places that you thought it was impossible to.
"H-Hee.. hngh, g-gonna cum—"
You slurred, tears prickling your eyes with your vision blurring slightly. At your words, Heeseung threw your right leg over his shoulder. You were still seated on his cock but the slight change of angle allowed him to slide deeper, if that was still possible.
"Cum for me, baby," he demanded, hand snaking down to rub your clit furiously.
You had to support your weight with your hands braced against the sheets beneath you. You whimpered at the sudden, painful stimulation. Your body quivered nonstop as pleasure crashed over you without warning, your walls convulsing around his cock violently. Heeseung showed no signs of stopping as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.
"S-Stop! Too much," you wailed, milking his cock dry until a creamy white ring was formed around the base of his cock.
"Yes, you can. Do it for me," he panted, his movements growing sloppy.
With one final long thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and filled your pussy with thick and hot cum, painting your walls in the shade of milky white.
You moaned at the feeling of being filled up, feeling unusually full as he pumped you full of his cum. Your thighs trembled when you felt something warm and sticky slowly rolling down your thighs but made no move to wipe it off, too exhausted to lift a single finger.
You slumped against Heeseung, chin on his left shoulder. Both of you didn't say a word, catching your breath first. You felt him softening inside you but he didn't pull out.
"Heeseung, you—!?"
You didn't finish your sentence, not when he snapped his hips upward again. You sobbed, your pussy too sensitive for anything else now. You leaned back, wanting to tell him off or to stop him, only for your voice to die down in your throat.
Even when he looks wrecked, he still looks annoyingly handsome, much to your mild annoyance. Whatever thoughts or words you had in mind was washed down the drain when he snapped his hips forward, his cock kissing that one spongy spot hidden in your pussy, making your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
Heeseung chuckled, leaning over to whisper into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your skin. "I think we need a few more lessons. Gonna teach you how to ride until you're a pro."
── synopsis: everyone on campus knows Heeseung’s rules — no commitments, no second chances, and no girl stays long enough to matter. As basketball captain he collects hearts like trophies and leaves them broken behind him without a second thought. You watch him from far away, knowing you should stay away, but you don't just want to be another name on his list. You want him to choose you and see only you. The problem is you're completely inexperienced, a virgin in every sense, while the girls around him know exactly how to move, how to flirt, and how to keep him hooked. So you make a plan: practice with other guys, learn the skills you're missing, and completely reinvent yourself to finally make Heeseung notice you — and choose you over everyone else.
warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni), popping cherry, fingering, oral (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, panty gag, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary, doggy style, against the wall, overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, hair pulling, choking, spitting on pussy, praise kink, light degradation, dirty talk, begging, edging, possessiveness, manhandling, public/risky sex (library + locker room), risk of getting caught, use of pet name (babe, doll, angel, baby, slut, good girl), mostly dom!members with a bit of dom!reader.
wc: 18k ┆ a/n: I know some of you are waiting for part 2 of teacher's pet, but I was just so excited to write this one that I decided to work on it first (the idea actually came to me while listening to drake's 'practice') this ended up being way longer than I expected, but anyway... I hope you guys like it. happy reading! (btw if you guys want to request any fics, my asks are open!)
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Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.
He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.
Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.
He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.
You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.
Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.
The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.
You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.
"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.
So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.
You’re going to practice.
You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.
────────
You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.
With a deep breath, you knock on the door.
Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."
You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."
He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"
You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.
"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."
Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.
"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."
Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"
Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."
Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"
His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."
He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"
"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."
Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"
You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."
Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."
He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"
Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."
Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."
You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."
You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.
"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."
As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.
Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"
"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"
"Yes," you sigh.
"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."
With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.
Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.
"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."
You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.
"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."
You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.
"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.
"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.
Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.
"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.
For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"
You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."
He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."
You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.
"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."
Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"
"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.
He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."
When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.
Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.
"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.
"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.
"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."
With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.
Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."
You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."
He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.
The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.
"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.
You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.
He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."
You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."
Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."
You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."
One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."
You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.
His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."
Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."
"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."
He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.
"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."
"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.
"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."
Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.
"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"
"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."
He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."
Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."
You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."
Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."
Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.
"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.
He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.
"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.
"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.
The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"
Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."
You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."
To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."
Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.
"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."
"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."
Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.
You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.
"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.
"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."
Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.
"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."
You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.
"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."
"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.
Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.
For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."
You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."
The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.
But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.
Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.
You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.
So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.
────────
That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.
You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.
The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.
That’s when you see him.
Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.
Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.
You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.
He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"
You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."
A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.
You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.
He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."
You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."
Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"
The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"
He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."
You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."
His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."
This is it — the next step.
You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.
The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.
"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"
"Maybe both."
Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.
You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."
He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."
His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.
You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."
Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.
"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.
He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."
Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.
You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.
His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"
Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."
Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.
"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"
You swallow hard and nod again.
"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."
"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."
He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."
You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.
His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."
Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.
"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."
You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."
You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.
His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."
Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.
"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."
You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.
"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."
You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."
Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.
"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."
You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.
"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"
You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.
With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.
Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."
You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.
"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."
He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.
"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."
The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"
You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."
A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."
Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.
"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.
You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.
"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."
He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.
"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.
Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."
Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."
He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"
"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.
With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.
You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.
He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.
"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."
You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.
He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."
Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.
One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."
His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.
Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"
"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."
He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."
You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."
His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.
Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.
Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."
────────
Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.
The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.
Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.
"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"
Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."
Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."
"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."
You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."
His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.
Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."
You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.
When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."
He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.
"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."
"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."
Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."
You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.
"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.
The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."
You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."
He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.
Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."
He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."
You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."
One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."
With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."
You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.
Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."
You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.
For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."
You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.
"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."
He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."
You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.
Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.
The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.
Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.
Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."
The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."
You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.
Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.
"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."
Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"
You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.
"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."
You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.
"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.
"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.
"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."
Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.
You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"
He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."
Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.
"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"
You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.
His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."
You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.
Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."
A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."
He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."
Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."
That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.
────────
The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.
When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.
A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.
More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.
When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."
You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."
Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"
There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."
If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."
"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"
"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."
Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."
His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."
He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."
He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.
Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.
Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.
He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.
He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.
"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.
Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.
He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.
Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.
Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.
Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."
He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."
You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.
You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.
It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.
"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.
The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.
Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.
Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.
He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.
Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"
You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.
Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"
Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.
Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.
Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.
You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."
"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.
He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."
"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."
He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.
"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.
"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."
You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.
"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."
You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.
You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."
With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."
The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.
Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.
After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."
You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."
Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"
────────
The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.
You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.
When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.
Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.
Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.
"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."
You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.
Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."
Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."
You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.
"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."
You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."
"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"
Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."
Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."
"Yeah… I’d like that."
Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.
Now it’s just you and Heeseung.
He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"
You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.
Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.
Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."
He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.
Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.
The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.
There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.
His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.
"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.
Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.
A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.
"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.
With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."
You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.
Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.
"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"
He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."
"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."
"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."
That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."
He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."
He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.
"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.
When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."
It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.
With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.
You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."
Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."
His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.
Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"
You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.
It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.
You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."
Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.
Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."
You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.
His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.
When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.
"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."
You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.
He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.
The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.
He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"
"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."
He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.
Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.
When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."
Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.
Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."
You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."
He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."
You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."
Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.
On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."
"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."
Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.
Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.
Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.
Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.
Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.
"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."
You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."
You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.
"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"
Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."
So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.
You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.
'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."
Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."
You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."
Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."
You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."
The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."
Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.
You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.
"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."
────────
Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.
You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.
Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."
You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."
"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."
"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.
You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.
Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.
In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"
You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."
Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."
"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."
Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.
The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.
"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."
You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.
"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."
He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.
When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.
"What the fuck were you doing in there?"
You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.
"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."
You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.
During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.
Heeseung:
I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.
Come over.
Baby, answer me.
I know you’re getting these.
Don’t play games with me.
Stop fucking ignoring me.
Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."
He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.
────────
You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.
And you realize you want that freedom too.
Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3
bf!heeseung who can’t sleep without you, no matter how sleepy he is. whether it be you in his bed, limbs tangled up together, or even just on the phone so he can hear your soft breaths.
bf!heeseung who’s a sucker for any kind of skinship. he’s always touching you in some sort of capacity, and he always has to take it up a notch too. holding hands? he’s playing with your fingers and tracing small shapes on your palm. cuddling? best believe you guys are skin-to-skin with his hands all over you.
bf!heeseung who cannot stay still for the life of him. you guys are watching a movie? he’s bouncing his leg, changing positions 5 times, laying his head on your lap, sitting up to hold you, the list goes on. it’s always something with him!
bf!heeseung who seeks your approval in anything he does. he loves and cherishes you so much, of course your opinion matters to him!
bf!heeseung who sends you voice messages rambling about the most random things, going on and off track multiple times, and then later apologizes for doing so. to which you reassure him that you don’t mind. you love listening to him ^^
bf!heeseung who absolutely has to hold your hand whenever he’s gonna cum :( the feeling is just so overwhelming and he needs you to keep him grounded
bf!heeseung who loves to cum inside you AND at the same time!!! he says it helps him feel closer to you. isn’t he so sweet? </3
if anyone wants me to expand on any of these lmk!! don’t be shy bc i genuinely find this so fun ><
